Upon Grrlhavoc's request, this is Chapter 3 (Approxiamately) of The Adventures of The Bionic Femme, the collection of fictional short stories that I am working on. This is what my book will be like. It's long, but bear with me!
Chapter 3: Cybernetic Espionage
It seems that I have been 20 years old for 800 years, and that for at least 799 of those years, I have yearned to be 21 so that I could go and dance at a place that actually ISNT Faith, San Franciscos only 18 and up gay/lesbian nightclub. Each Thursday night, the gaggle of girls that enter get younger, and more immature. Besides, the fact that I met my most recent unstable ex-girlfriend at Faith is enough to make me think twice about ever dating a girl from that club again. Yes, the Karma Gods owe me much more than a vibrator and broken dreams; they owe me a girl who washes her hands after using the bathroom.
Ever since I broke up with Natalie, I developed a devil-may-care attitude and have done everything I ever wanted to do under the pseudonym of Veronica Woods, Bionic Femme at large. Veronica is sophisticated, charming, sensuous, conflicted, and above all 21 years of age.
I would never be able to make it into a 21 and up club, but Veronica could, hands down. I decided last Saturday that I would use the power of the Bionic Femme (which is not unlike that of Jedi Mind Control) to enter Club Q, San Franciscos premiere lesbian nightclub. I would be like a very gay debutante. It was time to come into full bloom in the lesbian society. And as I heard a very animated gay man say once, You aint a real showgirl until you shit glitter.
I adorned myself with loads of make-up, cloaked myself entirely in black (determined to be the mysterious dark horse in the runnings all of the girls would be RAVING about) and drilled myself with questions the bouncer might ask me about my close friends expired I.D. Above all, I obtained green contacts to match my friends physical description, adamant that cybernetic espionage was the only way to go.
I got to the club quite early, so that if I was turned down, no hot, cool women would laugh at me. I approached the door. Two men and two women who were larger than the men guarded my path.
Hey there! Youre our first customer! You get free liquor! one of the men cheered.
Oh wow! Thats great. I said, trying hard not to burst out laughing at the irony of the situation.
We justneed to see your ID The other man said sternly. I felt like waving my hand in the air in a half-circle, gently whispering, You dont NEED to see my I.D. A la obi-Wan Kenobe, but I realized that would be just another case of me mistaking fantasy for reality. I swallowed hard and gave him my I.D.
You know whats funny? This doesnt look like you at all. He said.
WellI have put on some weight I muttered sadly. I lowered my head to feign regret and allude to an imaginary past concerning an eating disorder that only really beautiful girls from suburbia have.
What is your middle name? He asked.
Why, its Annemarie. I said.
What is your zip code?
92260.
And your star sign?
Ima Gemini. I shot back, smiling.
Thats all good and wonderful, but your I.D. has been expired for 2 years. He was a cool one, alright.
Wellmy wallet was stolen yesterday and Im using this for all identification purposes. I kept a straight face. Always remember; if you are going to sneak into a gay bar, keep a straight face.
He looked at me, matched up my artificially green eyes with those on the I.D., overlooking the steep black vinyl heels I stood shakily on. The two women, whom I will refer to as Ogress A and Ogress B gave him a look that said, For the love of God, let the babydyke in. and so he complied as I dashed past my sentinels with glee.
Sure enough, I found all the glitz and glam I could have ever hoped for, lost in awe at a Studio 54 awashed in mass amounts of Estrogen. Ogress A and Ogress B would periodically come to flirt with me, protecting the small vessel that floated past dark and of age waters. A little vessel. I got Bionic a few times and hit on the prettiest girls in the club, told them their dance moves were superb. Veronica Woods was a sexy, whackass James Bond, she knew all the right things to say and all the right ways to stand on a dance floor that presented her with women who danced much like apes wiping their buttocks with leaves.
Jo and Fran, two of Natalies best friends, approached me. Jo, the Natalie clone, gave me a hug.
What are you doing here? She said.
Just checking out the scene. I like this place. I said.
Natalie was going to come with us but went to The Savoy with some blonde girl.
Right. Well, thats wonderful. Yeah. I said. Fran flanked me, gave me a shoddy hug. Her Mohawk looked terrible with her face structure, her elongated beak-nose. It made her look like a rooster.
You knowSabrina said she was coming tonight. Actually, I think she might be here right now. She grinned.
Great. Well, Why dont you go hang out with her? Im sure she would appreciate your company more than I do. I said. I turned, coolly femme, and walked off.
Sabrina was the girl Natalie had kept me a secret from for four months. I was ready to get kicked out of the only club Id ever snuck into, I imagined myself gloriously smashing a whisky bottle over the bar counter and waving the shards menacingly at her pretty German face. I scanned the area, and every beautiful woman in the place was my enemy.
*Three Hours Later*
LAST CALL. The bartender shouted. The last of the ape-leaf-wiping women stumbled off the dancefloor with hickeys and numbers written on the back of their sweaty, well-rehearsed hands. I tossed down a White Russian, intent on encountering my nemesis some day.
The new mission became clear: I would become beautiful, like Kali, so much so that I would destroy the world.
Chapter 3: Cybernetic Espionage
It seems that I have been 20 years old for 800 years, and that for at least 799 of those years, I have yearned to be 21 so that I could go and dance at a place that actually ISNT Faith, San Franciscos only 18 and up gay/lesbian nightclub. Each Thursday night, the gaggle of girls that enter get younger, and more immature. Besides, the fact that I met my most recent unstable ex-girlfriend at Faith is enough to make me think twice about ever dating a girl from that club again. Yes, the Karma Gods owe me much more than a vibrator and broken dreams; they owe me a girl who washes her hands after using the bathroom.
Ever since I broke up with Natalie, I developed a devil-may-care attitude and have done everything I ever wanted to do under the pseudonym of Veronica Woods, Bionic Femme at large. Veronica is sophisticated, charming, sensuous, conflicted, and above all 21 years of age.
I would never be able to make it into a 21 and up club, but Veronica could, hands down. I decided last Saturday that I would use the power of the Bionic Femme (which is not unlike that of Jedi Mind Control) to enter Club Q, San Franciscos premiere lesbian nightclub. I would be like a very gay debutante. It was time to come into full bloom in the lesbian society. And as I heard a very animated gay man say once, You aint a real showgirl until you shit glitter.
I adorned myself with loads of make-up, cloaked myself entirely in black (determined to be the mysterious dark horse in the runnings all of the girls would be RAVING about) and drilled myself with questions the bouncer might ask me about my close friends expired I.D. Above all, I obtained green contacts to match my friends physical description, adamant that cybernetic espionage was the only way to go.
I got to the club quite early, so that if I was turned down, no hot, cool women would laugh at me. I approached the door. Two men and two women who were larger than the men guarded my path.
Hey there! Youre our first customer! You get free liquor! one of the men cheered.
Oh wow! Thats great. I said, trying hard not to burst out laughing at the irony of the situation.
We justneed to see your ID The other man said sternly. I felt like waving my hand in the air in a half-circle, gently whispering, You dont NEED to see my I.D. A la obi-Wan Kenobe, but I realized that would be just another case of me mistaking fantasy for reality. I swallowed hard and gave him my I.D.
You know whats funny? This doesnt look like you at all. He said.
WellI have put on some weight I muttered sadly. I lowered my head to feign regret and allude to an imaginary past concerning an eating disorder that only really beautiful girls from suburbia have.
What is your middle name? He asked.
Why, its Annemarie. I said.
What is your zip code?
92260.
And your star sign?
Ima Gemini. I shot back, smiling.
Thats all good and wonderful, but your I.D. has been expired for 2 years. He was a cool one, alright.
Wellmy wallet was stolen yesterday and Im using this for all identification purposes. I kept a straight face. Always remember; if you are going to sneak into a gay bar, keep a straight face.
He looked at me, matched up my artificially green eyes with those on the I.D., overlooking the steep black vinyl heels I stood shakily on. The two women, whom I will refer to as Ogress A and Ogress B gave him a look that said, For the love of God, let the babydyke in. and so he complied as I dashed past my sentinels with glee.
Sure enough, I found all the glitz and glam I could have ever hoped for, lost in awe at a Studio 54 awashed in mass amounts of Estrogen. Ogress A and Ogress B would periodically come to flirt with me, protecting the small vessel that floated past dark and of age waters. A little vessel. I got Bionic a few times and hit on the prettiest girls in the club, told them their dance moves were superb. Veronica Woods was a sexy, whackass James Bond, she knew all the right things to say and all the right ways to stand on a dance floor that presented her with women who danced much like apes wiping their buttocks with leaves.
Jo and Fran, two of Natalies best friends, approached me. Jo, the Natalie clone, gave me a hug.
What are you doing here? She said.
Just checking out the scene. I like this place. I said.
Natalie was going to come with us but went to The Savoy with some blonde girl.
Right. Well, thats wonderful. Yeah. I said. Fran flanked me, gave me a shoddy hug. Her Mohawk looked terrible with her face structure, her elongated beak-nose. It made her look like a rooster.
You knowSabrina said she was coming tonight. Actually, I think she might be here right now. She grinned.
Great. Well, Why dont you go hang out with her? Im sure she would appreciate your company more than I do. I said. I turned, coolly femme, and walked off.
Sabrina was the girl Natalie had kept me a secret from for four months. I was ready to get kicked out of the only club Id ever snuck into, I imagined myself gloriously smashing a whisky bottle over the bar counter and waving the shards menacingly at her pretty German face. I scanned the area, and every beautiful woman in the place was my enemy.
*Three Hours Later*
LAST CALL. The bartender shouted. The last of the ape-leaf-wiping women stumbled off the dancefloor with hickeys and numbers written on the back of their sweaty, well-rehearsed hands. I tossed down a White Russian, intent on encountering my nemesis some day.
The new mission became clear: I would become beautiful, like Kali, so much so that I would destroy the world.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
cool story