Well, almost.
I think.
See, Kelley and I walked First Friday on Friday (duh) night. Then we went to New Bar, where we met Ken.
Ken is, I'd guess (and I'm bad at this, so take it with a grain of salt) 60 years old. Kelley and I, being nice people,* talked to him. Because of that, he picked up our tab. New Bar is not cheap.
There is some speculation that the cute Calvin Klein tshirt shows a LOT of cleavage (a lot of the boobs in general, cleavage included) and that may also have something to do with Ken's largesse. Now, Ken was a very nice man and I'm not downplaying him in any way, but he did talk to my chest a few times.
Believe it or not, that's never happened to me. Not that I've noticed.
[SUMMARY: I am granting mystical powers to my boobs.]
We tottered off to Favourite Bar, where Favourite Bartender said, "Give me some gossip. What's going on with you and Sex Toy?"†
"I don't think there *is* a me and Sex Toy, really," says I.
"It's just one of those things?"
"I'm pretty sure. But we're having fun."
I find it touching that Favourite Bartender seemed disappointed that there isn't some wild romance going on between me and Sex Toy. Of course, I could have given him details of what *does* go on between me and Sex Toy and that would probably have satisfied his... curiosity...
Is that what the kids are calling it these days?
So Sex Toy and I were flirting in that not-so-much-flirting-as-foreplay way when a guy came in and said, "Are you Sex Toy?"
"Uh, yeahhhh..." said Sex Toy.
"Some girl is out here looking for you and she says she needs money."
He laughed, looked at me and said, "She came to the wrong place. I better go see what's going on."
A few minutes later, he came back in with a stumbling blonde. Literally. In fact, she fell over trying to pick up a cigarette she dropped on the floor. Seems she was out with her friends, got beyond hammered and decided to check in on her old buddy Sex Toy.
The first thing she did (after scraping herself off the floor) was wobble to the bar to be immediately cut off by Favourite Bartender.
[SUMMARY: Go, Favourite Bartender!]
So my potential for a mighty romp dwindled to nothing as he attempted to get water into her and keep her away from the irritated patrons of Favourite Bar.
"Shit," said Sex Toy a little later, coming in for more water whilst Stumbling Blonde smoked and cried on the patio. "I'm going to have to get her home."
"I like that you take care of your friends," said I, "but I worry about all you're missing." I can do a hell of a pout and eyelash bat when I want to.
"Oh, no..." he said as I bellied up to his bar.
"Yep. Just look at 'em, all alone now, nobody to play with."
"Stop it, you're killing me."
"And I just got new sheets. I was hoping you could take them for a test drive."
"Stop, stop, stop..."
"And you know that thing I do with my tongue...?"
"Oh, God..."
"Sorry, darlin'. Just playing with you. I know you have to take care of your friend. I'll stop now. But thanks for the reaction. Makes me feel wanted."
A few minutes later, Stumbling Blonde tripped my direction to say, "You're so sweet. Thanks for letting Sex Toy take me home." Which I think is funny, since, y'all know, Sex Toy and I don't really have a thing, just a thing. But apparently he let her know his thing was in a sling taking care of her.
When the night was closing, he came up to the bar to settle up and leaned on me in a pointed way,‡ so I leaned back a little for a final flash of the girls and licked my lips in what may have been considered a suggestive manner.
"Aaarrrggghhh..." he said softly in my ear, putting his arms around me and nuzzling my neck.
"Now stop that!" I said, "Don't get me all worked up and leave me. Go!"
He laughed. One of the things I like about him -- he gets my weird sense of humour.
So that's my near-sex experience from Friday.
[SUMMARY: I can be mean, can't I?]
Saturday, I went to Jack's 40th birthday, which was a casino theme. The party was at a golf course, and the party room right over the giant garage where the golf carts live. The Texas Hold 'Em table was right over the garage door, and they kept opening and closing it.§ And it buzzed my chair. And I saw that it was good.
Begat, begat, begat.
Marin-be-Marin, I started playing it up.
"Pony ride!" I shrieked at one point.
The dealer started cracking jokes about how the play had to come to a grinding (ha!) halt when the garage door was running until Marin could concentrate again.
"This is saving me a fortune in batteries," said I.
[SUMMARY: I can be distracted easily, can't I?]
Do two near-sex experiences make a single sex experience?
So that's the tale of lust, loss and longing.
And garage doors.
*FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Well, Kelley more than I.
†FOOTNOTE (almost a religious experience): You do realise everyone else calls him by name.
‡FOOTNOTE (is that a dagger I see before me?): Oh yes I did. No joke is too cheesy or sleazy for this chick.
§FOOTNOTE (twining, vining, sixty... oh, stop): We speculated through the night as to why on earth they had to open and close the garage door *that* many times. Not that I was complaining, mind you, just wondering. Don't the golf carts just come in and stay in, say, after dark?
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