Every mistake I ever made...

...started off by seeming like a good idea at the time. In the moment of decision making, I thought to myself, "How can this go wrong? How can this possibly end up being bad for me?"

Example : House Slave

I was working on a show ( back when I was an actress) with a rather nice guy, who had just broken up with his girlfriend of 8 years. Turns out they were big into S and M, and so he spent a lot of time trying to talk the other cast members into going to the Vault or the Hellfire club. I was very depressed at the time and so he often said, "Bunni, they would love you there. You would come whip a couple of guys, spank a couple of guys. You feel better, they feel better. Everyone is happy."

Needless to say, I rejected the idea.

A week after the show was over, he called me and asked me what I was doing. "I'm being depressed." "Well, get dressed. We are going to a party." "A party?" "Yeah, an opening party for a dungeon."

Well, I was resistant, but he promised it would be small, and he wouldn't leave my side unless I said I was ok. He also said as a writer I couldn't pass up the experience.

So I went.

The dungeon was small, and looked like someone's basement. It was not the height of decadent pleasures I had expected. No red velvet curtains. No large silk pillows or leather couches. No men walking around with ostrich plum fans and grapes. No women with leashes. The people there also looked like they were probably still living in their parents basement. The type of guys who had gone from Star Trek fandom directly to the Marquis de Sade.

There are many more details to the story that I will relate to you some other time. In the interest of your attention span, I shall cut to the important part.

There was a house slave at the party. A house slave is at the mercy of any party guest. Mainly his job was to crawl around and light cigarettes or fetch drinks. Basically, he was a waiter in leather shorts. He brought me a few glasses of wine.

I was talking to a guy who had "just come onto the scene" ( not surprisingly after a bad break up with a girlfriend) when I felt someone touching my feet. I looked down, and the house slave was licking LICKING the SOLE OF MY SHOE. Not the top part. Not light kissing, but tongue licking the bottom of the shoe.

So I ended up talking to the house slave. Turns out he was ( drum roll) a teacher. (I should have known right then this was the wrong profession for me) who was a classics expert ( also one of my interests). The house slave spent the rest of the evening sitting at my feet.

So I dated him.

And when I started, I thought, "Here is a guy who knows his place. He understands that he is here to serve my needs. How can this go wrong?"

Very, very easily. Two months later I was looking at this guy thinking, "You know, every time you open your mouth, I want to throw the toaster at your head." And he left me, after informing that he was seeing other people.

In praise of error

I often make mistakes in the name of "When will I ever get to do this again?" Going back to the dungeon party, I went because when was I ever going to be invited to an opening party at a dungeon again? ( and I never have, not that I would go) It was an opportunity, which was interesting, and now I can move on knowing I have been to an opening party at a dungeon. At least I don't regret not going. And really, the fall out from house slave wasn't so bad. Certqainly not enough to justify staying home that night.

My relatives in PA often tell me they envy my life. They envy that I do these "crazy" things: date a house slave, go to a birthday party at The Slide and end up on the roof of some guy's apartment drinking beer and talking about Nebraska, having dinner under the stars while a guy I know plays jazz, get coached on how to judge cock size by drag queens, modeling for photographs at Wigstock. They envy me, but really if they wanted this life they could have it. It's simply a question of saying yes when the opportunity presents itself.

Sure, I envy them as well, their husbands and stable lives. Their children, their houses, their acceptance by the mainstream. But really, if I wanted that I could move back to CT and have it.

I may have lived a life less happy, but it certainly has been interesting. And I wouldn't give up my mistakes, even if I knew I would be happier, because I love my stories, even the ones where I end up face down in the mud. I am happy that I tried these things. I'm happy that I don't have to live with the regret of the things I haven't done.

Still, everyone in a while, I wake up the next day and think to myself "What have I done?"