I watched him swagger off, dragging his dog along in search of some more uprights. The world outside was bathed in that predawn light that seems to come from nowhere. Walking in the Catskill Mountains The other apparatus in the room was also intriguing; I could only but hazard a wild guess as their purpose. I subsequently found out that it was the owner of the KitKat Club who helped me on stage. Her pretty blonde-haired partner spread what appeared to be freshly whipped cream over her privates, then disappeared somewhere south with a strawberry between her teeth. The experience was somewhat revitalizing, stimulating even. Nada excused herself saying she had to prepare for her performance. I felt a stab of despair when no cabs were to be found and headed off in the direction of where I thought the underground station lay.
A top hat, starched cuffs and collar and a bow tie finished the look. A flight of stairs took me up to a large dance floor with a bar down one end. A gynaecological examination chair - on stage. I keep walking around the same block then wonder how I managed to end up back at my original starting point; which is exactly where I found myself minutes later. Thankfully he was wearing trousers. On the dance floor. Nobody seemed too bothered by what others were doing, so neither was I. I asked statuesque owner, Dominique, what inspired her to open Insomnia. The ever present pole dancer. Currently she lives in a picture postcard village in south-east England, surrounded by rolling green hills, ancient parish churches and designer sheep farms. I walked past a couple of roughneck bars and found myself in an unfamiliar area — unfamiliar as in I had not walked by it that evening. Evidently she had seen a curb crawler propositioning me but failed to notice the one finger salute I gave him. Nada excused herself saying she had to prepare for her performance. As such the city is a magnet for non-conformists and creative minds drawn by the bizarre nightlife. This was when I decided what I wanted to do with my future. Walking in the Catskill Mountains The other apparatus in the room was also intriguing; I could only but hazard a wild guess as their purpose. Coming from a long line of anti-sobriety activists - and my research now concluded - I hastened to a little bar across the way from my hotel. An attractive man, clad in rubber ladies clothing, fishnet stockings and high heeled shoes provocatively draped himself over the bar stool in a come hither manner. Some of the patrons were engaged in foreplay on the dance floor whilst others had gone beyond that and taken their desires to one of the adjoining rooms, one of which was bondage. Looking around with pursed lips and a thoughtful gaze, I tried to recall which direction the cab had taken. The light fell across her gentle face, instantly making her look every day of her 48 years. The night staff were silently watching me. At the conclusion of her performance the audience clapped and cheered politely but were evidently more intent on her next performance. I needed another designer-water and headed for the bar. I was overcome with the need for myself and everyone around me to know me for exactly what I was. The experience was somewhat revitalizing, stimulating even.
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