Thursday, January 08, 2015

Demon Child

Perhaps it was how he was dressed. Where the rest of the party was in head-to-toe black fetish wear, naked, or (like me) in a corset with pants that I hoped did pretty things for my Puerto Rican bottom, he was wearing button-down plaid and jeans.

It may have been the blue eyes, noticeable even under the low light.

It may have been the fact that he was the only person wandering about who wasn't with anyone else, and seemed slightly younger than the rest of the crowd, most likely 25 or 26. It wasn't that he stuck out like a sore thumb, just that he looked out of place considering the usual menagerie that I find at Powder. And he looked lost.

I have a thing for lost causes and people that need educating. Let’s face it, it’s the teacher in me, the mentor, the guide and having been in and around enough, I like helping people out who seem like they don’t know what they are doing.

So I did what I do.

“You look lost.”

“Do I?”


“I’m not lost.”

I introduce my most devilish self to this creature, who is not lost.

“I’m Hellion.”


“And what are you, Hellion?”

We talk for a bit and realize that we are both on the same side of a coin, dominant, but me with better gear and more experience. Which of course lead to me handing whips over (much like teaching a flogging class) and giving instructions on hand motion, swinging, how to hit, when to hit, what to hit and why to hit. Which of course lead to dancing with floggers in the pale moonlight.

"You aren't a succubus aren't you?" he asked at some point as the evening was winding toward its inevitable end.

"Jury is still out on that."

The lights went out on the evening in the nicest possible way, and at least at the end of it I had made a new friend.

Regardless of the distraction of naked people wandering around a dungeon, whips and chains and loud music, we managed to at least remember to exchange numbers, which made it easier to find him again for hanging out later. Which he was happy to do, since I could offer company, a clean apartment, a small dog, and booze.

"I'm going to go to a movie."

"Which movie?"

"John Wick."

"I want to see that."

"Want to come with?"


"Cool, I'll get tickets."

“Want to get drunk before the movie?”

That stopped me.

Which lead to questions I should not ask.

"Exactly how old are you?"


"Excuse me?" No, really, I was actually incredulous.

"20. Why; you're like 28 right?"

Somewhere, on the other side of the country, the Balance was laughing his ass off.

There is something interminably fun, though, about hanging out with 20-year-olds in New York City. One was never at a loss for hanging out with 20-years-olds in Korea, or at least those in their 20s, as the country is full of them. Maybe age, more than anything else, is one of the many reasons I’m not sorry I’m gone. The crowd was getting younger ever year, and those that were staying were marrying and having families, which was a road in Korea I’d never travel. Hanging out with Quartermain and Ladybug, both decidedly in their young twenties, and both very smart, well thought out, and fun to be with, made life easier, and more exciting. Granted I'm not ageist enough to care, I just like good company, fun times and conversation. At this point, I'll take it where I can get it.

And if it's in the young set in the Americas, why not?

I nothing else, it will be an adventure.

"You know, we can also get drunk in the movie," I say, dangling shiny metal objects.

“You have a flask?”

"Of course!"

"That's so awesome! I've always wanted a flask."

I'm almost positive that flask is as old as the Demon child, but I'll keep that to myself.

We hit the movie with my flask full, and left with my flask empty. Fall in New York was over, and winter was most definitely in the air. It was chilly and the night was flush, lights twinkling, and wind that sounded like a song. I had enjoyed my movie and the company was making it even better.

I feel like there will be stories in it.

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