Road Trip Day Four: Call Me Daddy

Yesterday we got the fuck out of Texas:

Still not porn, still just driving,

but I did change my shirt.

I like being called Daddy. What can I say, I like feeling like a dirty old man. I told KinkQueen early on in our road trip that she should call me Daddy as much as possible, especially when I'm driving, which is usually the first shift up until just before dusk. She complies, though sometimes she feels compelled to call me Jesus, which I don't mind either.

Texas is sort of a blur. What I remember most are the crazy drivers cutting in and out of lanes, including the big gas transport rigs, and periodic "Don't Mess with Texas" signs. When we got to Texas there was a road sign bragging that Beaumont was 800-some-odd miles away, which really just means "hey look at how big my dick is." I mean, who the fuck cares where Beaumont is or how far away it is from that sign? Nobody's driving straight through to Beaumont from anywhere, and when they get there it's probably not their final destination, they just needed to take a piss and get gas. I did have some damn good barbecue in El Paso though. And I love the way everyone in Texas calls me Ma'am. So much so that I didn't feel the need to say "that's Daddy to you."

Once we crossed into Louisiana it was a relatively quick and easy ride into New Orleans. We decided to pull into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn just off the French Quarter exit to find wifi and hotwire a room. We clicked on the best deal and it turned out to be that very Holiday Inn. Fucking kismet.

Bourbon Street was disappointing. Places like these are stuck in perpetual holiday mode where everyone's trying too hard to have too much fun. On our walk towards the most touristy part of town, we saw discarded strings of shiny metallic beads and a guy puking in the street. Somehow we felt like we were moving in the right direction. When we crossed Canal onto Bourbon Street, we walked straight through to the quiet end, and decided to eat at the Clover Grill, which was full of gay boys. I had a really tasty pork chop.

We asked the guys working there what the least obnoxious bar to drink in was and they couldn't really answer. They told us they went to the place across the street after their shift, then when we asked about Frenchmen Street they said definitely go over there instead. We walked all the way down that street too, because no place was calling to us, until we got to The John, a very local bar with gold-painted toilets for chairs around the tables against the wall. KinkQueen didn't know that toilets are called the John, because I guess in Germany they don't name toilets. That makes two things I've taught her this trip: what toilets are named and what a merkin is.

We figured we'd just go back to the room after a shot and a beer, but on the way back I wanted to stop in to The Dungeon on Bourbon Street, for obvious reasons. I wanted to see how far a cliché can be pushed. My favorite thing about it was the painting of Satan with tits. We had another shot (of Jameson), served in little plastic cups that I said reminded me of Nyquil, so KinkQueen ended up with a shot of Purple Jesus too, which the bartender said tasted pretty much like Nyquil if we're into that sort of thing. Which clearly we're not, but KinkQueen couldn't pass up a shot made of Evercleer and grape Kool-Aid named after me.

On the way back to the hotel, we had two more adventures. I ripped some guy's shirt open, but only after he agreed to it, and I gave him some immediate aftercare (consisting of "you have really nice teeth" and a pat on the cheek.) For some reason this whole scene caused KinkQueen to erupt into uncontrollable laughter as we walked away. This is what Bourbon Street is all about, apparently. Doing stupid shit and not giving a fuck.

So we made one more stop: the strip club. I have no idea why KinkQueen wanted to go in there, because she's the straightest kinky girl I know, but I didn't argue. We sat down right up against the stage, and not two minutes later the dancer came over and was turned upside-down and waving her ass right in my face. She said, "That was mandatory." I agreed, and gave her panties a five spot, cause that's how I roll. KinkQueen spotted a really gorgeous Flintstoned Bettie Paige. She was hot. Big flirty fake eyelashes, heavy dark eyeshadow, long dark hair, loin cloth, yikes. I somehow intuited that KinkQueen needed to have a lap dance, so I made the arrangements. I thought she knew it was coming, but somehow she was already drunk enough (we had two more shots each there) to remain hazy on the details of how she ended up in the back room with a super sexy cartoon character contorting all around her, making little noises that made her make little noises, while I watched. After the dance, we left, me dragging KinkQueen out of there like she was in big trouble, just to make sure everybody saw us.

Back on the road!