I was at my office desk when my phone dinged. A text. I sighed. I wanted to get out of there and get the suitcases in the car and get on the road to Cleveland. CLAW was calling my name. It was Joe—the scent pig from St. Louis. “All systems are go,” he wrote. “I will arrive in Cleveland after you. Which hotel?”
And now, here he was driving up to do it. It is a nine hour drive for him. Damn.I told him the Howard Johnson—one of the overflow hotels, but exclusively leather.
So he’s here. I’ve registered. And we have our tickets to the first of the Recon/reflex parties.Joe is in the shower as I type this.
The running water reminds me of when we first met, about six years ago.Here’s his picture.
Imagine this man in a jock, kneeling in the middle of the bar at the Chicago piss party begging for piss. I gave him some…
Enough. I need to shower and get into my chaps.