Larry’s Laugh & Leather Thong

She wasn't the kind of girl a guy marries. Larry had that wrong.

Larry was kind of a bad guy. He had gotten in some trouble with the law when he was younger. I liked him. I met him when I was eighteen at Toronto Fashion Week. He was twenty-eight. I was on the security team and Larry was too.

He was wearing tight black leather pants, a black tee shirt and a thick wrist cuff with silver studs. Tall and thin with slick dark hair and brown squinty eyes that looked like they undressed every girl when she walked by. I felt ugly with my bulky walky-talky attached to my hip, oversized ‘Security Team’ shirt.

I overheard him at the event telling one of the blonde thin models with unusually full lips, glossed and inviting, “Yeah, I’m an actor, you’ve probably seen me. I played the Indian Chief in Black Robe. I’m Native-American by blood.”

 His Mohawk, leather headdress with purple feathers coming out of it, red painted face and chest bare, hairless. 

She seemed unimpressed. I rented the movie that same night, pressing pause every time he came on screen riding his horse. He seemed exotic. His Mohawk, leather headdress with purple feathers coming out of it, red painted face and chest bare, hairless. Maybe he had a shirt on I don’t know but I imagined he didn’t and that he was naked, free and fierce on that horse.

Larry had a girlfriend but I didn’t care. I don’t know why I didn’t care, I saw him, I wanted him and the girl, I just didn’t think about her and I guess he didn’t either.

I remember one time going over to his place during the day. I felt real chunky that week, too many shortbread cookies. The day before I was going to see him I took the streetcar to Bathurst and Eglington, a gray part of the city with lots of concrete and more concrete. I had an appointment for a beauty wrap. Lose two sizes for ninety dollars. I felt it was worth it.

I was standing there in my pink dotted underwear and a girl about my age with pale skin, black hair and heels was kneeling at my feet. I wondered if she was the type of girl Larry would like. My legs were set in a wide stance, arms stretched out to the side in a Jesus pose. She began wrapping me with this warm beige bandage working her way up one leg to the other and then my stomach and arms and I was all bandaged up except my boobs, hands, feet, and head. I stood there in that bandage wrap and the girl says, “Okay, sweetie, don’t move for an hour.”

She left the room. It seemed strange, a girl my own age calling me sweetie but I liked it.

I imagined Larry the following day on top of me and how I’d be looking good and maybe I’d be more his type. I thought about what he said to me that first time I met him at Fashion Week,

“You’re the kind of girl a guy marries.”

I didn’t like that. I wanted him to think I wasn’t the kind of girl a guy marries. I was bad and he just didn’t know it. The next day when I got dressed to see him I chose leather pants like him and reminded myself to try not to smile because that makes me look nice and nice isn’t good. Guys, they like pouty girls. Sulky.

I went to Larry’s two-story house in Little Italy where he was staying with his brother who looked just like him only shorter. A mini Larry. I don’t know what his brother did to make money to live in that big house but I know I wanted to have sex with him after Larry and I had sex.

But without the black leather thong that Larry wore that day.

“I have a little treat for you,” he had said standing in front of me as I lay on the bed.

“I have a little treat for you,” he had said standing in front of me as I lay on the bed.

He slid off his pants, gyrated his hips and turned with his back toward me and bent over. I stared at his ass, it was hairy, not bare like his chest. The black leather wedged between his cheeks.

Before acting Larry was an exotic dancer on Young Street near Spaghetti Factory. I pictured him on stage in that leather thong, I didn’t really like it but I pretended I did because sex with him was pinning me against the wall, tumbling, kissing, licking, sweaty can’t get enough kind of sex. Flushed cheeks, groaning, take me from behind, fuck me, do what you want with me but just don’t stop sex.

But it always comes to an end. And that day, right after Larry went downstairs to have a smoke and watch All in The Family I lay there naked in his bed wanting more. I wanted Larry’s brother to just walk into that room and be with me. But he didn’t and I know it wasn’t right of me to think like that.

“Edith!” Archie yelled from the TV.

I heard Larry laughing.

Something about that laugh and the image of him sitting on the couch watching TV during the day helped me get over him. It made him seem ordinary. I could no longer picture him on that horse riding across the plains with his bow and arrows.

Up until then he never called me. I called him. And that’s just never a good idea, chasing a guy, but that’s just the way I was then. But after the laugh and the black leather thong, I stopped calling Larry.

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