Day 299

Confession (storytime): Last year I went to my first Pride event, that wasn’t really a Pride event.

I went with someone I met earlier that same day, through an anonymous online post asking if anyone knew a Pride event we could go check out together. I hit it off with a girl who understood where I came from and felt safe.
She brought up a themed rave that was happening that evening, and she frequented them often. I was intrigued. I got a ticket and we made plans to meet.

I started feeling a bit anxious on my way there, so I decided to take a puff of my weed vape—which at the time I used daily—but it jammed and released way more than I wanted. I was stoned within minutes. Too stoned.

When I arrived outside the building and found her, I embarrassingly admitted I got messed up and now felt more anxious, but she assured me the place would be packed and no one would think twice—I could just vibe.

There wasn’t a line and I felt relieved. When we went down the hall we discovered the place was empty. She was confused. I was tripping the hell out.

A couple people danced near the stage, which overlooked a floor with dance cages in the middle, an overpriced bar in the far corner, a tent in the other corner, and booths lining the back selling penis-shaped everything. I decided to get a drink and take a tour. We eventually landed outside the tent where there was seating. I asked what it was. She said it was an area for spanking. She told me what she did for work. I wasn’t judging.

Soon the place started to flood in with people. Apparently there had been some other Pride event nearby that had occupied everyone’s attention. I stayed seated—I was still stoned—and watched people. I saw a lot of things I wish I hadn’t. Ambivalent fascination.

We finally made our way to go dance, and I enjoyed most of it. Our evening consisted of talking, dancing, rejecting creeps, and meeting new people in the smoke patio outside. While traveling from one part to the other, I asked what the curtained booths were down a corridor inside. She told me they were play rooms. Or maybe I asked this when I first arrived. I was stoned. And I didn’t really understand what a play room was. Back to the dance floor.

Some people we met outside danced with us inside, and I got quite close with one of the girlfriends, who was very high on God knows what. I felt sinful and gay and happy.

Then her slobbery mouth tried to kiss me. (I dodged.) And pulled my outfit from behind so hard she broke a piece. (My back hurt.) And I was told by the couple they liked finding people to play with and were going to the booths.

It was in that moment the air started to smell like STIs. I wanted to go home. And shortly after, I did. Passing the naked boobies, penis keychains, spank tent, and play rooms, I reflected on my night with curiosity and gratitude. It was a healing nightmare that I don’t need to experience ever again. But I wouldn’t have known that if I hadn’t gone.

If the girl who went with me sees this, thank you for sharing what you did and holding the quiet amongst the chaos. I’ll never forget it.

Sound of the day: Mietzke Conte – aaahh give me some more time https://youtu.be/Hv28MrWcKvs?si=GB7gHMHgSMM6RFEf