The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear

The Tales of the City, part twee

The road to the Folsom Street Fair is fraught with danger and excitement.

Mr. Pap Smear and I had the opportunity to travel to San Francisco to attend the Folsom Street Fair which is billed as the “World’s Largest Leather Event.” It was my first time and I must say, for a naive, innocent little princess from a potato-and-sheep farm in Idaho-mo it was like traveling to a different planet. The trip was comparable to an expedition to an exotic zoo.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning. The sun was shining, the temperature about 75 degrees. Most of you would think that these are perfect conditions, but remember I am a queen of substantial bulkitude. It only takes three minutes in direct sunlight for my Maximus Rotundus to overheat and commence melting like Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West. Luckily, there was just enough of a breeze to prevent me from liquefying in the sunshine.

As we neared the gated-off fair area, my pulse quickened. Oh, what sights we were about to see. It was like following the yellow brick road to Oz. The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgences were collecting donations at the gate. As soon as we crossed into Folsom Street it was like landing a house in Munchkin Land. Jockstraps and leather harnesses with a generous smattering of wrestling singlets seemed to be the uniform of the day. But then there were the totally naked guys as well. I was mostly smitten by the naked Batman, wearing only black boots, a cape, an eye mask, and a painted-on bat signal. I think he could have rescued me from any alley late at night.

As we entered the street we were immediately almost run over by a parade of bare-breasted women, wearing the highest of thigh-high heeled boots, tied up with ropes and chains to about 20 large chariots with clattering wooden wheels. The women were bound to chrome horse harnesses and pulling the chariots, which were occupied by larger women wearing silver and gold chest plates and armbands, and helmets festooned with feathers (imagine the Ride Of The Valkyries), comfortably lounging in padded velvet seats, armed with loudly snapping whips. The whole scene resembled the chariot races in “Ben Hur.” I must say, the sight of bare breasts didn’t bother me as much as I thought.

After the immediate trampling had passed, we came upon a booth where a naked man was lounging in a sling. The salesperson was demonstrating the latest in butt plugs. He proceeded to “not so gently” shove a rather large dildo in, and then Goldie Locks said, “Oh that’s much better. It’s not too large, nor too small, but just right.” A quick glance at the shelf of potential inventory gave me the vapors. There were several in the three-foot long and 25-pound “Ass Destroyer” category waiting to be tried. I’ve watched sheep giving birth before, so I thought I could handle watching this. OH! MY! GOD! I was wrong.

Running away we happened upon a donut toss contest. If you could throw a standard glazed donut about 10 feet and have it land on the model’s erect penis, then you won a free DVD. And as a bonus, if you scored a direct hit, you also got to eat the donut, (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). I’ve never been one to mix sex and food. I just can’t get over the mess and how sticky it is to clean up. But in this case, let’s just say, the donut was delicious! Who knew I could aim?

I think my favorite booth was the Jockstrap Twister demonstration. There was this huge stage, with giant Twister dots all over it. Then there were five porn stars wearing different colored jockstraps playing the game. Of course, the usual commands of “left-hand red, right foot yellow” were changed to stuff like “red jock, right hand, yellow dick.” And “blue jock, purple mouth.” I could have stood there and watched them for hours. In fact, I believe I did stand there and watch for hours. My favorite call was “All colors, chain-rim.” The porn stars obediently lined up and stuck their noses in the crack of the guy in front of them and began licking like ice cream was melting. There was much giggling from the boys. They maintained that position for quite a while until a couple of the boys began gasping for air, and others started complaining their asses were beginning to chap.

I was wrong about my favorite booth before. My actual favorite was a booth selling the most delicious Thai noodles and chicken kabobs. Naked men and lunch. I’ve never been a happier camper.

This story leaves us with several important questions:
· Back on the farm, when I hooked up my little red wagon behind the goat, was I secretly training for the Folsom Chariot parade?
· Is the musical “Kinky Boots” about making boots for Folsom?
· Was it the immediate fear of being trampled to death that tempered my reaction to seeing bare breasts?
· Was it the fact that my breasticles are in fact larger than theirs?
· What does it say about me, that I was tempted to eat the donut instead of tossing it onto the dick?
· Is Jockstrap Twister preparation the reason our children in Utah learn the Primary Colors song?
· Does Chapstick work on chapped asses?

These and other eternal questions shall be answered in future chapters of the Perils of Petunia Pap Smear.

Petunia Pap Smear

Petunia Pap Smear was born a boy in a Mormon family in a small Idaho town in the year of the cock. No, really, look it up. As is LDS tradition, at a month old her father blessed the little Petunia in the ward house on the first Sunday in June. The very next day, they tore the church house down. Probably for good reason. Little did parents Jack and Orthea know that their little boy would grow up to be a full-fledged, rainbow flag-waving, high heel-wearing, sheep-tending “Ida-Homo.” The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear follows her life from the sheep-tending Boy Scout of her youth to the full-figured and brash queen she is today. Her adventures in the many Queer-Tanic trips, the Salt Lake Men's Choir, the Matrons of Mayhem, and Utah Prides and Lagoon Days have been canonized the past 15 years in a monthly column in QSaltLake Magazine, Utah's publication for the LGBTQ+ community. These tales and her words of wisdom were corralled into a 355-page book that will become the Quint to the Mormon Quad. See it at

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