Can't Expect the World to be Yours - Damian

[Nathaniel Iapux, M.D.]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,422][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://img6.imageshack.us/img6/9070/armada.gif); padding: 12px; webkit-box-shadow: 5px 5px 5px #000000; -moz-box-shadow: 5px 5px 5px #000000;] i'm the gay messiah He will then be reborn from 1980s porn wearing tubesocks with style and such an innocent smile - Better pray for your sins the gay messiah's coming It had been a while since he had left his lab, but he hadn't been infatuated with what was on the slab. It was nice to finally be free of the crushing loneliness that descended upon him every so often; he had been feeling quite low-spirited of late. Over nothing in particular, it was just a part of his condition, but he hoped a night out would help raise those spirits once more. With plenty of booze and laughter, happiness would rise up like a phoenix. Feeling the taxi slowing down, Nathaniel looked up from his flashy and fangled phone, thumb instinctively pressing down on the lock key. It took a moment for his gorgeous blue eyes to adjust to the twilight, but it wasn't long before a small, pleasant smile formed. Trying to pick out which of the regulars were standing outside, he half listened to the driver as he called out the total fare. Throwing either a ten or a twenty at the man, telling him to "Keep the change, please," Nathaniel stepped out of the black and white cab. Holding his phone, hand hanging loose by his side, he took a long breath through his nose, soaking up the clean-smelling air. His ears already rang with the chatter, laughter and bone-wrenchingly Indie music throbbing from the bar up ahead. The Circle Bar. It was his favourite watering hole in all of New Orleans, out of the way, nowhere near the Vampire District. A few patrons were buzzing around the front, smoking and talking outside; while the bar wasn't smoke free, some found it easier talking to... well, chatting up newcomers outside. It wasn't long before a few of the resident queens had spotted Nathaniel approaching, hand carefully and slowly tucking his mobile away. "Ooh, love the suit, Frankie!" chirruped one of them. That one did a particularly amazing drag act over at the Golden Lantern on Saturdays. It was so amazing that Nathaniel had allowed him to get away with calling him Frankenstein to begin with. Little did he know that Frankie would end up being the only name people called him by whenever he decided to surface. All that being said, it was a particularly nice suit if he did say so himself, an Armani white linen two-piece suit with accompanying patent leather shoes. Smoothing down his aubergine-coloured tie against his immaculate pink pinstripe shirt, Nate flashed the queen a coy smile before leaning into to kiss him lightly on both cheeks, his nose peeling the layers of perfume back like petals on a flower. "I'll see you inside, dear. What are you drinking?" Even though the only time he ever saw this bunch was when they were all out getting trashed, he would still regard them as friends... perhaps his only friends. "Afraid you'll have to look after yourself tonight, Frankie. We're off home now," he explained, smiling and leaning a little drunkenly on the shoulder of an attractive young man. "I've blagged myself a bonaroo omi-palone. Bona charver, or so my coves have cackled!" Finishing the ancient gibberish off with an overstated wink, he wheeled his catch away from Nate and went wandering off into the night, laughing as he went. Smiling as the two figures vanished into a taxi, the doctor turned about and stepped into the bar. The music was a welcome slap across the face, while the bar was full, it had been busier in the past. At least this way he could manoeuvre easily to the bar. A few minutes later he had a double gin and pineapple in his hand, watching the band draw the crowd into a gentle head bobbing, knee bouncing lull. It was only when he rubbed some sleep from his eye that he realised he had forgotten to apply what little makeup he usually wore. Rolling his eyes with a tinge of irritation, the doctor turned about and started heading for the toilets. words: 658. credit: Crayola. tags: Damian Grím. notes: It's been far too long since we last did this.

[Damian Grímur]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, height: 50px; overflow: auto; width: 400px; padding: 20px; background-color: #f6d28c; moz-box-shadow: 5px 5px 5px #000000; box-shadow: 5px 5px 5px #000000; border: 2px solid #000000;] there was frost on the ground * * when the tigers broke free DAMIAN WAS DRIVING HIS yellow Lamborghini about the streets of New Orleans. His sleek car attracted stares from both of the sexes and the young were-tiger slowed down to check out the people on the street. Some were attractive, some were not. Some looked like they were up for some sex with someone they just met, but all looked like they would say ‘I’m on the pill’ when in fact, they certainly were not. And the last thing Damian wanted was some ‘baby momma’ drama, American slang, even if Damian did have a little old operation. He did not know what he wanted only that when he found it he would know. When he was new to the area the best bars were secret and didn’t advertise in the yellow pages. The best bars were the ones you had to hunt to find. They seldom had signs. Damian had once sauntered into a lesbian bar to his embarrassment. But that was put in the past as he entertained the two women who happened to be bi-sexual in a nearby motel. Several times he had wandered into gay bars, checking the scene. The other times he had found fabulous clubs and had partied hard while having loads of sex in the bathroom. Damian was dressed in a suit by Alexander Amosu. The people who heard of him were few and far between and most certainly part of an exclusive club of being one of the richest in the world. This was not a club that ‘new money’ would ever gain entry into, no matter how many billions Gates or Steven Jobs of apple had. The suit was the most expensive in the world and there had even been a party to announce it into society, a party in an secret location. He had his father purchase it for £70K. The suit took eighty hours to complete, and each stitch cost £14 with over 5,000 stitches. The materials used to create the suit included vicuña, a rare wild South American animal that produces wool every three years. Giviuk, the world’s most expensive wool from the Arctic muskox. And of course pashmina from the high mountain plateaus of the Himalayas, one of the world’s most exclusive cloths. The buttons were real gold with nine 18-carat set diamonds. Yes, real diamonds. The ultimate luxurious suit for a most luxurious man. Who cared that the suit could feed all the homeless for the rest of their lives? Damian parked his car and entered the building. He could smell the alcohol from outside. It was obviously a bar and Damian could use a drink. He was a bit lonely and had no acquaintances. Things might be easier if he had a job. But he had no spectacular resume nor any life skills. Plus he really couldn’t be damned to work. He would find a way to buy friends and buy some … later. Glancing around the bar Damian didn’t know what to expect. The lighting was off, making his eyes need to adjust. He couldn’t tell by the current crowd what type of place this was, other than the fact that there were probably a lot of regulars and a lot of drunks, and maybe the guy over there was homeless. Damian glanced at the bar at the current patrons sitting there. He immediately judged all the men as ‘straight’ and unwilling to come home with him. He could ask and risk getting called a fruit but none of the men were attractive of those he saw. Still, he had come all this way. He could wet his mouth with a few drinks before hopping a bar with more women and attractive men. He took a seat in a booth and looked at a paper with some drinks on it, no prices.