Page 77 of Nearly Roadkill
Subj:B. posts
The post I saw was this:
Yeah, I tend to hide my emotions and go for girls who wear theirs on their sleeves. ‘Men’s clothes’ are just morecomfortable for me. That doesn’t make me male, any more than straight women who started wearing pants in the ’60s were trying to be men. Too simple. The way I relate to women isn’t about conquest, or trying to dominate her (unless she wants it ::grin::), but a celebration: strong, proud butch, and strong, proud femme.
There just aren’t words yet, I think. I know, and my girlfriend knows, what we mean. But it’s hard to explain.
—Spike
Kinda got to me, know what I mean?
—Scratch
To:Scratch
From:Winc
Subj:Ohhh, If *that*’s butch…
… then I like butches. You’re kind of like that, you know? ::smiling:: Wonder what you would call yourself, if anything. ::raising a finger to your lips:: I’m not really asking. Well, maybe a little. But if you’re ready to try it out, then let me set the scene a bit:
::stepping back quickly, ze draws a hand across hir face, as though ze were lifting a veil into position. Hir features lose their focus, soften and blend. A well-practiced smile forms on hir lips, the smile of a girl who’s been around the block a few times. Her hair falls in taunting copper waves. She stands facing you, close enough to feel her breath at your shoulder. She’s tall in heels, just a bit shorter than you. She smooths out her skin-tight dress, looks up at you. When she speaks, her husky voice goes right into your heart, to a place you thought you’d walled off years ago::
“Let’s go to a Private room called Key Largo. Name the time…”
::she looks back over her shoulder::
“You know how to name the time, don’t you?”
::laughing softly::
“You put one hand *here*, and the other hand *here*. I’ll do the rest.”
::the door clicks shut behind her, the sound of her sharp stiletto heels echoes down the hall, fades away, and she’s gone::
—W.
To:Winc
From:Scratch
Subj:Key Largo
::moan:: Wow.
Um:
She glances up toward the mirror over the bar. She’s got a stern, serious face, the kind of face that looks good to a certain kind of woman. She stopped wearing anything but men’s clothes years ago; these duds fit her like a glove. Wide-brimmed hat pulled down over one eye, baggy pants that keep a lot to themselves, and two-toned shoes, her favorite pair. She sees the broad in the corner and shakes her head, grinning at the bartender. “Why didn’t you tell me she walked in the door, Jack?” The bartender shrugs and wipes a glass. “I knew you’d notice her sooner or later, pal.” In spite of her better judgment, she lifts her hat, and says in a low voice, heavily inflected with the state of New York:
“Key Largo it is, tomorrow, noon. Don’t be late.”
SCRATCH JOURNAL ENTRY CONT’D
I may not know much about tech, but I do know about old-fashioned greed, and Big Bizness is already worming their wormy ways into “the Net.” Allied Consumer Industries (ACI) is an insidious consortium of marketing companies, just as creepy as marketing groups can be. They can’t narrow down the demographic because people are being everywhere as everybody. So how do you target ads to multiple personas? People don’t want to be pinned down to any one type. My kind of people. Hee hee.
Toobe tells me that there are various mysterious announcements warning people to be on the alert for me and Winc for god’s sake. But a happy accident is that there are more than just one Scratch or Winc!
Random sample of rooms where people swear they saw them:
