Some of the regulars would always try to touch me, but mounting them was not on my list of things to do. I had my eyes on the prize: one of the bartenders, Armani. (Yeah, apparently his parents were big fans of high fashion.) Lucky for me, he liked my white shorts that became slightly see-through after hours of dancing on the bar.
I spent a few visits doing my typical bar teases: the come-get-me eyes, quick rendezvous's on the dance floor, and drive-by make out sessions... Then we decided to take it one step further. We headed to the DJ booth, found a corner spot that wouldn't be in the way of the DJ, and started grinding.
Normally when a guy lets his hands wander when I'm dancing with him gets a hard slap. When Armani took advantage of the easy access that my white shorts offered, I let it happen, and I enjoyed it. A lot. I didn't even care if people saw or judged me. We did our thing for a few songs, then...
"Car. Now."You'd think I would have learned my lesson about car hook-ups after the Barney incident, but the only thing I learned was to keep my clothes on. Once again, the car was rockin' and no one would be seeing what was going on, even though we were parked on the main road of the capital.
In order to "not be suspicious," we went back inside at the end of the night, and I assumed my position on top of the DJ booth, shaking my little white shorts for everyone.
!*#$&% CRASH. #@$%
Just when I thought I was the sexiest thing in that place, I had multi-flipped off the edge of the booth to my head under the table. Not sexy.
Armani rushed over to take care of me and get me water. Good news: He obviously couldn't keep his eyes off of me. Bad news: He now knew I was a hot mess of lush.
Instead of going home with him as I hoped, he found me a ride and sent me on my way with nothing more than a glass of water. The next night I headed back, sans objects inside my shorts, and sporting some decorated legs. Everyone has to have an off night every once in a while.