We shared a summer's worth of life in the woods that weekend.
He was gay, but I leaned against him that night in the
yurt as others drank of my body. He caressed my hair, my face, spoke my mumbled words out loud to the others. He became my
guardian. We showered together. I even found myself surrounded by flamers in a cozy hot tub. But I felt more comfortable with them that weekend than I did my girly friend that I had made the
journey with. Perhaps I should have listened to those vibes then and saved myself the angst I feel towards her now. I regress..
We were drawn to each other because of our voices. The night of my arrival in Tennessee, we sat across from each other within the crowd. Drums were played, and I was inspired to chant, though I'm quite shy about my singing voice being that it's underdeveloped. He became enamored with it, encouraging me, singing along, inspiring me. That night, I was dubbed Ambrosia by one of his kinsmen...I left that part of me in Tennessee.
The tent next to me was giving away their pair of pink flamingos, and I gave one to him. He gave me a mardi gras necklace that my flamingo now wears as a choker. Ambrosia now stands in his garden in Georgia while Russell has become an apartment broken pet. He indeed seems to enjoy the company of my stuffed animals...perhaps I'll bring him out to a party one of these days. I've used Russell as my symbolic God in a ritual. That plastic flamingo carries some warm energy with it, perhaps solely because of who it represents.