Tramping it up

Last Edit October 21, 1999

I forgot to finish discussing my trip.
Saturday (at the Toronto convention) was the book fair. I was hoping to pass out lots of the business cards for the fan club - the ones they are still in process of reprinting because they blew the URL and Fabio was fabio - oooops.
I wanted to promote the web site.
They put my table behind the cash registers!
They put all the "vendors" there - Hey! I wasn't selling anything!
Suffice it to say I didn't get a lot of business by the table.
Neither did the other vendors.
And they were quite vocal about it.
I left the computer on, showing the site, and chained to a table, my son passed back and forth - taking photos and watching the table while I power-shopped.
Hey!
It's a BOOK FAIR!
Can't let me loose! Well,.... I have to be a little loose. I have friends hawking their books here.
The day before I had attended the "Art of Seduction" class - And tonight I am to dress as a tramp - in the leather from Stormy Leather - with a whip.
In the meantime, I run around grabbing Regency novels and blitz the fair.
It's a long wait in line - so I chat with people and pass out cards.
Someone has already e-mailed me back with a news item - great! The more spies we have looking for Fabio's appearances the better.
The vendor with the candlesticks (I bought two via e-mail - I'll have them by Christmas) - has a partner table with Indian jewelry. A drop-dead necklace - black - big - choker.
I bought it.
I will wear it with the leather.
Beats a dog collar.
They bring in the models - for autographs. Troy is there.
And I have to go have my hair done. I am going to get made up - tarted up I think they say. So I am leaving this early. And burdened. A computer. Its case. A bag of books. My purse. Cameras. Camera bag.
I staggered into the book fair earlier. There has to be a better way.
Wait! Troy is loose!
Aha!
I get him to lift my stuff - he forgoes the wheels and just---- lifts!
Tosses the book bag over one shoulder. He has nice shoulders. Has the bags one in each hand. The big wheeled camera bag is there too.
He just picks it all up and follows me to my room! Sigh!
However, before you get overheated, you should know that my 18 year old, 6'2"+ son armed with his camera toddles along with us.
And blurts it out to Troy in the elevator!
No! I get to tell him!
We get to my room. And I make him an offer.
You see, I have come to the decision that I will produce my own book.
And, since a certain tall blond stud is not available, I will settle for the tall dark-haired one. Some settling!
He has never done a cover.
I have never produced a book.
We will roll with it.
He leaves - rehearsals - and I leave - to get tarted up.
It's Troy's big night - the Mr. Romance pageant. He has worked hard all week long - and we are all rooting for him. I tell him so.
I am nearly late (the hairdresser had a lot of fun - I look like a hooker - which is, of course, what I requested). I jump into a simple dress and jacket and grab my son's Rebel-G camera.
This allows me to sit on the stage.
He He He. (I got some nice photos - even if the camera was acting up.)
I got my friends into seats not too far back.
We were all rooting for Troy.
Right to the end.
He was good. His question - How do you make an orgasm? Which he thought was a staged question - since he is an extreme bartender and every bartender knows how to make one! - Led to some cute photo ops. He has a nice smile. Great eyes.
He was nervous.
He was gorgeous.
He won Mr. Congeniality. Oh, we knew that one!
He did not win the contest.
I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. A lot of us did. We rushed to the stage later to console him. (I made him hug me back.) I remind him (none too gently) that all the winner gets a cover - and he was already going to do mine!
My son got photos - every model - every costume - every winner - in group shots.
Then we rushed to change - My son in a dressy black shirt and blood red tie and dark pants. (Good looking kid!).
Me in my leather.
Oh my Goodness!
No, goodness has nothing to do with this!
It is drafty - because there is little under this - just panties and pantyhose.
Don't bend over!
Don't sit down!
I opt for black nylons instead of fishnets.
The red satin gloves are something else.
And the whip.
I have black eye shadow - big hair - big eyes - blood red mouth.
I call Janice and Nina - and when they come down I almost went back to change! Talk about shock. It was all over their faces!
I have a PVC shirt over my shoulders and what the hell, grab a small camera and go.
I strut. In for a penny - in for a pound!
We learned that in the art of seduction.
Attitude.
Oh, I have that!
I swing the whip.
I strut in. 4" heels will change how you walk.
The shirt just kept sliding off. I had to be careful not to bend over.
Every male eye swiveled.
The women stared and didn't know what to say.
What can you say?
Among the vampires and ghouls, I was a bit different.
I posed and answered questions - yes, my older son picked this out.
Women, helped along by a few moments to recover and an open bar, borrowed the whip for pictures. It became more popular the longer the evening went!
During this time, Janice and Nina and I stood watch.
We waited for Troy.
He eventually showed up. We swarmed all over him, cameras ready.
He had a vest - no shirt - like those arms!
I had the bottle of sparkling lotion.......
I made him put some on me - and got pictures to prove it!
For Pepper. Since she couldn't come to the convention - she sent spy-people.
I was told I'd better act up.
I tried my best!
My son was being dragged to the dance floor (he looked very good!) so Momma stayed away from it (need to give the boy some space).
I took more pictures - and some more of Troy. Several of us were his self-appointed caretakers. We were all so upset he hadn't won!
By 1:30AM - I finally dragged my exhausted child to bed - by firmly telling my son that at that hour, with the bar still open, any photographs taken now would be considered to be blackmail!
He was not amused with me and bitched all the way back to the room - but he is a young 18 and I am his parent.
He was asleep within moments.
The next morning, at the awards banquet or whatever, I was in a professional dressy suit and smoothed hair. Normal. Business-like. Professional.
When I mentioned the outfit, they said, "Was that YOU?"
No one recognized me!
Hmmmmmmmm.
Gives one ideas, doesn't it?