Tag: alcohol

Indigo Took a Baggie in Ibiza

Recap:  Indigo was picked up by Colombian drug traffickers after he abandoned the cruise ship and stole a life boat.  He had a choice between being fed to the sharks, or serving as a drug mule.  Of course, he chose the later, seeing as how it meant free drugs and a free ride to Ibiza.  He landed in Ibiza and waltzed past harbor security with a suitcase full of blow, looking like Naomi Campbell strutting into a diamond mine…

As soon as Indigo had made the transaction (aka drug deal) and had received his cold, hard-earned payout (and, of course, after powdering his nose in the men’s room), he thought of the most expensive, posh hotel he could think of in Ibiza.  Indigo had one of the waitresses at the cafe call him a car, and made his way to the Sir Joan Hotel, a five-star luxury hotel, where he booked a master suite for the next four nights and paid in full, using cold, hard, drug-cash. He’d never been in such a luxurious establishment before… he felt so posh it was almost like he was in a dream…he felt like Posh Spice, actually.  He just needed some platforms and a bob.

After checking into his hotel room, he proceeded to call room service and order (and subsequently guzzle-down) a bottle of the finest champagne.  He then took a 15 minute power nap, and when he woke up, he snorted a couple of lines in order to wake up more fully.  He couldn’t possibly go out in Ibiza wearing the Bermuda shorts he’d borrowed from Fernando, and so he had the concierge order another car to take him shopping. If you’re wondering where his newfound wealth came from, let’s just say he got compensated very well for the drug transaction, darling!  But don’t ask how much he made… that’s just uncouth. Let’s just say it’s enough to afford a luxury hotel suite for four nights, and have a little left over spending money for shopping and ecstasy.

Indigo bought some white linen tunics with embroidered yokes,  and the tiniest denim cut-offs he could find…. his legs did look great after all, from days of not eating. He also bought some leather, Italian-crafted booties, Gucci sunglasses and some leather jewelry to adorn his tiny, emaciated wrists.  He felt like a million dollars once he was fully dressed, and he was ready to have some fucking fun.  Indigo gave himself a once-over in the mirror of his hotel room, snorted a few more lines for good measure, and then headed downstairs to the hotel’s bar/lounge area where he proceeded to park himself in front of the bar, making eyes at any man, woman, or child he thought might buy him a cocktail.

No one was taking the bait, or the queer bait for that matter, and so he bought himself a glass of champagne, and asked the bartender for a pickle back after he finished the champagne in three gulps.  The bartender didn’t know what a pickle back was, and so Indigo had to explain it’s when you do a shot of whisky and wash it down with a shot of pickle juice to get rid of the aftertaste.  The bartender had to send the bar back to the kitchen to ask the chef for pickle juice since no one had ever requested such a drink before in this establishment.   Indigo was getting bored of the hotel bar – it was mostly rich older couples, a handful of younger couples on their honeymoon, and a few families eating dinner at the tables near the windows…. AKA BORING AS FUCK.   Since he had no phone, he couldn’t even get on Grindr.  Indigo decided now was a good time to bounce, and so he asked for his check. When the bartender turned his back to print it, Inidigo sprinted right out of there as fast as he could and out of the hotel’s main doors into the night.  He was far too beautiful to be spending money on his own drinks.  Fuck it.

Indigo hailed a cab and went to Amnesia.  There was a line of botoxed posers and anorexic model-wannabes waiting to get in outside, but Indigo didn’t do lines (apart from the white stuff), and so he sashayed straight to the doorman to work his magic charm.  Indigo looked pretty fucking hot in his daisy dukes and tunic, and he slipped the doorman a lil’ baggie of blow when he shook his hand.  The doorman let Indigo right in, no questions asked.  He turned around to acknowledge the losers still waiting in line, and strutted his tiny ass through the entrance.

Once inside the club, he scoped out the scene… when who should he spot but Lily Von Fustenburg!  His arch nemesis – also the one woman Indigo went straight for.  He had loved this woman for the past 10 years that he knew her, but she had rejected him in the most public of ways after a year of casual sex.  Lily was a trust fund baby who had been cut off of her family fortune due to her rampant drug use, multiple stints in rehab, terrible public behavior that had been documented repeatedly by Page Six, and multiple arrests (including, but not limited to, shoplifting, drug possession, DUIs… you name it). Lily was rolling ballz and also spotted Indigo.  She made a wobbly beeline through the crowd to him, her eyes flitting back into their sockets, and a permanent smile plastered across her face.  God, she was hot.  She was bleach blonde and about 90 lbs., wearing black denim cut-offs, platform boots, and a sheer crop top.  She was the most perfect woman Indigo had ever had the pleasure of meeting – and right now, she was higher than a fucking kite.

Lily screamed above the thumping bass, “Oh FUCK ME RUNNING!  You dirt-bag! A) What the fuck are you doing HERE, and B) Give me all the drugs!”  Indigo was swept off of his feet, yet again. His knees went week and his stomach got butterflies as his heart raced and his palms began to sweat. How could one woman be so perfect? He emptied his pockets and handed over two vials of blow to Lily’s waiting hands. He would walk across hot coals for this woman…fuck, he would go sober for this woman.  He would hold down a 9-5 job if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with this woman!

The last time Indigo had seen Lily, they’d had a marvelous night on the town, ending in the bathroom stall at Tao.  Lily was going down on Indigo, when the stall door flew open. “Holy shit!  Indigo?!”  A scrawny Guatemalan boy stood in the door way, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Raymundo!!!! I thought you were working tonight!”  Indigo exclaimed. Lily stopped what she was doing and recoiled.  This was the last fucking straw.  She wasn’t about to be Indigo’s fag hag.  “You’re fucking the Guatemalan busser from Delicatessen?  Dude, I know he gives you the best blow, and possibly blow jobs, but I don’t want to be your fag hag.  I’m fucking done!  This is it.”  Lily got off her bony knees and marched out.  Indigo stood there with his 9-inch rod fully exposed, his size 0 leather pants around his ankles (side note: Indigo is very well-endowed and known to be a very generous lay… in case you’re wondering and in the market).  Indigo was in shock.  His heart shattered into a million pieces.  Meanwhile, Raymundo had gotten down on his knees and proceeded to gargle Indigo’s member.  Indigo disassociated.

Indigo had went home with Raymundo that night after several more lychee martinis.  He blacked out, HARD, and may or may have not been sexually assaulted.  He woke up the next day in Raymundo’s top bunk bed, in a 6-story East Village walk-up with no AC, sweating like a whore in church, coming down from the blow, hungover from the martinis, and in the midst of a serious panic attack, wondering where he went wrong and wishing last night had never happened.  He called Lily later that day, but she had blocked him on her phone and all social media.  He sent an apologetic email, professing his love for her, and letting her know Raymundo meant nothing to him – he was only in it for the coke.  Lily never answered his email.  This was two years ago… they hadn’t spoken or seen each other since. Until this night…

Indigo embraced Lily in a warm bear-hug and kissed her forehead tenderly.  She smelled of expensive perfume (Acqua di Parma, Oud), cocaine, and stale cigarette smoke.  “Lily, do you have any more pills?  I need to catch up to you and your friend there.”  Lily was swaying, arm-in-arm with a dapper looking gentleman who must have been about 60, with salt-and-pepper hair, and a Patek Philippe watch – he was also rolling ballz. This time, it was Lily’s turn to empty her pockets and hand over the drugs.  She gave Indigo a large pressed pill, which he swallowed whole and washed down with a sip of her margarita.

Indigo blacked out momentarily and the next thing he knew, they were all naked in a hot tub – on a yacht.  The yacht belonged to the older gentleman who was with Lily – a Spanish real estate tycoon named Rodrigo Espinoza IV.  They were all still rolling ballz when Rodrigo hopped out of the hot tub and said he was going to the bar to get them all drinks.  Indigo had to use the bathroom, and so he hopped out of the hot tub as well and followed Rodrigo inside.  The bathroom was adjacent to the bar, and when Indigo came out of the bathroom, he saw Rodrigo still standing at the bar.  He watched silently as Rodrigo dropped something into one of the drink glasses.

Sure, he and Lily weren’t as close as they once were, but he certainly couldn’t sit around and watch the love of his life get roofied by this douche bag.  He quickly hatched a plan.  Indigo stepped out of the bathroom doorway.  “Hey, Rodrigo! How those drinks coming?”  Rodrigo handed Indigo a drink, and said “here, help me carry these.”  Indigo made sure to keep his eye on the drink that had been roofied, as fucked up as he was, he wasn’t fucking around.

When they got back to the hot tub and into the water again, Rodrigo handed Lily the drink that was in his left hand.  Lily took one sip and set it in the corner drink-holder. Indigo waited until the moment was right, and quickly swapped his drink with Lily’s.  He downed the roofied drink as fast as he could…. he had to take one for the team tonight.  He didn’t mind, he’d been roofied twice before – once by some bear at a gay bar, and another time, voluntarily by himself, just for fun.  After 30 minutes had passed, Indigo started to feel very, very, EXTREMELY relaxed.  More relaxed than he’d felt rolling balls.

He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the water.  His muscles relaxed, his brain stopped thinking coherent thoughts.  Suddenly, Lily was slapping his cheek, “Indigo, INDIGO, What the Fuck?!  Wake up dude!”  Indigo just barely opened his eyes and gave a crooked, half-smile, “I saved you bitch,” he slurred.  He couldn’t wake up, even though he tried… and he felt FAN- fucking-tastic!!!  He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed and stress-free.  Rodrigo chuckled nervously at the sight of Indigo, who was at this point, clearly under the influence of the GHB he intended to drug Lily with. “Wow, your friend is a regular Lindsay Lohan, huh? A real piece of work!” Rodrigo said, before excusing himself to the bathroom.  Now, Lily was super embarrassed – Indigo was about to blow her chance and therefore also blow her future with this billionaire/next meal-ticket.

Once Rodrigo had disappeared inside, Lily slapped Indigo hard across the face: “WAKE THE FUCK UP!” Nothing could be done now though… Indigo was fucking dead (hypothetically speaking of course).  Lily was beyond frustrated, but also slightly worried for him.  After all, they’d taken the same pills and the same amount of drugs, or so she thought… unless of course he was holding out on her, and had a secret stash, and had taken more drugs without her (in which case, she decided she would fucking kill him – “sharing is caring” – am I right???). When Rodrigo returned to the hot tub, Lily tried to save the situation as best she could, and informed him that Indigo wasn’t ‘feeling well,’ and asked him to help her get Indigo into a cabin for bed.  Together, they hoisted Indigo’s emaciated, tanned, glorious frame out of the water and carried him into a bedroom.  Lily decided it was best that she spend the night in Indigo’s cabin, to keep an eye on him….even though she wanted to raw-dog Rodrigo and risk getting prego.  She knew in her heart that this was the end of any future she might have had with Rodrigo, since he wasn’t getting laid and therefore would give her the cold shoulder tomorrow, but her friend was more important.

Indigo woke up the next afternoon around 3pm, groggy as fuck. He didn’t remember anything apart from seeing Rodrigo spike Lily’s drink and making the executive decision to drink it before she could.  Lily was already up and dressed when Indigo walked out of his cabin onto the deck.  Hell truly hath no fury like a woman’s scorn – Lily looked furious, and grabbed him by the arm as soon as she saw him: “We need to talk” she said, as she hauled him down the stairs into another cabin.  “You FUCKING blew my chances with Rodrigo!  I was going to get pregnant last night and become a lady-who-lunches, and never worry about how I’d afford drugs, EVER AGAIN!!! AND NOW THAT DREAM IS DEAD!!! YOU FUCKING BLEW IT!  I was supposed to be the one doing the blowing! WTF happened to you?!”

“Lily – I SAVED YOU!  I watched that geriatric, FUGLY, Spaniard douche-HOLE spike the drink he gave to YOU with GHB – so I switched our drinks so you didn’t get assaulted.”

“Well what if I WANTED to be drugged?  Did you ever think of that?!” Lily screamed.

“You know what?! FUCK YOU.  I’m sorry I tried to help you – clearly you don’t want to be helped.  That’s why you’re a fucking 90 lb coke whore who got cut off her inheritance and now spends her days peddling coochie on yachts in return for fancy meals that you THROW UP and drugs.  Don’t talk to me anymore… I’m done with you.  I should have been done with you a long time ago.”  Indigo stormed off into his cabin.  It was only another 18 hours before they were set to arrive in Mykonos.  He could do this.  He just needed some more drugs and booze.

Indigo stormed off to the bathroom.  He was out of drugs, having given his coke to Lily the previous night.  He HAD to find something… anything, or he wasn’t making to Mykonos in one piece.  He knew on a yacht this grandiose, some dumb yacht whore must have stashed something SOMEWHERE.  He frantically searched the bathroom and found a baggie of four xanax in the medicine cabinet. BINGO!  It was gonna be smooth sailing from here on out.  Indigo put the pills in his pocket, and went to the bar where he proceeded to order a Johnny Walker Black Label, neat.  He threw all four pills in his mouth, took a big swig of his drink and that was that my friend!

Indigo started to feel pretty fucking good.  He went back to his cabin in a state of total relaxation and bliss.  He didn’t a fuck about anything – life was beautiful and nothing mattered.  He stripped naked, and got down on the plush carpet of the cabin floor.  Ahhh… it felt so good against his naked thighs and ballsack.  This was bliss.  He fell fast asleep, face-down on the carpet and slept in dreamless state for the next 18 hours.

 

 

Indigo Wren: At Sea

When we last left our boy Indigo, he was drifting out to sea off of the coast of Tulum, on a hand-made raft, with a Corona in hand (even though beer makes him bloated, and he would have preferred a cocktail), singing Jeff Buckley’s “Lilac Wine.”  If you’ll recall, earlier that morning, Indigo awoke naked, alone and afraid on the beach after a 3-day bender, not knowing  whether or not he had been sexually assaulted or quite how he had ended up on the beach. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened though, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

The prior night, he had pulled a “Johnny Depp,” wherein he had smashed a champagne bottle on purpose, cut himself in the process, and wrote on the bathroom mirror of the club bathroom (in his own blood), “YOU LET BILLY BOB FUCK YOU!”,  in reference to his ex-boyfriend (whom he happened to run into in the bathroom that night and whom had sparked this fit of rage/emotional breakdown).

Anyhow, it’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life… and INDIGO IS FEELING GOOD, albeit a bit hungover. He’s feeling great – actually.  You know why?  He just discovered two grams of blow in his sock (that was the only item of clothing still on his body when he woke up earlier) that he forgot he had stolen from his friend the night before!  Indigo is basically all set for whatever life throws at him now (or at least until the coke runs out and he crashes in a most epic way).  Nothing could bring him down! Nothing of course except for his feelings of guilt, remorse, worthlessness, and despair over being 52 years of age and having no job, no money, no home, no friends, and barely any family. But who fucking cares about any of that nonsense when there are lines to be done?!

He didn’t have any straws or bills handy (obviously… he IS poor and almost naked), so he had to do bumps off of his hand. After the first couple of bumps, he rides that 15 minute high for all it’s worth, before deciding he needs a couple more. Indigo doesn’t stop doing bumps until his front teeth and nose are numb and his heart is beating life a jack rabbit trying to out-run a fox.  Fucking vicious cycle, coke: you can never get enough once you start, and you’ll do every last bit once you have it.

Indigo knows that he has slowly been killing himself for years.  Between the anorexia, binge-drinking, drug-doing, not-sleeping and level of stress he’s been running on, the prognosis for his future is no bueno.  But what else is there to do?  It’s a dog-eat-dog world, baby, and we’re all gonna die anyhow.  Even the richest, smartest, prettiest, thinnest, and most loved people will all end up 6 feet under in the end… so why not have some temporary, feel-good fun when they opportunity presents itself?

Please don’t think too poorly of him though – Indigo wasn’t always this way.  For a while, in his late twenties, he was able to keep his shit together to some extent and maintain some level of dignity.  But, it’s a hard-knock life when no one loves you, you’re a freak of nature who may, or may not, have mild Asperger’s syndrome, un-diagnosed ADHD, insomnia, anorexia, and addiction issues – most of which are the result of being abused as a child and abandoned by those you counted on the most… but I digress. Life isn’t kind to fragile things, and Indigo was a fragile thing. But enough of that – this is getting way too personal for Indigo.

After the first gram of blow disappeared up his nose, Indigo feared for his life, as his heart raced faster and faster, his palms began to sweat, and he couldn’t think in a coherent train of thought for more than 5 seconds.  He began to panic when he realized he had no cell phone, and no one around to hear his cry for help if he was, in fact, in the midst of a heart attack. He was now 3 miles off the coast of Tulum on a homemade raft.  He didn’t know what else to do at this point… so he did more coke.

Boredom was getting the best of him – the idle mind is truly the Devil’s playground, especially for a junkie. As he spiraled deeper into his coke high, he began to focus on terrible things – things he couldn’t change or control, things from the past, present, and the future: the last 10 lbs he just couldn’t lose, no matter how much he starved himself, the ex-boyfriend he couldn’t make love him or be faithful to him, no matter how perfect he tried to be, the jobs he couldn’t keep, because he just didn’t give a fuck enough to go to work in the morning, the parents who were getting older and in a nursing home which he couldn’t provide-for or be there for, all the friends and lovers he had wronged along the way, the people he had ghosted, the people who had wronged him, the lies he told, the promises he broke… the list goes on.  Indigo was broken on the inside, and no amount of coke was going to fix that; neither was any amount of alcohol, vacation, weight loss, plastic surgery, or money.  He was a lost cause – a shell of a human with only a rotting, remnant of a soul in the cavern of his dark heart. Hopeless and alone.

But the world keeps turning, and, for now, he was stuck on that raft, alone and adrift at sea. A metaphor for his entire life really.

Night fell, the coke was gone, and Indigo was coming down HARD.  He was crying and singing “On My Own” from Les Miserables, considering throwing himself to the sharks, when he saw a light on the horizon in the distance.  He liked to imagine himself a young Eponine from Les Mis – eternally wallowing in unrequited love.  Anyhow, he felt like he was about to die of despair, or of the coke sweats, when he saw a light on the horizon.  A cruise ship!  He waited to see which way the ship was headed – no point in screaming if it wasn’t coming towards him.

Alas, it was coming towards him! The lights were getting brighter, and bigger! The ship was slowly coming into view.  This was his chance at salvation! He began to scream over the waves, “HELP!  HELP ME!”   By now, he was delusional, mind-fucked in a bad way, and totally regretting his decision to sail out to sea alone. He realized he didn’t actually want to die – he wanted to live, and he needed help. He needed a LOT of help.

The boat came closer and closer, and his screams and pleas for help became more and more frantic. Someone on deck spotted him and rang the bell for help.  A lifesaver was tossed overboard in his direction, and he abandoned his homemade raft and swam towards it with all his remaining willpower.

They hoisted Indigo up to deck, all 130 lbs. of his 6’1″ frame, once he was safely in the lifesaver. He was dehydrated as fuck, delusional, still coming down from the blow, sun burnt, and emaciated.  Despite the fact that everyone around him was worried about his health and well-being, having just been rescued at sea, he felt pretty sexy.  He was so thin and beautiful from the dehydration that he almost didn’t want to drink the water they offered him, for fear of enshrouding his jutting hip bones and clavicle in a layer of water retention.  He resisted at first, but they insisted he go to the ship’s medical center where they administered a couple of IVs and he quickly gained back the 12 lbs. in water weight that he had lost.

Anyhow, the ship he climbed aboard was headed to Miami. But Indigo hated Miami with a passion, and so he made a vow to himself to find a better ship. Fuck Miami man. The crew alerted the National Guard and the media about having found, and consequently picked up, a man floating in the Atlantic.  They supplied Indigo with a low-cost cabin and card so that he could use the ship’s dining facilities, etc..  Indigo made his way to the nicest bar he could find and stalked out a well-dressed gay couple.  That was his next meal ticket.

Indigo shimmied his way through the crowd to the handsome duo parked at the bar and introduced himself as the resident stowaway.  Obviously they loved him – who the fuck wouldn’t?!  They asked him if they could buy him a drink, and he said “yes darling, Cristal.” And so, Indigo spent the rest of the night wooing, entertaining, and serenading this gay couple with bullshit stories of his past while they supplied him with round after round of Cristal and occasional trips to the men’s room to imbibe in some blow.  Around 3 a.m., the bartender told them he had to close the bar down for the night, and the couple invited Indigo back to their suite – for a nightcap.

Once back at their luxury suite, alcohol (and the second coke comedown he was experiencing in 48 hours) overtook Indigo.  He started acting TOTALLY inappropriately, making offensive jokes about any and every minority you can think of.  When one half of the gay couple would have their back turned to him, either making another round of mixed drinks, or if one of them was in the bathroom, Indigo would make blow job gestures at the other half of the couple.  This obviously got the couple very excited and so they put on Marvin Gaye, and changed into their negligees.  At this point, Indigo woke up and smelled the coffee… he wasn’t about this life.  No fucking way.  Indigo was no one’s fucking unicorn, OK?! He was never the third party to a threesome… that shit just didn’t fly with him and he had to get the FUCK OUT.

He got very weird-ed out, and had to make an escape.  He went on a tirade  and exploded, saying “WTF?! You think I’M GAY??? I’m BI… ALRIGHT?!  ACTUALLY, I LIKE WOMEN…. YOU THINK I’M GAY??? I AM SO SO SO OFFENDED…. I am gonna be sick…”  He stormed out of the cabin and slammed the door behind him.  He honestly did feel very ill though, given the amount of booze and coke he had consumed, and he didn’t want to be alone in his delicate condition. Luckily, Indigo ran into a Filipino kitchen worker leaving the cafeteria on his way back to his cabin in steerage.  He struck up a conversation about how much he loved tonight’s Brazilian themed dinner spread, and went back to the Filipino boy’s cabin for the night.  He collapsed on the twin-size bed and broke down sobbing.  The kitchen worker rubbed his back and hugged him, trying to soothe him with words of comfort as he continued to sob and babbled on about how alone he was in this world. Eventually, he cried himself dry.  Indigo fell asleep getting spooned by the 5’2″ kitchen worker… nothing to see here folks.  He just needed a good cuddle and a good cry – sometimes we all do.

The next day, Indigo woke up alone in bed.  He looked over at the alarm clock on the night stand – 2pm.  He got out of bed and found a note that the kitchen worker had left him:

“Indigo – you are such a beautiful soul.  I enjoyed your company last night and hope you are feeling better today after a restful night of sleep.  I left some coffee in the pot for you, and some homemade honey buns.  I left you the keys to my cabin in case you want to hang out here while I’m working. Hoping I can see you later. XOXO, Fernando.”

Indigo felt ashamed and embarrassed of his drunken behavior.  He was in such a vulnerable position last night though, having not slept for two days straight and in the midst of a major comedown.  He decided Fernando could be a good person to know while on this ship, and so he decided he would see him again that night.

Indigo rifled around Fernando’s cabin, and found a couple of $20s, which he quickly pocketed.  He left the cabin wearing Fernando’s clothes – which were 3 times too small for his 6’1″ frame.  His t-shirt was up to his belly button, and the Bermuda shorts he put on were basically diaper length on his long legs.  He looked at himself in the mirror before leaving: “Damn sexy!” he said out loud, before he sashayed out of the cabin and walked upstairs to the bar on deck.

He ordered two Bloody Mary’s and a shot of vodka. No better way to start the day!  He was in vacation mode being on a cruise ship and whatnot.  After he got his swagger on, he meandered down deck to the hot tub / pool area, which full of old people and children.  He got very dirty looks from all of the parents and geriatrics …. I guess they just didn’t understand what real fashion is.

He swaggered over to the hot tub, which was full of 65-year-old white men with hair coming out of their ears and belly buttons.  “Mind if I join you boys for a soak?” Indigo said, as he lowered himself into the water.  He got a few sideways glances, and a couple of the men left the hot tub.  Indigo called over a waiter and ordered another Bloody Mary and a shot of vodka. He sunk deeper into the hot water so just his neck and head were out, relaxing in a state of complete bliss.  His eyes slowly closed… he was so relaxed…he fell fast asleep in the water.  The next thing he knew, he woke up to angry screams. His eyes jumped open to see the other men who were in the hot tub with him scrambling out.  He looked around and saw a large turd floating in the water next to him.  Oopsie… he was so relaxed he had accidentally relieved himself in the hot tub!  Indigo climbed out and looked around – everyone was staring at him with looks of disgust and anger.  A pool boy quickly walked over to Indigo and told him he was no longer welcome in the pool area.  He was too embarrassed to argue, so he wrapped a towel around his waist and left.

He decided to check out the VIP cocktail lounge, “The Captain’s Club.” Indigo still had a towel wrapped around his waist and his 3x-too-small crop top on, and he was barefoot when he sauntered into the VIP lounge.  The lounge was pretty busy with the lunch crowd when he entered; there were a lot of older women dressed in Pucci with Chanel or Birkin bags, and older gentleman wearing Gucci loafers and smart jackets.  They were all casually sipping on martinis or champagne and enjoying a gourmet meal. All eyes turned to Indigo when he walked in.  He felt like a model on the catwalk as he sashayed through the crowed of diners.

He moseyed right past the maitre d’ and belly-ed on up to the bar (literally – his bare belly was rubbing against the counter).  “May I help you sir?” said the bartender rather indignantly. “Yes, I’d like a pickle back and a Bloody Mary, extra spicy please.”  The bartender informed Indigo he could not serve him while he was barefoot and wearing a towel.  Indigo was about to open his mouth to argue, when someone tapped his shoulder.  He turned around and the maitre d’ was behind him.  “My apologies sir, but there is a strict dress code we have to enforce in the VIP lounge.  I’m afraid you must have on shoes and pants to be served or seated in here.” Now it was Indigo’s turn to become indignant.  “Are you accosting me because I am gay? Discriminating against me because of my sexual orientation?!  I’d like to speak to your manager!” Everyone had stopped eating and was staring at the scene unfolding in front of the bar.  The maitre d’ walkied for the manager, and the manager walked out of the kitchen doors and over to Indigo.  “Sir, I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience this may impose on you, but we really cannot have customers walking around barefoot and wearing towels in this area of the ship.  You’re more than welcome to go upstairs to the pool bar dressed like this, but you’re going to have to leave here until you’re dressed in proper attire.” Indigo hadn’t been this publicly shamed since the night he was turned away from 1Oak twelve years ago in front of a crowd that included Lindsay Lohan and Brandon Davis.

Indigo exploded: “You’re all fucking losers! A bunch of corporate, 9-5 assholes who don’t know what real art, fashion, fun or life actually is!  I’d show all of you mother fuckers how to have a good time – if you were worth it!  But you’re lame, boring, paid fucks who get off on money and and ugly fucking Chanel jackets.  Go cry into your piles of money – you might be wearing $2,000 jackets and carrying Birkins, but you’re old, ugly, and fucking vanilla, BITCHESSSS!”

And with that, two security guards were called and promptly escorted Indigo to a holding cell where he was locked up below deck. Indigo was pretty drunk from all of the Bloody Marys he had consumed at this point, and so he took a nap since he had nothing better to do.  He was awoken by the sound of someone calling his name, “Indigo!  Indigo!  It’s me, Fernando – they sent me down here with your dinner.  I made you some rice and beans and that feijoada you liked so much at dinner last night!”  Indigo was so happy to see little Fernando standing outside of his cell.  “Fernando!  I’m so happy to see you – you’ve got to help me get out of here – I have no idea why they locked me up!” “Oh, hunny… I hear you misbehaving very badly at the pool and in The Captain’s Lounge!  People talking…”.

“Fernando, babe, just help me get out of here… I don’t have any money, but I can give you something else 😉 “.  And so, Indigo gave Fernando a quality BJ through the bars of his cell, and in return, Fernando sneaked the key to the holding cell off of the wall in the officer’s office and released Indigo from the cell.  By now, it was midnight, and most people had retreated to their cabins. Fernando invited Indigo back to his cabin for the night.

Indigo couldn’t remain on this ship though, now that everyone was against him.  He especially couldn’t end up in Miami, which is where the ship was due to dock the next morning.  He decided his only hope was jumping ship.  And so, indigo stole a couple bottles of Vodka from Fernando’s mini fridge after Fernando was passed out on his cot. He put on another t-shirt and shorts that belonged to Fernando (again, 3x too small), and headed up to deck.  He made his way around deck to where the lifeboats where hanging, and climbed into one.  He wasn’t quite sure how to work the rigging, but luckily, he had brought along a large knife he confiscated from the kitchen.  He cut the ropes on either side and the boat smashed down about 10 feet to the water.  He was a free man again.

Indigo sailed off into the night, sipping from his bottle of Tito’s and imagining his new life in Paris… because he was determined to get there come hell or high water.