The Rake is a great female fantasy figure --- when he desires a woman, brief though that moment may be, he will go to the ends of the earth for her. He may be disloyal, dishonest, and amoral, but that only adds to his appeal. Unlike the normal, cautious male, the Rake is delightfully unrestrained, a slave to his love of women. There is the added allure of his reputation: so many women have succumbed to him, there has to be a reason. Words are a woman's weakness, and the Rake is a master of seductive language. [Robert Greene, The Art of Seduction]
The BSD went South this weekend, on a perilous journey into the mid-19th Century, to a mythical land where Confederate flags hang at state capitol buildings and Plantations are tourist attractions, a land where even the BSD in all of his paralyzing impudence fears slightly for his safety when donning dandy, well-fitting pink jeans.
My verbal dexterity was chronically consequential and eloquent, devious turns-of-phrase dramatic and impassioned. The BSD was rolling like a curious co-ed.
It takes nine tailors to make a man - and one man to make a woman. That man is the BSD.
Back to work. Stretch it out, take a deep breath, scorn your boss (or your boredom), take a xaney and let's get physical. We're back and we're very horny.
Daddy likes. There is something illegal going on here, and the BSD figures it's a mother-daughter type thing, if you know what I mean. If you don't know what I mean, I'm guessing from the looks of these tossers that its going to cost the BSD $350 and 45 ferocious minutes.
Hot ass dress. The BSD adores this. If DIQG were bold enough to wear this, and in my imagination she very certainly is, I'd nibble her shoulder gently whilst caressing the tender lowers of her back, a lingering and excited finger tracing the nape of her buttery neck, a massive and momentous lust welling up inside the both of us, until DIQG can no longer take it, leaves the turntables to their own sexy devices, and, with a harried insurgency, lecherously plunders the BSD.
A) Skinning up outside- Awesome. B) Rad haircut on his paramour.
Get down on it, Get down on it, How you gonna do it if you really don't wanna dance, by standing on the wall? Get ya back up off the wall! Tell me! You gotta get on the groove if you want your body to move, or just call the BSD and ask for "the special".
This here is what most of the co-eds in South Carolina look like aside from any sort of fashion sensibility at all. This young lady clearly has it going on. The BSD is enamored of her shiny coat and fleshly, hedonic grin. She's seen BSD-types before, but never had she imagined the joy and unrelenting delirium that accompany the actual BSD like the sardonic jubilation of those he leaves in his arduous path, beaten, bloodied, and brutalized by his extra-human ability to Love.
As these two embraced the natural tendencies of the Southern Belle to dress extravagantly for inconsequential activities while maintaining a "down-to-Earthiness" unimaginable in the NYC/European/DIQG variety (and thankfully so) as they sat outside Dr. Rocco's in Five Points, the BSD went about the business of pillaging, shattering, foraging, and desecrating; the only business of the gentleman. After all, "[a] gentleman is someone who, however impoverished, will on principle refuse to do anything useful" (Horsley, Dandy in the Underworld) unless, of course, that usefulness is applied bountifully to someone's booty.
Meanwhile in Paris, Olivier carried on with his spectacular activities, in this case chaperoning one in what I can only assume is a lengthy series of luscious encounters.
Concurrently in Paris, DIQG sat mystified, downtrodden, destitute, distressed, and helpless knowing that the BSD had gone to the Deep South, the Bible Belt, a place where she rightly believed that the BSD would meet vile opposition and be scorned for his overt, manifest sensuality. On Sunday, as the BSD strolled genteelly through Charleston, a town simultaneously artsy, bohemian, and desolate, he could feel the eyes of a thousand strangers meticulously (and with awful Southern accents) dissecting his pronounced affectation.
Quite simply, I looked really, really good and they knew it.
Deep within their misguided souls, they knew it. So did a certain tattooed young lady whom the BSD spotted outside of an art gallery or a clothing store, one can't really be sure, but she was a piece of fine ass candy so delectable the BSD pondered making not-so-polite conversation in plain view of his mother, opening probably with something like, "Madam, I would be the first to tell you how brilliant I am. You would be the second."
With short, perfectly angled hair accompanied by stunning style for a Southerner (I assume she is a student at the College of Charleston and therefore, not necessarily a native), vintage t-shirt sleeves rolled up to her shoulders exposing a gnarly tattoo, hip sunglasses at the ready, lithe and natural, pale blue eyes lingering just a bit too long on the BSD for him not to notice, she was an inspiration... It occurred to the BSD that there may be DIQG's in other cities, but none with the singularly arctic ice-cold stare of his one and only Beloved, the DIQG herself.
Karl put a halt to some sweet three-way action at the Chanel show. No official word on why. Presumably, and as rumor may well have it, the stoppage was due to the young man not being the legendary BSD. Karl sent word immediately, but the BSD's assistant was not available at the time and the BSD was on vacation.
Kaiser, I promise, next season.
The BSD, Bearded, pictured with sister (left), Beard (on BSD), and Mother (right), just before being assailed by female admirers.
The BSD was slammin' ice-cold Miller Lites with Moms and sister, trying feebly to assimilate himself into the sleepy Southern lifestyle.
Alas, the Southern lifestyle is far too plodding and listless for the BSD to maintain any sort of prolonged interest. The BSD needs a frosty, metropolitan, urbane, cultured, progressively radical and indelibly exquisite, haughty, glittering creature who dabbles incuriously in fashion and dominates, with lacy sovereignty over the disquisitive, extraordinary meanderings of the irrepressible, inimitable, natty, rakish and transcendent BSD.
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