At a Persian restaurant that night, we forced Gee to wear a red fez and compete in a dance contest while the rest of us cheered and slipped her dollars, as we had done earlier with the professional belly dancer. Saturday, I escorted the crew on a three-mile walking tour of one of the few female fetish stores in California, Madame S (the feminine side of the famous Mr. S Leather Company & Fetters). After we had perused their products and I had expounded the pleasures of several mysterious devices, we continued our peripatetic tour of the city and chanced upon Good Vibrations, another delightfully naughty store. Here, one of the girls purchased a vibrating rubber ducky to accompany the "fetish starter kit" I had procured for the newlyweds from Madame S.
That night we went to Ruby Skye, the hip club in S.F. Our private VIP booth (only the swankiest will do for this crowd) came with its own server, who happens to be an old acquaintance, Robin -- a film student/fetish model/photographer/dj and more -- who used to hang in San Diego. The girls were dancing downstairs, and I was enjoying my third or fourth vodka-something, when two women snuck past the rope separating my group from the common people and sat in front of me.
With a wave of the fingers and a pointed look at the bouncer, the wretched refuse teeming on my shore was removed. You don't fork over several hundred dollars just to allow random strangers to sit at your table. That night, we paid for preferential treatment, and we got it.
This ideal B.P. had as much to do with who we were as where we were. Traditionally, for a young woman of little experience (read: child bride or she who was sheltered by a family of religious zealots), the B.P. is a time to sow wild oats, to "let loose" and get it out of her system lest she be distracted from her duties as a good wife and mother. But many in Gee's posse already have collections of men's undergarments. We've already been drunk and done silly and disgusting things for no apparent reason.
Instead of making asses of ourselves and embarrassing Gee, we shopped, we talked, we danced, and we dined. I can't think of a better weekend away with the girls than that, B.P. or no B.P.