The buzz of the house built as the perscribed time crept closer. Metkat stood at the stove cooking his famous meat. Clash prepped the coffee. Amy took care of french toast, hot chocolate, and busciuts.
Watching the bustle of the homemates around me, I felt the need to assist. Amy put me in charge of pretty. As things finished cooking/baking/brewing, I sat them out on the tables in a neat and logical order.
Our first arrival was Kilawama; he brought fruit. A lot of fruit: multiple melons and bunches of berries. They were washed off, placed in bowls, and I found a spot for each sweet treat amongst the spread.
Next was a friend with cookies. And then a few more people, a few more food items, and a few more names. Within an hour, the house swelled from four to a dozen, everyone hungry for food and company.
We ate Metkat’s meat. We drank Amy’s hot chocolate and Clash’s coffee. We sat and chatted. Eventually, the suggestion was made to transition out onto the back porch. Also the not-at-all-subtle hint was dropped by Amy that she wanted to watch me give cigar service. I ran up to my borrowed room, grabbed my kit, and scurried back to the group.
Out on the porch, we settled into chairs in an amorphic circle. I sat between Kilawama and Clash, with Keet, a late arrival, on Clash’s lap.
Now, with everyone newly assembled, there was the question of who. To whom would I provide cigar service? To be honest, I sat in between three people I found highly attractive. Luckily, one of them was chosen.
I stood up, took off my jacket, and laid it at Kilawama’s feet. Cigar kit in my hands, I knealt down and presented my selection of tobacco for his chosing.
As he looked through the few sticks I had, we made a fun discovery. NYRCherryBoundage had previously mistakenly purchased a cigar with the note Habe en Cuba on it. It turned out, she had not purchased one of those cigars, but two. This was the cigar Kilawama chose.
I prepped the stick using my Hot Ash cutter and presented the tobacco to him. As he smoked and I served, I introduced a few nuggets of information for his knowledge. I spoke about ashing into one’s hand or into another’s mouth. I suggested blowing smoke into my hair, one of my favorite activites in cigar play. He gave me the privelage of both eating ash out of his hand and feeling his smoke in my strands. People delighted in the display.
As conversation picked back up, Paradise was on everyone’s mind. Paradise is a local camping event held every year in Seattle as a fund raiser for the Center for Sex Positive Culture. Most of the people sitting on the porch were going to the event.
It was my plan to day pass on Tuesday and Wednesday. Seeing as I had no place to lay my head, I was going to drive out both days and come back to the city each night.
My plan was altered by two gracious gestures. Kilawama owned a rather large tent and an extra air mattress. He offered up his space for me to sleep. Keet planned to leave for the event on Tuesday morning; she offered me a ride to the camp grounds.
Amy, the person whose car I was going to borrow, had no problem with me borrowing her car less. She would pick me up for the airport for my flight home Wednesday night.
The plan was set. I was going to spend a day and a half in Paradise.
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