Dinner’s at Your Own Risk

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I’m making lime Jello with marshmallows.   I had been heating up some lentils and burned the piss out of my hand and since I’m already on so much pain medicine any more would probably make me blow up like the Macy Day balloon, I took some valium to see if that would help and it probably would have, except a moment later I forgot about the valium and took an ativan.  Valium is for tension and ativan is for anxiety, so I was very calm, but depressed.  So I made the Jello Lime Marshmalow surprise.  Muscato always claims that will be his signature number when he takes up drag and Muscato has been on mind a lot of late, ever since the Dinner Party.

It started out innocently enough; don’t they always?  SuperAgent Fred and I met Muscato and Mr. Muscato, whom I had not had the pleasure before.  And what a pleasure.  Lazy, sexy smile and SUCH eyelashes.  Sophia Loren doubtless has an international hit squad out on them at this very minute.  Maybelline has built an empire attempting. and failing, to immaculate such flawless beauty.

We killed some time waiting for the last two of the party.  I should explain, Muscato had sent me a text sort of laying the groundwork, listing the many points I was not to touch on during our lovely time together.  To wit: my blog (fine, what feeble marketing I do is not difficult to squelch,)  his blog (Mr. Muscato only “sort of” knows of its exsitence and some of Muscato’s more open and frank thoughts on domestic bliss might not be all that one wants one’s partner dwelling on.

Also, the fact that our other two guests (one of whom was a college chum of Muscato’s, back during when they were haveing lively debtes about suferagette rights) and who, with his husband now lead lives of blames virtue, but who for a short while dabbled in porn.

Well.  You can imagine how that perked up my shell-like ears, but Muscato was firm.  Unless the boys brought up their lurid past themselves, there would be no probing into behind the scene tell-alls.  I was crushed, crushed I tell you.

Also, when they rolled in, I recognized neither of them.  I might not be totally encyclopedic on the topic of performers of porn, but I am fairly well-informed.  Their absence in my memory banks pointed me to assuming they either worked recently (most of my deepest research into the subject lays in the 1980 – 2010 era) or that they possibly worked in some niche too freaky for my attention.  But they seemed like such nice boys.

You know my job history has honed my ability to hash out small talk to an art, but their was no need for my mastery that evening.  Mme. Muscato seized the steering wheel and laid in a course of Our Happy Years After School and Before Responsibility.

Fred said the one by him was quiet, the one down at my end of the table, that Muscato had known in school, laughed and went with the flow, and was cute. Both of them were.  Whatever led them from the world of fistfucking on film, it was not any loss of the looks.  We had faces then, Norma cries, and these boys still do.  And tits.  And big arms.

Somewhere between the salad and the entrée, I began to wonder if Muscato were having one of those “The one the got away” moments about Mr. Porn Star, but we’ll never know because of all the forbidden conversation topics.  I think Muscato at one point forbade bringing up the Taft Hartley Act of 1947.  Who knows.  It’s probably somewhere in the Do Not Disclose agreement.

As usual, I exaggerate wildly.  Except they really were porn stars.  It was most amusing hearing Muscato’s stories, which are beyond anything my shallow existence has brought my way.  Muscato has walked among Stars, baby, Stars.  I wish I could have spoken more with Mr. Muscato, he seemed affable and sweet and if nothing else, staring at his eyelashes for a half hour or so would have been fine with me.  I understand they had been in a bear bar the night before where the Mr. brought about either a stampede and a riot or a riot and a stampede.  Details were sketchy.

Anyway, I had a good time, the gumbo was tasty and I like hanging with Muscato.  He is window into a far distant world.

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We can start our search for the mystery guests by process of elimination.  The meaty gent engaged here was NOT one of them.  I think we’re getting close.

14 responses »

  1. Lime Jelly with marshmallows that’ll be the ativans. I used to take them in the early 90s when I was a teen, courtesy of grandma’s medicine cabinet, whilst under their influence I bought a YSL shirt in canary yellow along with a pair of Lois electric blue cords.

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    • I’m typing this on BBC Ativan right now. A sweet little drug. The Lime Hello Marshmallow Surprise lived up to its name because I was too lazy to make it right and just dumped the marshmallows in while it was liquid, so they floated to the top to make a very soft crust.

      Yummy.

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    • He thinks we met in finishing school in Switzerland, back before the War.

      And Geez – you take a few days off the Interwebz, and all of a sudden you find out folks are talking about you.

      That said, it was a glorious evening, and far too brief a reunion with Peenee, the SuperAgent, and even the SuperAnnuated porn stars (who really are adorably domestic, given the unspeakable things one has seen them do in the flickers).

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