Angel or Animal? Why both, of course, all at once!
Biked to the Angel. There was a new bouncer, West Indian, who evidently likes to engage in play-quarrels. But he was very sexy, so I noticed as the evening progressed.
And it did so with one drink after another. My liver was in exceptional form to cope with my intake.
Even sexier was the lesbian bartender. As a gay man, it is rare for me to see a woman and think, "Wow, I'd love to get into bed with her". So rare that it happens to me no more than twice a year.
She was cute! Shortish hair, dark blond, beautiful open face, about 5'5", and what a body! The strap thing that she wore up top made her breasts a tempting delight. And what a bundle of dancing energy. I think she is the first ever woman on whom I have imagined cunnilingus.
The lesbians were out in force and for some reason were interacting with me a lot. They took a fancy to my workman's Hi-viz vest that I once laboured in, but now use on my bike. I was holding it in my hand to avoid attention, yet twice it was grabbed, donned and modelled for mad dancing. Maybe they fetishize it as I once did? Whatever.. One particularly friendly one was trying to matchmake her young male friend with me. Shame I was more interested in my booze and the lesbian bartender, because in retrospect he was rather tasty. I did take a cigarette that he offered me later on, but so curmudgeonly that I must have been thought cold.
But ugh and sexual revulsion on the Trotskyite bespectacled Leftie council-working Guardian-reading queen that came up to me before I had the annealing effect of my first drink, and unctuously asked me, pointing at my vest, whether I had come straight from work? And then actually squeezed my upper arm when I shook my head surly. I actually shuddered as though I had been raped by Jabba the Hut. Why do these dime-a-dozen card-carrying politics graduates think that they have special rights over someone ethnic? Just because they believe that they are more open-minded than other people? Give me a break, I am sick of them. As I was with the fifty-something bearded professor type that twice tried to chat me up. Sorry, but I've been fighting your type off since I was 21. And god knows that when I reach fifty-something, you'd still be chasing people that you perceive as young and vulnerable and innocent.
Oh well, let them go dig a hole for themselves. I still have to get out of my own hole. And actually, if I allow myself a little hope, I have had some little encouragements this week. Hope against holes!
The morning after a good night's drinking, no hangover but a smile in your head. This is why people drink. Thank god it works on me sometimes.