Let’s all just ‘fess up right from the start, m’kay? You know why you’re here today and so do I.

You just want the dirt on my lil road trip.

And since I’m nothing if not truthful so I’ll just tell you what you want to know up front: $162.77

That’s what I dropped in 30 minutes at The Disney Store.

And oh the licensed swag that bought me! A Ratatouille Remy and Emile piggy bank, a Remy figure in a baguette car, Remy and Emile animated figures, Collette and Skinner action figures, and a couple of gifts for friends. Here’s a peek at a few of my goodies:

I was particularly thrilled to get the Collette action fig — a pocket sized Janeane Garofolo of my very own! Hooray! (I have an insane crush on her gorgeous teeth.)

What’s that? You don’t give a rat’s ass about my Disney booty? You want to hear about Bruce?

Well, well, well…suddenly it’s all about you guys and what you want, huh? Fine. Whatever. Mumble mumble, grumble gripe.

As promised, Bruce took me to The Disney Store and let me shop (as detailed above, you impatient bastards), then we went to the hotel to relax a bit before changing for dinner. Bruce made sure we were both ready and was hustling me out the door by 5:30. I wasn’t thrilled since dinner thing didn’t start until 6:30 and I was in no hurry to mix it up with a bunch of businessmen and their wives staring at the nancy boy at Bruce’s side. When we got downstairs, Bruce steered me toward the exit doors.

“I thought we were going to dinner?” I asked, not really sure what was going on.

Bruce assured me were — the hotel hosting the dinner was overbooked so we were staying at this one. Maybe I’m stupid but that made sense to me, so I got in the car and we took off. Now anyone who has ever traveled with me knows I have the attention span of a fucking hammer, so within seconds I was fiddling with the radio, looking at stuff in the glove compartment, reliving my Disney shopping experience via the receipts in my wallet. And while I was doing all that, I didn’t notice that we were actually out of the city until I finally looked up and saw horses in a field.

“Where the fuck is this hotel?” I asked, thinking Bruce had gotten us lost.

“Oh, we left a little early so we could make a stop first,” Bruce replied, looking over and smiling.

Oh hell no. I knew right then and there this was about the onelittleotherthingnotinvolvingsex.

Now in addition to having no attention span in a car, I also have a morbid fear of mosquitos (don’t laugh — those little fuckers carry West Nile virus, malaria, and who knows what else. The threat is real people. Recognize.) and the country since that is where families of inbred mutants live, waiting for unsuspecting teenagers and homosexuals to get lost so they can rape, torture, and eat them. Put those two together and I’m ready to don my Level 7 haz-mat suit and an ass-chastity device.

Bruce kept driving, finally pulling off on a side road.

“Get out of the car.”

“Why?” I asked, really not liking this whole deal what with the potential for disease and the title role in PULP FICTION 2: THE GIMP STRIKES BACK.

“Hurry up — we have to get back for dinner.”

I looked at him, my heart beating like crazy.

“Do it.”

I opened the door and got out. Bruce immediately hit the automatic locks. Seconds later the moderately tinted passenger window lowered a couple of inches.

“Take off your clothes and hand them to me, Dirk.”

I leaned in and peered through the crack in the window. “You’re fucking nuts. No way.”

“We had an agreement. Take off your clothes and hand them to me through the window.”

Exhaling, I looked around and weighed my options. I could say no and try walking back to wherever the fuck civilization might be, but that would risk both further exposure to the mosquitos as well as my rape and eventual death at the hands of the inbred mutant cannibal rapist-slash-murderers watching from the brush. Or I could do what Bruce wanted.

I really didn’t want to get naked out there, but I also didn’t want this whacking me over the head with the femur of some other unlucky faggot and shoving his cock up my ass without even the courtesy of some spit:

“What happens after I do that?” I asked.

“You get in the car and we go to dinner,” Bruce replied. “Now hurry up.”

I stood there, playing with the buttons on my freshly pressed lavender and blue striped shirt.

“Dirk. Do it or I’m leaving your ass here.”

And those were the magic words that got me in gear. I took off my shirt and gave it to the hand which appeared out the cracked window. Next I slipped off my shoes, removed my pants and handed them to him.

“Underwear.”

Off came the boxer briefs which I gave to him with one hand while trying the door with the other. Still locked.

“You’re forgetting something…”

Wanting nothing more than to escape back into the safety of the car, I took off my socks and shoved them through the window.

“Good boy.”

I heard the click of the door unlocking and quickly got inside. We sat there in silence for a few moments, Bruce looking at me as I stared straight ahead, arms folded over my chest.

“Can I have my clothes back now?” I asked, turning my attention to the jumble of fabric between Bruce and the driver’s door.

Bruce smiled. “When it’s time.”

Knowing it wasn’t a good idea to argue with Bruce since I was naked and he had my clothes, I put on my safety belt and shut up. We made our way back in silence, Bruce stealing glances over at me and smiling. I kept my hands folded in my lap, lest a truck driver or unsuspecting soccer mom in a min-van glance over and catch a glimpse of the naked faggot out for a drive.

After what seemed hours, Bruce turned to me, grinning.

“We’re almost there.” With his left hand he grabbed the wad of clothes and pitched them in my lap. “Get dressed.”

With the hotel suddenly in view up ahead, underwear were forgotten as I unbuckled my safety belt and began struggling to get my pants on. Socks were also optional at this point as I slid on my shoes. I was just pulling my shirt on as Bruce brought the car to a stop and put it in park.

“Give me one minute!” I hissed.

Before I was even finished speaking, he was out of the car and the valet was getting in. We exchanged glances, then I got back to the business of buttoning up my shirt.

“Could you let me out around back?” I asked, cramming my socks in one pocket and underwear in the other.

He didn’t say a word. He just drove to the last row of the parking lot and let me out.

My heart pounding, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and anger, I made my way into the hotel and found the men’s room where I went in to a stall and finished getting dressed. Finally starting to calm down, I went looking for Bruce. I found him in the lobby, waiting for me.

“Fuck you.”

He stood up and began walking, motioning for me to follow. “You have to admit, that was pretty hot,” he said as we were walking. “Next time, I’m going to have you strip in an alley.”

I ignored his comment — as well as him — the entire evening.
______

(***AUTHOR’S NOTE: Just between us, yeah — it was pretty fucking hot. Not to mention the idea of that alley thing and the part where he paid me for taking the day off work and being his dinner date. For a few seconds there, it was almost like my childhood dream of being a teen-age prostitute had come true.)