Father Muskrat (taking a pull from a hidden flask and muttering to himself): Who’s there?
Brenda: It is I, Father. And it stinks in here, by the way.
FM: Well, it is the season for merry-making, and this pious old barrister has been included on a lot of guest lists this week, so ignore the wafting and tell me what you got.
Brenda: Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. A lot. Seriously. I must confess my rendezvous in the men’s room at a gay club in DC while dancing at a drag show.
FM: Which one? God I miss Backstreet …
FM (staring dreamily into a black corner of the confessional booth):
FM (jolting himself back into the conversation): I mean, I used to minister to those people. Expound, please.
Brenda: Well, I took a road trip to DC to meet up with my trouble-making gay friend, and he suggested we go dance at a club in the city. I responded, “Yah! Sounds like fun!” He instructed me to carry a small purse, hold on to him, and do NOT look at anyone on the street while walking and, oh yeah, “Stop that cute innocent smiling thing. You’ll get killed.”
FM: My experience is that I don’t think that’s true, but please continue.
Brenda: I didn’t either, but he insisted it was. When we got inside, I needed to pee, and I was told to go through the doors into the “back room.” When I asked about said room, I only got a smirk and a laugh. So, I made my way through the live gay porn sex show in the back room, while some freak followed me trying to blow in my ear. Once my friend got rid of him by telling him I was a lesbian, he led me into the doorless men’s room. As I let my pants hit the floor and hovered over the seat, Ms. Fee Fee sauntered over and started chatting. Next thing I know I am dancing with her to AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” and am getting dollar bills shoved down my pants.
FM: Hot damn! I remember when I had a similar experience after a wedding in Little Rock. I was totally going to tuck my package and belt out “I’m Comin’ Out” after concluding the drag show needed a skinny white participant instead of exclusively beefy black men, and I …. I’m sorry. That didn’t really happen. So. How much money did you make?
Brenda: I totally made $119 bucks that night!
FM: Will you please head our steering committee?
Brenda: You’re not going to make me dance to AC/DC for 5 hours while flogging myself?
FM: I can’t exactly cast any stones for this sin, so, unless you want me to pull someone from the JV squad, just use your talents for good from now on and go in peace.
Usually I credit the confessor’s contributions via a set of asterisks, but this week, everything came straight from the storyteller. No poetic license needed! If you’d like to participate in next Friday’s confessional, please email your transgression(s) to fathermuskrat[at]gmail.com