“So I read women prefer a conservative man in bed,” C said.
“Where the hell did you read that shit?” I said.
“Let me guess, it was on Breitbart or something.”
“Umm, yeah. I read it online at the Daily Mail. It quoted stats from some millionaire survey. Apparently rich women love conservative men, because we’re more masculine. We instinctively understand how to take control in the bedroom,” C said.
C was wearing his red Trump shirt with the message, “Make America Great Again.” He shifted anxiously in frat boots.
“C, have you seriously forgotten our last several interactions?” I said.“Well, you know, all that role play was really more for you than for me,” C said.
“Plus, I really didn’t want to be Tyrion. You just wouldn’t let me be Khal Drago.”“You act like Khal Drago is your spirit animal. Wait. Is that why you grew the man bun? OMG, I totally get it now,” I said.
“By the way, Khal would for sure be a Republican,” C said.
“Just so you know, Republican men have got to be the worst in bed. They have way too many sexual hang ups, and they’re totally fixated on their own dicks. Seriously, think about it. Who do you honestly believe would be better in bed, Newt Gingrich or Bill Clinton? Ted Cruz or Cory Booker? Clarence Thomas or Justin Trudeau? Plus, Republicans are scared to death when it comes to lady parts,” I said. “That’s why they’re always trying to regulate them.”
“How can you even say that,” C said. “This is totally not going in the direction I planned.”“What? Did you think I’d agree with you and say something like, ‘bend me over, Republican daddy,’” I said. “Umm, yeah. That would have been awesome,” C said.
The last thing I remember after boarding the plane was Dr. A asking for two Irish whiskies on the rocks. Unfortunately, the only whiskey our flight had available was from Tennessee, so we settled for a Bailey’s Irish Crème instead. After that, Dr. A and I both passed out. I’m sure by now you can probably guess where we were headed. Thanks to the huge tech sectors in both Austin and Dublin, American Airlines now has direct flights running constantly between the two, so we made the last flight out that night.
Before this trip, the only things I really knew about Ireland had to do with leprechauns, St. Patrick’s Day, and James Joyce. I’d used a Joyce quote in my sugar baby profile, the one that caught Dr. A’s interest, “love loves to love love,” so it seemed appropriate that we ended up flying here now on vacation. Dr. A seemed to know even less about Ireland than me, so upon landing we googled the three phrases that made the most sense to us: “Hotel,” “Dublin,” “James Joyce,” and it worked. We told the taxi driver to take us to Blooms hotel.
We arrived in a daze of windy rain and cold. But even with the freezing temperatures, everything that surrounded us remained a vivid green. There were these amazing 1920s style portraits of Molly, Bloom, and Stephen from Ulysses, painted four stories high on our hotel. The brightly colored murals reminded me of the art around Austin. I really couldn’t have imagined anything more wonderful or whimsical than this. It was early afternoon when we arrived and a little too soon to check in, so we left our bags at the front desk and went walking around, eventually ending up in a little pub down the street, where we ordered a traditional Irish breakfast.
“You guys look you’re in town for a visit,” the waiter said. “What may I get for you?”
Dr. A and I looked at one another. “Bring us two of whatever you’d consider a good Irish breakfast,” Dr. A said.
We learned quickly here that the Irish don’t mess around when it comes to the first meal of the day. There’s no cup of coffee and a biscuit. The waiter brought us pints of Guinness and two large plates with eggs, beans, tomatoes, sausages, potatoes, and toast. Considering how hung over we were from a combination of jet lag, travel, and last night’s drinking, this had to be the Irish breakfast of champions. After eating we decided to wander around a little more.
“We need to get you something warmer to wear,” Dr. A said. “And me, too. It’s the damp cold here that makes you feel it so much more.”
I was wearing my dad’s old camouflage fleece jacket, which had been serving as my winter coat since I’d left for college. We were passing by a couple of tourist shops and noticed one that had stacks of thick wool sweaters. The sweaters were made of Irish wool, the kind I imagined a fisherman might wear, which was exactly what we needed right now. Dr. A bought himself one in dark green and me one in white; now there was no questioning that we were tourists. We walked around a little more, before going back to the hotel to officially check in.
By now we were tired, as the adrenaline and alcohol began to wane. We shed our sweaters, boots, and other layers, before falling exhausted into bed together. I couldn’t tell if I was shivering now because I was tired, cold, or both. We held each other and began to kiss, and then slowly melted into one another, and then into a much needed sleep.
We decide to take an Uber to the S&M ball to find Dr. B. When the driver pulled up in front of the dorm to pick up up, I watched him do a double take as we climbed into the back seat of his Tahoe. The driver had a hipster mustache, and seemed confused.“So, where are you girls off to tonight,” the driver said.“We’re going downtown to Elysium, so if you could just take us there, that would be great,” Jxxx said.“So is this for some kind of fraternity party or something,” the driver said.“Why? Are you interested in going with us?” Jxxx said.“No, I just figured, since you were all dressed up and you’re coming from the dorms that it might be some sort of theme party,” the driver said.“Try not to think too much about it, and just take us there,” Jxxx said.“For what it’s worth, you girls look really nice. I’m not sure you really want to go to Elysium though, if it’s not for something special. There’s a lot of crazy shit that goes on at that place,” the driver said.When we arrived in front of Elysium, I could hear the music pulsating, some sort of industrial style techno mixed together with heavy metal. “Dr. B is supposed to be waiting for us inside. He said he’d be waiting inside the cage by the bar, waiting for me to release him,” Jxxx said. “Okay, great,” I said. I wasn’t really sure what to say to that. I wondered how long Dr. B had been waiting for us, and why he put himself inside a cage. The place was filled with subs, doms, gimps, and goths. Everyone was standing around, as if waiting for something to happen. We made our way across to the bar, where there was a large cage that looked like something wheeled out of a mailroom. Dr. B excitedly waved at us. “I’m so glad you guys could make it tonight. I really do think it’s going to be a lot of fun. The theme of the show is ‘school girl night.’ I guess I should have mentioned it, but you both look so beautiful, no need to adhere to the theme” Dr. B said. Dr. B reached through the cage to touch Jxxx’s bright pink hair. She whipped his hand with her riding crop. “I didn’t say you could touch, did I slave?” Jxxx said. “No, you did not. My apologies Mistress J,” Dr. B said. Dr. B was wearing a latex pair of black boxer briefs, his spiked dog collar, and a series of heavy chains that crisscrossed over his shoulders and around his body. He looked like the Ghost of Christmas Past. I wondered if this mistress thing between him and Jxxx had become a regular form of interaction. I figured I’d have to ask her later. “Dr. B, why do you have all so many little scratches on your back?” Jxxx said. “Oh, well, it’s kind of a long story. I was watching music videos on Youtube when I was on my lunch break today, and I saw Drake’s, ‘Chains.’ There were some definite S&M elements in that video, so it occurred to me that adding some large chains might be a cool addition to the dog collar. I should have gone to a specialty store to find them, but instead I made a quick trip to Home Depot to pick some up after work. I think these were meant for heavy labor, because not only are they super heavy; they also have all these sharp little edges that are making my skin chafe.”
Just the idea of Dr. B chafing in his chains grossed me out. I noticed Jxxx had pulled out Dr. B’s leash and hooked it onto his collar. He was pretending to be a puppy again, and was wearing his ridiculous faux hawk. I wondered if anyone he worked with had any idea about the kinds of things Dr. B did and wore on the weekends.