A Disney Quest Part 1: Gone Phishin’

“This weekend?” I asked over the phone.

“Yeah! I just want to go to Disney,” Travis replied on the other end. “I’ve never been.”

“Well, okay then. I’ll call you later,” I responded before hanging up the phone.

I knew that I had to call my fiend Rocio immediately to see if she’d like to go also, but I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want her to go, but simply because I felt an overwhelming sense of profundity at the situation.

Travis Moore was a guy I’d met a few months previously after a very bad breakup. I really had no intent on getting involved with him when we met. It just happened organically, I guess you can say; but that’s another story and another confession. Now, almost four months in, he wanted to share his first Disney experience with me. Me! Of course, there would be two other people there (three if Rocio is game), but nonetheless, I couldn’t help feeling a sense of happiness at being wanted.

I reluctantly disturbed my afterglow and called Rocio. As I anticipated, she was ready and willing to take a weekend trip to Orlando to visit the home of the “mouse cult.” Plans being established, I had the following day to pack before a fun-filled weekend with my boyfriend, best friend and the Crackheads.

The Crackheads, or Jessica and Tim, were quasi-friends of Travis. Jessica was his co-worker at Starbucks and Tim was her quasi-boyfriend. To me, with all of the quasi-ness going on there, it was no small miracle that they could remember each other names. For Jessica and Tim, the art of remembrance was even more difficult due to their pharmaceutical pastimes. Despite that, the Crackheads were likeable enough, if you look past the lack of dental hygiene and dark, sunken eyes.

“Hey there, lil’ daddy!” Rocio exclaimed as she jumped out of her car at my house. “You ready to hit it?”

She was wearing tiny, white, terrycloth shorts, a white spaghetti-strapped tank top and running shoes. The white sunglasses perched on the top of her head contrasted sharply with her dark hair pulled back into a messy bun.

“Hey Ro,” I said as I walked down the front walkway with my bags in hand. “Let’s hit it, girl!

Rocio and I planned on meeting Travis and the Crackheads at our hotel, because neither Rocio nor I took the day off. Since Orlando was only a two hour drive away, we’d be there in more than enough time to get ready for a night of club hopping. As I hopped into the passenger’s seat, I inserted our favorite mixed CD into the player and turned up the volume. Sunglasses on and windows down, we were a strange mixture of Romy and Michelle with a little Thelma and Louise-minus the convertible.

We pulled into the parking lot of the hotel right on I-Drive. For those of you unfamiliar with the home of our lord Disney, I-Drive, or International Drive,is a tourist mecca. It’s one of the most traffic-ridden areas of Orlando and can be down right frustrating. The Crackheads booked the hotel and paid for the majority of it, so I couldn’t complain too much. Traffic wasn’t even bad that night, which made things even better. At least, it should have made things better.

It was 7:45 pm and I hadn’t spoken to Travis in over two hours, after calling to inform him of our departure from home. That isn’t to say that didn’t try to reach him-no, it’s quite the contrary. I’d been calling him every five minutes since we’d arrived in Orlando-proper to find out our room number and get a key. I was now on my thirtieth call and still no answer.

“Where the hell are they?” I asked no one in particular and more out of frustration than the need for an answer.

“I don’t know, but I want to change clothes so we can go out,” Rocio said as she put the car in park.

We both gazed out of the windshield as we waited for a call-back that seemed to be turning into a pipe dream.

“Do you know anybody who’d have Jessica’s number?” Rocio asked, having realized earlier that neither of us possessed it.

“Maybe I can call the Starbucks and see if someone I know is working. I’m sure they have it there,” I thought out loud.

I picked up my cellphone and dialed the ten digits. When it was answered on the third ring, my heart did a somersault as I recognized the voice on the other end.

“Amy, this is Curtis,” I said into the phone. “Could I get Jessica’s cell number from you?”

After a brief period of being on hold, Amy returned to the phone and relayed the correct digits to me. After wishing her a goodnight, I hung up the phone and immediately began dialing Jessica’s number. It went to voice mail after four rings and I left her a message detailing the situation and asking her or Travis to call me back so that we could meet up.

“Well, I’m not waitin’ all night for them!” Rocio exclaimed. “Let’s change right here in the parking lot!”

Under normal circumstances, changing in a parking lot would not be very high on my list of things to do. Desperate times, however, call for desperate measures and we were like two hookers with three broken legs. Throwing caution to the wind, we got out of the car and opened the back doors. After rummaging through our bags and selecting our outfits (after much pondering), we scanned the area to make sure we wouldn’t be seen. The only person we saw was a tall woman with short brown hair wearing a muscle tee walking towards the hotel’s front doors. Then we saw another woman, physically similar to the first but wearing a track suit, also heading for the hotel. Another woman appeared from behind us wearing baggy jean shorts and an oversized polo with her hair in cornrows, but she either paid us no attention at all or didn’t notice us.

“Where are they coming from and why are they all so butch?” I asked as I ducked behind the back door to take off my pants.

“I dunno. They’re like gorillas in the mist!” Rocio replied as she negotiated putting on a strapless bra while wearing her camisole.

After another ten minutes of hiding behind doors with a lot of squeezing and squirming, we both emerged completely transformed into our alter egos like a latina Wonder Woman and black Spiderman. Rocio wore a black, strapless, cocktail length dress with a very high split up the front. Her hair was now down and accented her large silver hoop earrings. She wore clear (yes clear) stilettos and deep crimson lipstick over her full lips. She always seemed to be able to pull of the look of a high-class hooker really well. I was wearing a tight, black muscle tee that zipped open across my chest, black boots and jeans that were laced from the waistband to the hem with leather cords on each side. It was sort of a punk-rock cowboy look mixed with a little dash of slutty, since the jeans didn’t allow for any underwear. All-in-all, we were a hot fag and his smokin’ hag ready to hit the streets. Just then, my phone rang.

“Hello?” I asked, not immediately recognizing the number.

“Hey! Where are you guys?” I heard Jessica’s voice say.

“Oh my god, I’ve been calling guys for hours!” I exclaimed, surprised I was so happy to her the voice of a Crackhead.

“We went to this party at the hotel and our phones got really bad service inside it,” she explained. “We’re coming out now to get you.”

“Well, we’re on our way up to the hotel, so we’ll meet you halfway,” I said and ended the call.

Once we met up with Travis and the Crackheads, we initially had to explain how we came to be fully dressed for a night of partying. After recounting our amazing parking lot quick-change, I finally went over to Travis to give him a proper hello.

“Hey, babe,” I said as I kissed him.

“Hey, yourself,” Travis answered as he pulled slightly away from me to get a good look at my ensemble. “I could get used to this”

I laughed and slapped him on the shoulder, only to receive a slap on my ass before we all began to head back towards the hotel.

“So, what is this party?” Rocio asked. “Is the hotel hosting it?”

“Yeah,” Tim the Crackhead replied. “It’s the Fish Fest.”

Rocio and I both stopped dead in our tracks

“The Fish Fest?” we both asked.

“Yeah, you’ll see. It’s in a tent around the side of the hotel,” Tim said as he led the way.

“I didn’t know seafood was so party-worthy,” I said absentmindedly to Rocio as I began to hear the beat of techno music from somewhere unseen.

Travis simply looked at me, winked and laughed.

Once we reached the tent, Rocio and I definitely did see. It wasn’t F-I-S-H-F-E-S-T. Oh, no. It was P-H-I-S-H-P-H-E-S-T! Phish Phest! As in lesbians! That explained the women from the parking lot! The four-foot tall, graffiti-styled lettering was emblazoned on a banner that hung above a large white text on the right side of the hotel. Travis and the Crackheads chuckled audibly as they saw the shocked looks on my and Rocio’s faces.


“That’s classic!” Travis said as he tried to catch his breath.

“I wish I had a camera,” Jessica the Crackhead exclaimed. “This is too funny! Wait until you go inside.”

The Crackheads entered the tent followed by a slightly dazed Rocio. Travis put his hand on the small of my back and guided me forward towards the tent’s opening.

“It’ll be fun,” he whispered in my ear. “Just go inside and you’ll see.”

I entered the tent and was immediately consumed by multicolored lights dancing over a very dim-lit interior. There were women everywhere at varying stages of life and a few men scattered around the periphery as well. There was a matronly woman standing to my left who gave me a sweet, grandmotherly smile as I entered. To my right and a little ahead, there was a girl who honestly looked like a twelve year old, dressed in black patent-leather from head to toe. As I looked around at all of the other people, I noticed that the majority of them were also dressed in leathers-patent, zippered, cowhide, laced and otherwise. Just as I was about to ask Travis the question that pushed itself to the front of my mind, my words were caught in my throat as I realized the answer lay directly ahead of me.

In the center of the tent was a smallish stage. It was similar to the typical, wood-parquet dance floor you’d find at a wedding reception, but elevated about two feet off the ground. On the stage, there was a young woman dressed in a patent-leather dress that was just long enough to brush the tops of her matching thigh-high stiletto boots. As she brandished a short whip, she walked around and in between two other people-a male and a female-who were on their hands and knees and exposing a lot of bare skin. Like an angry Caesar in some legend of old, the young woman began to whip her kneeling submissives, much to the delight of the crowd.

The crowd was evidently so delighted that the middle-aged soccer mom standing directly to my right decided to get a little action of her own. She unzipped the front of her short, black denim dress halfway to reveal a pair of breasts that had obviously seen better days. As her tight dress allowed them freedom, they slumped and separated to hang on either side of her torso like two bags full of quarters. She reached her hand inside the unzipped portion of her dress and fondled her nipple rings as she hooted and hollered at the performance unfolding before her eyes.

“This is a dominatrix party?” I whispered to Travis, my voice thick with disbelief.

“I told you it would be funny,” he replied as he used his right arm to pull me closer to him. “Don’t worry, I’m here and nobody’s going to come up and start whipping you or anything…unless you want them to!”

He allowed his right arm to fall from my shoulders and travel down my side. Before I knew what was going on, I felt his hand slip between the laces on my jeans and grab my bare ass in the middle of the crowd surrounding us. Blushing several shades of maroon, I attempted to scold him.

“If that’s supposed to make me feel reassured, it didn’t work,” I said in a tone that belied my attempt at anger.

“Oh, no, honey, that wasn’t for reassurance,” Travis said as he turned to gaze at me with his crystal blue eyes. “That was just me getting in a little grope.”

Later that night as I lay in bed next to Travis, I couldn’t help laughing a little about how utterly randomly my day ended. I mused about how the strangest things can bring a group of total strangers together to form a patchwork family. As I allowed sleep to win our nightly battle, Travis reached back and pulled my arm around him so that we were spooning. Had I a crystal ball that would have told me what was in store for the next day, sleep would not have won the battle so easily.

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