I've never particularly liked lounges and I’ve always had a strong dislike for clubs. It originates from my inability to dance, a result of the brittle cartiledge that continuously haunts my knees. That’s why my poison has always been bar hopping. It’s like going to the mall to grab some stuff without anything specific in mind. Chances are, I always end up grabbing something. Sometimes it’s high end, while other times it’s something I wouldn't want to be caught in public with. Bars are the same. The reasoning behind this is, I look for one great quality in whatever I partake in. Of course, this can often lead to trouble.

It was a Friday and I didn’t have any friends who were available to hang out. Matt was busy either doing a promotional show, going on a date, or working on his website. All my other friends were either busy, not up to speed with what I’d become used to, or simply someone I’d rather not see. This left me with two options; stay in and do nothing, or go out alone and do anything. Saying it out loud made it a fairly obvious decision. Years ago, it would have been debatable.

Being alone is always an ugly feeling. It makes you feel isolated and almost chaustrophobic. You could be in a large bar, be it packed or empty, and it would still result in the same feeling. When you’re alone you travel with a limited means of interaction. As a result, no matter where you are, you end up with as much space as you can create for yourself. It’s up to you to decide what kind of night you’re going to experience. Booze helps. Scotch can be a great friend.

When I first arrived at the bar, I immediately got carded. I was ready for that. I still had patches of beard that I was begging to finally fill out. I still do. I pulled out my wallet before it was even warranted. Even though I’d been legal for years, I still felt a bit of anxiety as the bouncer took longer then he normally should. He then simply swiped it and I walked in to get stamped. This stamp ended up on my inner left wrist and looked kind of cool. It was a small X and I tried to remember it for later. Little things like that usually make for conversation points.

I was conscious about the manner in which I walked in. I didn't want to immediately approach every woman I saw. I've always felt creepy doing that and prefer avoiding being methodical. At the same time, there's a time factor involved. So I walked in slowly and took in the environment. I went over to the bar, casually overlooking the crowd, and I saw a few groups of women ordering drinks. I then looked for empty spots nearby to position myself well and found one. This was going to be a good opportunity to get started.

I’ve always had this rule with Matt. The first woman is never going to pan out. It’s much like taking a pitch. No matter how great it looks and how much it pains you to do, you need to get it over with and move on. I’ll be the first to admit that the anxiety is always there. That first pitch is the most unpredictable. Nevertheless, you take it. Live life full throttle; no regrets.

I placed my foot on the bar stoop. I had my hand out on the bar with my elbow securing a spot for myself. After three seconds, I turned to the girl to my left. "What are you ladies celebrating tonight?" Her back was facing me when I did this and I instinctively knew how this would go. She turned around. She was a brunette and heavily made up. Most people would find her attractive. I certainly did.

“What?” she asked.

“You guys having a girls night out?” I asked, changing the opener.

“Yea…” Her face cringed as if I had asked her how big her breasts were. She turned her shoulder leaving me to face the rest of the night. I had taken the pitch.

The most important thing I’ve learned is when a person is rejected they only appear to fail. They are still very much succeeding, so it is very silly for people to view rejection negatively. All rejections, bad, worse, and humiliating, always have taught you something, always will teach you something. With enough experience you can see all the positives of rejections just the way we look at weddings as the ultimate accomplishment, for instance. You can see how a rejection occurred and react with interest and grow from it. It is just an illusion that one rejection means you can not succeed, and that once a loved one rejects you they are gone forever. When I experience a rejection, all I think is that I’m in bad condition in that particular moment, but otherwise I’m just fine and improving in the ensuing moments. Now, when I myself hear that someone has failed, I simply shrug and say, “Who’s next?”

It wasn't comfortable yet with moving on. I’d seen Matt open one girl then immediately move on to the next. There’s nothing wrong with that, really, but it takes a certain level of commitment to do. He’d been doing this for years and has done it so frequently that obviously he’s had his ups and downs. When it has gone poorly he’ll keeping mowing through the crowd of women with the same line. There have been many times that he’s come up to me, laughing, to tell me that he had just opened a girl he had previously talked to with the same line. It happens. Who’s next?

I stayed at the bar. I didn’t let the rejection bring me down. I expected it. You can never open a girl who isn't facing you. Instead, I used this opportunity to regroup and prepare myself for the next one. I waited for the bartender to look over in my direction. It didn’t take long. I put my hand up a few inches from the bar and that was enough to get him to come over.

"What can I get you?"

“Black lable on the rocks.”

Another drink helps me zone in. It also contributes to my body language, which can never be understated. I left a tip and stirred the drink. I've always preferred my scotch cold. When I finished stirring, I tossed the straw. Straws are for chicks. A few sips later and I was getting used to the room. The entire time I’d been looking around furtively. There were groups of women scattered throughout the bar. It seemed like a ladies night. Hell, they were probably drinking free.

I always liked being indirect. So as I walked over to a new group of girls with a drink in hand, I switched my opener. I wanted to make it seem as if I was at the bar for a drink, not a girl. At the least, I didn't want to be obvious about my intentions. I again positioned myself at the bar and took a new spot. This time the girl was at a better angle and could actually see me. I waited three seconds.

“What do you guys think is a good shot to take tonight?”

She turned to face me, giggled, and asked, “What?” Bars can be noisey.


“It looks like you guys know what you’re drinking. What kind of shot should I do?”

In this quick back and forth I’ve already checked her out from head to toe. Her hair was normal length for a girl and dirty blonde. Her body was entirely thin, which was a good start. Her face was relatively plain, yet her eyes had what seemed to be slightly dark patches underneath. I couldn’t figure out if it was makeup or from lack of sleep. That, and her ankle length dress had me convinced that this should be an easy target.

“I’m not from around here.” She smiled as she spoke. I could pick out the Irish accent immediately.

“Oh, an accent huh?”

She sipped her drink from a straw and said, “Guess where I’m from.”

“Well, I could definately guess, but if I get it wrong you can’t be angry.”

Her eyebrows lifted in curiousity. “Why would I be angry?” She then laughed again.

“Well, if I said you were English you would understandbly be upset. But you’re definately Irish.”

“Yes!” she managed to respond while laughing.

I needed to transition now. These were the crossroads where I could either engage in a long conversation and create opportunity or have her exhaust all interest and lose her to her friends. Transitioning isn’t hard, I just needed to say something. The key is to always say something that doesn’t end in a yes or no answer. If I can do that, then I’ll never run out of stuff to talk about. I refer to it as cherry picking. This is probably what I’m best at.

“So what’s with the massive purse?” I asked while pointing to her huge blue bag. It’s high enough that it stretches from her waist to her shoulder. It was a fairly obvious prop to point out. “You got a gun in there?”

She laughed again. “Yes! What are you going to do about it?!”

“I’m going to tell your friend to hold it so we can dance.”

Everything was falling into place nicely. I subtley told her what we were going to do. I continued to do so by leading her out to a vacant spot and escalating as fast as I could. Dancing was painful, but it was also the most efficient way to escalate quickly. I tried to ignore my aching knees and held in the pain. It was only temporary afterall. We danced.

I twirled her around twice. I figured it was a good move that would also give my knees a chance to breathe. The last twirl was also where I’d find my opening. I was kissing her on the dance floor as soon as she twirled back into my arms. This went on for a few minutes. I knew my knees appreciated the respite. I pull back, “Let’s get out of here.” Never underestimate a blunt remark like that. They tend to take you far.

“Where should we go?” she asked, smiling.

“My place is up town. It’s not too far.”

“Hm…” she paused for a moment, “But what about my friends?”

“Tell them to come too. There’s plenty to drink back there,” I added.

That was more than enough to convince her. She left me standing at the dance floor near the exit to go find her friends. She then came back with a guy. He came up to me and fluidly kissed me on the cheek. “Whoa…” I tried to laugh it off a bit. Then he leaned forward again and kissed my cheek once again, this time missing as I moved. “What’s up man? You coming with us?” I said while trying to laugh off the weirdness of the situation.


“Yessssssssss!” he drunkenly hissed.

This guy was clearly as drunk as he was gay. His pants were hanging low and it was clear that he wasn't wearing underwear. This didn’t bother much. To each their own. At the same time, I’m definitely feeling creeped out about the whole kissing thing.

We ended up at my place. I handed the guy a drink and led the girl into my room. I really didn’t care that I had a strange guy in my apartment, I had my own business to attend to. It was also not the first time I’d been in this situation. The fact that he was gay was irrelevant, or so I thought.

I was making out with the Irish girl again in my room. I soon realized that I’d already forgotten her name. Things had slowed down at this point. Her baby blue ankle length dress was a maze that I couldn’t solve. How was I supposed to finger her? How the hell could I even access with her breasts? My only answer was to hike it up slowly and then eventually pull it over her shoulders. I’d have to escalate well though.

I was off to a good start. I’d gotten the dress up to her knees and I was rubbing her thighs. We were lying down on my bed at an awkward angle. It felt uncomfortable as we were kissing, but I was progressing nonetheless. I let a minute or so pass before I finally got a view of terra firma, my goal downstairs. I had a view of her light colored panties when the door suddenly burst open.

“What’re you guys doing in here?” It was the gay guy. His smile stretched from ear to ear.

“Wh-,” I didn’t finish my thought.

The gay guy walked straight to the bed and laid down to the left of the Irish girl. I guess it was a little less awkward than him actually lying down beside me, but all I’m thinking is what the fuck is going on? I had a nameless girl lying down on my bed, with her panties exposed, and a strange man most likely attempting to intiate a Devil’s Threeway.

“Let’s get a drink,” I blurted. I was desperately trying to diffuse this entire outrageous scenario. I figured I’d regain control of the situation and this time jam the damn door shut since it didn't have a lock. Something happened though as we all headed back to the kitchen. The gay dude probably realized he wasn’t getting any action.

"I have to go," he says quickly.

This seemed like a good thing. He was finally out of the equation. Unfortunately, he was the Irish girl's only ride to their hotel and this meant she was darting outside in a desperate attempt to follow him. The Irish girl didn’t even grab her flip flops. She left them in my bedroom as she ran after her friend. I had a split second to decide on whether my night was over before deciding I was going to join her. I didn’t have time to get my shoes on. I was essentially imitating the shoeless drunk chick as I dove into their cab. I couldn't remember if I had even locked up.

Their hotel was a town away. It may have been Weehawken, but I was never certain. The alcohol was beginning to cloud my memory and I couldn't even remember what happened to the gay friend. He seemingly dissapeared at some point. He must have had a different room in the hotel. Regardless, the Irish girl and I were heading to her room when she realized she didn’t have a key.

Our answer was to just hang out in the hallway. She probably figured someone would eventually open up. We laid down in front of her door. I was okay with the idea because I was already making out with her again and hiking up her impossibly long dress. This time, I pulled her panties down and fingered her as she moaned in my arms. I even managed to pull down the top of her dress exposing her breasts.

Suddenly an idea came to mind. I needed to fuck her right there in the hallway! I definitely was wide-eyed at the idea. I'd had an erotic experience in public before and maybe I could pull off yet another one. Then I remembered how I felt the last time. It was too risky. I shot the idea down as quickly as I had thought of it. My rational was that it would be impossible to pull off without some neighbor informing the front desk or worse, the police. This didn’t mean there weren’t other options.

I stood up while holding one of her hands. She was looking at me curiously as I stood her up beside me. I then faced the door to her room and used the door bell. It was loud enough that it echoed throughout the hallway.

“Stop!” she whispered loudly. “You’ll wake everyone up!”

I pressed the bell button relentlessly. “Relax, it’ll just take a second.” I kissed her and kept pressing it until the door opened. There was a guy standing at the door who looked like he had just gotten out of a deep sleep. He shook his head at us in disapproval before walking back to his room.

The Irish girl walks in first. “I’ll be back in a second,” she assured me.

I figured she was going to the guy’s room to apologize for the noise. I wandered over to the couch and laid down and waited. She returned in short shorts and a tank top. Her body looked great in this outfit. Her face looked better too. I guess she was just not great at applying make-up and had finally removed it. I've always preferred a girl without make-up.

She laid down on the sofa and it seemed like she was ready to call it a night. I wasn't giving up. I started kissing her intensely. Not much time had passed when I tugged her shorts and panties down in one quick swoop. I casually tossed her red shorts aside, with her panties knotted up inside, and then took a look at the playing field.
 
I'd never seen a grassy field before. I had experienced slight astro-turf as well as the 9 o'clock shadow, but retro style 80’s bushes were something that had evaded me up until then. Aside from that, her carpet was darker than her dirty blonde hair. I decided to proceed regardless. How bad could this be?

Originally I had doubts as to my ability to make a girl orgasm. With the Irish girl, I knew I was getting good marks. She was convulsing and moaning as I massaged her clitoris with my tongue. I was doing my best to ignore the stray hairs that kept getting caught in my mouth. I was doing a solid job of staying away from the main patch, but everytime she thrusted her hips in the air, I ended up getting a mouthful of her bush. I choked a few times. I swallowed several strands.

I figured it was my turn once she cooled down. I plucked a hair from my mouth and was ready for her to reciprocate. It is after all an unwritten rule, at least I assumed. My friends, on the other hand, had warned me that going down on a girl first is similar to making a massive investment with a new bank. Chances are you’ll never get what you put in. In this case, I refused to believe I had just been robbed of my life savings. Regardless, I was in doubt, so I whipped it out. She looked at it with tired eyes. I leaned forward and had the tip in but she pushed me off.


“Do you have a condom?” she asked.

I shook my head and realized it wasn’t going to happen without one. Instead, I took her hand and put it on my shaft and she began stroking it. She was half assing it though, so I placed my hand over hers to guide it. This was one of the most disappointing hand jobs in my life. All hand jobs are essentially disappointing, but this one was devastatingly poor. I stood up and leaned towards her face in order to receive some oral from her, assuming it would be like giving her a treat. I wasn't so fortunate. She turned her head away.

I sat back down at the end of the couch. I was desperate. I looked at her dirty feet. She had been running barefoot throughout two cities. Fuck it. I took her foot and guided it without bothering to see her reaction. She then stroked my shaft with her foot with even less emphasis than she had previously done with her hand. I took her other foot and brought it to the party as well. It felt less than ordinary, but it was definitely better than nothing. This lasted all of two minutes. She was either entirely satisfied or completely unsympathetic to my situation. I was pissed at this point, so I pulled up my pants and walked over to the bathroom.

Whenever I hear about one of my friends having a disappointing night like this, it always ends the same way. They go over to a nearby couch, bed, or carpet and just rub one out in the most inappropriate place possible.

I decided the couch area wasn't ideal because it belonged to the hotel and she would probably stop me. Instead, I walked over to the bathroom and shut the door. It took me seconds to bust. I grinned and let it sit directly in the middle of the bathroom floor, inviting the next person to walk in to fall victim to my sexless wrath. I left the place even quicker than I came.


The next morning I woke up scratching my balls. At first I thought nothing of it. Then the paranoia hit. I panicked and ran to the bathroom. I pulled down my boxers not knowing what they would reveal. I laughed when I scanned myself. I remembered her dirty feet. My dick had a thin coat of dirt around it. Ever since I’ve been a fan of Ivory Soap.