Then came the merry drunk girl, drunk to the point of complete comfort and friendliness. The gent tried his luck yet again, offering more drinks and pleading me to visit him at the Best Buy he worked at. I don’t quite remember how (something involving the cherries) but I was now alone outside on the patio. Accompanied by Tokyo teas and white Russians, we traversed the entire locale from bar to the dance floors, from dance floors to the couches, and then from couches back to the bar wherever the night took us and wherever the gent was not. The other half of our party just arrived, giving me the excuse I needed. He gladly accepted the offer as he put his arm around me. At the very least, I could clear my conscience and confirm it was just two newly met friends simply having a beer and chatting away at the bar, as friends often do.
I naively questioned my friend’s judgment and returned to the abandoned gent to repay with a round of drinks on me, a good custom I’ve acquired from my time abroad. “I feel odd I’ve never been bought a drink before, I feel I at least owe the guy a good conversation.” Soon it was back outside to catch a breather. The music wasn’t the greatest, but the alcohol metabolizing in my bloodstream made it somewhat adequate, much unlike my dancing abilities. They did not seem interested in my story.
The free corona and lime quickly led me to his two other British friends, talking about their international travels and prying about my own Polish origins. My friends just came out of their lady-bathroom and I made a quick excuse to the bar – “I’m going to need a drink if I want to get through this.” As I waited for the bartender, the fine gent from the bathroom reproached me as before. There’s really no further explanation necessary but oh how embarrassing would it be for one of these men to get an erection now how embarrassing to be in that man’s shoes. For now.Īs I exited the bathroom the show we all came to see just started. I was just finishing washing my hands, mere 3.8 minutes since we entered the parlor, when a fine gentleman by the door smiled at me and said: “can I buy you a drink?” Flattered, I declined the offer. I figured I might follow their lead and make some room in my bladder as well. The two female friends I came with, a feeble protection at best, quickly scouted for the bathrooms.
Of course, that was just an excuse to pat my back, which was just a pretext to put his hand on my shoulder, which was just a ploy to slowly slide it up and down massaging me a little too sensually for my liking.
He smiled as he gave me my driver license back. “Yep, my parents live there, but I’ve been here for a few years now.”