DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #7 - seattle slang ?

Bessie shrugs at Chrissie's words, and I nod insistently 'cause I agree hundred percent with her. I mean. Bessie has no shame, she's the super groupie of this city and she would fuck every music man she likes. Every music man with a functioning dick will give it to her without even thinking about it twice. She keeps hopping on Cantrell because she's been very open about the fact that she loves his big cock. She loves everyone's big cock. She's loved Tommy Lee's big cock too, at some point, while I was running away from Vince Neil. She loves cock so much that she hops on more than a single one every day. And I love her for that. She's honest, urgent, in contact with herself and very horny. I wish I were like her, at times. But if I were like her, I still wouldn't mingle with a lowlife like Cuntrell. I would mingle with Layne with the Honda CBR, curly horny Mike of Phellus in Chains, and the other just as horny Mike of Pearl Jam. Man whores, but not primadonnas like Cuntrell. I wouldn't be able and willing to put up with his throes and temper tantrums. 'Cause they just don't make sense. Like his whole personality, if I wanna be brutally honest here.

Silence falls in the room, and I build some leverage by filling everyone's glass with beer. The girls still don't speak, and I sigh. I sigh because I hate silence, and I just ain't used to keeping my mouth shut when I'm in presence of my besties. The Angels of Grunge gone silent? Rare stuff.

'Baby, I'm cumming...'. My cockatiel speaks out of nowhere, pulling a Dave Abbruzzese of not so long ago. I almost tear up 'cause I've mothered that dirty tongued monster, and I'm so proud of my job. My cockatiel can speak... and when it reps a dirty Seattle grunge boy, it can get hysterically funny. Unless it's Cantrell. Or unless it's Kim Thayil and his lame pickup lines. If the dirty Seattle grunge boy in question was Sean, the cockatiel would've gone like 'no, your tits first. I am a gentleman'. Cause that's more or less what's come out of his mouth all night long, two days ago. Our idea of partying was bantering about who had to flash the boobs first... him, or I. At the end of the night, not a single boobie was flashed. Not a man boob, nor a cherry tittie.
Chrissie almost chokes on her glass of beer at the perfect Abbruzzese impression of my bird, while Bessie bends on the table laughing her lungs out. While I just chug on my beer and think that I should've just flashed the damn boobs two days ago.

'Girls, I think I want some cock'. I chime in, just as randomly as my bird, as I put my one leg over the other one and squish both of them together. I am SOS level horny, and so I've been since mr. Honda and I first entwined our tongues. Two days later, I still have no clue how and why we haven't fucked. We were in a room of our own, our chemistry was sky high... and we were sky high too. We spent all night talking nonsense, nicking into the buffet room for a booze fix, then heading back to Cuntrell's basement studio for a little weed pick me up. Kissing. Talking. Smoking and drinking. No touching. No pee pee in the vee vee. No full frontal nudity. Perfect summary of our not-so-wild night of two days ago.

'Apocalypse now'. Chrissie speaks, with the sass and the hindsight of someone who knows that the last time I got some cock... was a few weeks ago. And the cock I got was Mike Inez's, in the backstage of a Ozzy concert in Tacoma. Classic. After that night with my Mike, I've only done girls and pushed away guys.
Among my girlfriends... I mean, among my groupie besties... I am the one who fucks the least. Not because I don't have a libido, 'cause I do have libido for days, but because I don't want to mingle with everyone. I have standards and I don't spread my legs for anything less than what I consider worth of getting inside of me. Not because I respect myself and think of myself as superior, I work in the lesbian porn industry, to be frank ... but just because I'm very picky and I'm into the music subculture just for the fun that comes with it. I love men more than I love women. A lot more than I love women ... but I just wanna have fun with them. A kinda fun that doesn't involve having them inside of me like I'm their cock warmer of the night. If a man manages to fuck me, it's because I've felt a spark with him. Probably because he's respectful, somewhat good looking, intelligent and funny. I felt a spark with Sean, because he ticked all of these boxes, but I must've caught him at a bad moment cause he didn't want to fuck. He told me I'm really pretty, and unless he was totally greened out when he said that... I think I may be his type. In some way. I mean, his little sarcastic eyes went heart shaped when he saw me starting my fire red Triumph Bonneville...