Gasparilla nights -- Ellie's song  

Her tongue and clit were both pierced,    
and by the end of our three-night stand,    
I knew why.    
   
I went to stay with    
my bestie for the    
Gasparilla Festival.
   
My bestie did hair
and makeup at the time
for drag mothers    
and I’m an Amazonian.    
He thought he could    
drag me out enough    
I could pass.    
   
As woman dressed as
a man dressed
as a beautiful woman.    
   
So there we were,    
coming out of a dance club    
where the techno made my    
teeth rattle,    
and I ground    
my ass against    
confused dicks and chicks alike,    
throwing drinks back    
throwing my arms up    
throwing it all away    
because why the fuck not    
when you’re young    
   
My bestie and I giggle-staggered    
down the packed street    
when she called out    
“Hey, girl, you want a hit.”    
   
I stopped.    
Filled with the    
prospect of intentional bad decisions,    
I stopped, because she’d called    
me out for what I was.    
   
She was holding a joint in her    
right hand, her left hand in her pocket,    
and she exhaled a smoke circle    
as she took in my gladiator platform heels    
dance shorts    
and halter top.    
Her eyes paused a moment    
at the trails of glitter    
along my stomach,    
and the little daisy charm    
dangling on my belly ring    
   
I liked the game.    
I liked kissing girls with    
soft lips in bars for attention.    
I liked leaning down and    
biting an earlobe    
before we both went    
back and got some extra good    
dick    
   
And I liked that this hardcore    
dyke    
wanted to play with me.    
So I was going to    
play with her a little    
and hopefully pick    
up a boy before the night    
was over.    
   
Her name was Ellie.    
   
My name was fucked.    
   
Ellie was short,    
blonde,    
her hair in a gel-spiked pixy,    
wearing loose jeans    
and a button up man’s shirt,    
tucked in with a belt.    
She had a tattoo of    
a dragon on her forearm    
and she wore    
North Face hiking shoes.    
   
I reached out to take the joint,    
but she put it in her mouth,    
inhaled deeply,    
and pulled me to her by my hair    
and shotgunned the smoke.    
   
Our lips didn’t touch, but I could    
feel something shift in her smirk.    
Ellie passed the joint to me,    
and motioned for me to    
take a hit.    
   
It went down wrong,    
I stood there coughing like a noob,    
so she took the joint back and said,      
“I’d tie you to a chair    
and lick you until you screamed”    
   
She went to the next bar with us    
and I was showing off like    
a little pick-me bitch    
throwing drinks back    
throwing my arms up    
throwing it all away    
because why the fuck not    
when you’re young    
   
My bestie found a boy and left.    
So Ellie took me home.    
   
I still get high thinking    
about the way she didn’t go right for it    
didn’t dive right to the man-zone of    
tits-ass-cunt    
she drove me out of my goddam mind    
finding erogenous zones that    
hadn’t been invented.    
   
I still get high thinking    
about how she smelled    
like Drakkar, but felt    
like my own skin.    
   
I still think of the way she    
showed me how to    
ask for what I wanted    
… right there…    
… right there…    
… a little softer…    
and I can taste the pungent    
combination of weed    
and    
her.    
   
After the long weekend    
I went back home    
and she promised to call.    
   
But she never did.    
   
I like to think she’s    
still somewhere with that    
fucking swagger and a blunt,    
calling out    
“Hey, girl, you want a hit.”    
   
   
"Hey girl."    
   
   
Hey.