Tales from the Leather Dungeon 2

(There’s some intellectual kinky shit going on around here that will blow back your sovereign mind. I just peeped that right out in the open, girl. I’ll get back to that.)          
            
The world as I knew it was slipping into unfamiliar territory that no academic curriculum in the world could have prepared for me. Theoretical can attest to being spoiled by those insular communities with the abundance of perception affording personal growth and the older women who spoiled; ruined my taste buds; making them a tough act to follow and me virtually undatable yet uncertainty was still hitting certain places up.
 
Mindless was hearing about engineers unable to secure employment, faces we were used to seeing were emptying crowds; evaporating into a figment of surrealism; twinging grief. Disbelief was aching in new places like a pinwheel cracked soul peering through its opening for air to breathe us back into the urban renewal for space: alive; steel and concrete doors and windows sunken by brick and glass structures with curtain walls; German buildings in Spain: the movie marquee cueing us in on the story plot.              
           
So basically, this baldhead bitch was tripping all over my ass, naïve graduate student with my mind on my business and she was the fallout; inviting me places just to abuse: ignore: bum rush me. “I came over to get ya because I knew you were never gonna recognize me without my hair.” Now, the location was more disturbing than what transpired due to the nature of its history but making the most of those nights entailed bonding with gay men. Consequently, that’s how my custom outfits came about to indulge the leather bars.        
           
Now out of everything unfavorable; generally, comes its own relief or accentuation and that’s the morale of this one.