Out For A Drink
I had a quiet night at home ahead of me, which I love. House to myself. Daniel-san had gone out with Mike with a couple of girls who Mike had procured from somewhere, who knows, you know Mike. It was to be a blind date for Daniel, which he laughed about as he left the house. Mike and some girl he, apparently, liked and some friend of hers.
"I hope she's nice," said Daniel, grabbing his bulging jeans as he reached for the front door. "I'll happily give her a bit, I could do with some."
"You should never go out with a loaded gun, Daniel."
"Bullshit, that's why I'm going out."
Then the house was quiet. The TV was on mute. The stillness fell over the furniture, the room and hung in the air only broken by the cat meowing for her dinner. I fed her and slid my bowl of lamb shanks into the microwave, Daniel's specialty since he has discovered the slow cooker. I ate my dinner and flicked through the channels of rubbish that was on TV and twiddled my thumbs, unusually for me.
What to do?
I thought about what to do on a quiet Sunday night? What to do? This was stupid. What did I once do on nights like this? Head out to bars. Head out to bars? Head out to the bar. Jesus! Was I out of practice, or what? Of course, I wasn't out of practice going to bars, I like bars and booze and all that goes with them. But, how long had it been since I went out to a bar on my own? Silly. Suddenly, I felt eighteen and awkward, which was strange as I never felt awkward going to bars when I was eighteen, and not thirty five and in control of my life and my destiny.
I used to shiver at the anticipation of heading out for a drink and not feel blank at the dumbness of it all. I wanted a mate to go with, but somehow, I felt like that was exactly the wrong path for this evening.
So, I put on my favourite jeans, the ones which make my dick look big and my Levis t-shirt which fits me just right and headed out to the bar.
The walk did me good, kind of centred me and got me chilled. I smoked 2 joints on the way. It is a tricky balancing act, going out and smoking pot. You don’t want to overdo the hooch as I want to do booze when I get there.
The bar was busy.
I took up my position at the bar with a schooner, I didn’t much feel like slipping around the walls pretending not to be a flower. The bar itself gives focus and purpose, not something I’d thought of before, but it felt apparent tonight.
The boy’s were pumped, jeans and singlets seemed to be the order of the day – bulging chests, flat torsos, round arses, packed jeans. I can’t help but look and think how much cock meat was hidden away just out of sight?
I got a beer and stood at the bar.
"Hi," says a handsome six foot 20 something?
"Hi," I say. Cute, I think. Very cute.
He smiles. “Do you come here often?”
“Do people really still use that line?”
“I dunno.” Smile. “I’m kidding... really.”
“Oh.”
“Are you here with someone, or here on your own?”
“On my own?”
“Nice to meet you, I’m James.”
“I’m Josh.”
“You’re pretty handsome.”
“Are you always this straight forward?”
“I find the other way doesn’t really work for me.” He smiles. Nice smile. “This does. Do you find it intimidating?”
“No, direct I like.”
“Me too.” He smiles again. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“No clichéd line is beyond you, clearly.” I know when I like someone, I get mouthy and cheeky.
“Not really, I’m just thirsty… and it somehow seems rude not to ask.”
“Rude? Why?”
“Well... if we are going to have sex later, it seems only right.”
“Those clichés... they don’t stop coming out of you, now do they.”
He laughs. “Sorry, I just couldn’t resist that one. Beer?”
“You want to get me drunk?”
“I find it helps.”
“What would you like?” asks the semi naked barman.
“A schooner for me… and one for my friend here.”
“So, I’m your friend, now?”
“If I get you drunk… you might be.”
“Thanks... You’re pretty confident.”
“Well, I haven’t scared you yet.”
“I don’t scare easily.”
The barman put the beers down in front of us with a clunk.
"What do you do?"
"Nothing." Ah fuck it, if he was being direct, so was I.
"Well... a man of means, I'm impressed."
"Or a dole bludger... you don't know."
"You don't look like a dole bludger."
"What does a dole bludger look like?"
"Oh." He smiles. "Multicoloured hair, piercings, bad clothes, unhappy, drug problem." He does hand movements and facial expressions with each attribute, which are endearing. And also tell me he is pretty hammered already.
“Perhaps you are a trust fund kid?”
“I haven’t been called a kid for…” I took in a big breath… “I can’t remember.” I couldn’t. I shrugged and couldn’t help smiling. He made me smile.
“Really…”
"What do you do?"
"I'm a lawyer..."
I grimace. "Oh... well... James, it was nice to meet you, I hope you..." I faux-move to leave.
"Where are you going?" he looks a little surprised, as though he isn’t sure if I am kidding.
"I don't date from the bottom of the food chain."
"Who said anything about dating?"
I laugh and sit back down again. "Yes... true."
“So, you are the marrying kind?” he asks.
“How so?”
“I ask you if you’d like a drink... and you practically propose.”
Jesus! Is that what it sounded like? “Slip of the tongue.”
“I have to say I like that in a man.”
“Proposing?” My tongue slid out of my mouth, practically before I could stop it. “Or the slip of the tongue.” I would have been mortified, if it hadn’t, by chance, made him smile.
“Tongues are good,” he said.
“Pool?” he asks. He motions in the direction of the pool table with his head.
“Sure.”
“I would have been disappointed if you’d said no,” he said. “Poofs have to play pool.”
We play pool and he kicks my arse. I'm actually a really good pool player, but I don't play often and I need a number of games before I warm up to the job. I enjoy watching him bend over the pool table though, he has nice, thick thighs, that go all the way up to his arse.
He catches me looking. He smiles. The smile slides off his face and I see his hot face, his turned on face, for the first time.
“I like you,” I say. It just comes out. I touch his hair, rub his head. He closes his eyes momentarily.
We stand at the side and drink our beer after I have been resoundingly thrashed. I'm sneaking looks at him, thinking what's going to happen here, when he leans in and kisses me. He's big and handsome and I wasn't really expecting this. He's taller than me, for a start, not something I usually go for. Amy says it's because taller men make me feel like a little girl. I dispute that theory. It's because I like to have eye contact when I'm looking at a guy I like.
I kiss him back. He smells like a man. I’m glad he hasn’t got any aftershave on. I suddenly feel like that eighteen year old out at a bar for the first time. Kissing James’s stubbly chin. He feels strong and hard and solid.
"Where do you live?" James whispers in my ear.
"Not, far. Carlton."
"If you asked me back there, I'd say yes."
I think about pulling his shirt off. I wonder what he’d look like in his jocks, with half a fat. "Are you house trained?"
"Sure, by experts. Anal mother, OCD father."
"That sounds tough."
"I'm lying... but I am house trained."
"I see."
"Clean." He holds out his finger nails for inspection."
I wonder how big his cock is, or how smooth his arse may be.
“Jocks and socks?”
“Clean on today.” He smiles again. “But... you don’t have to take my word for it.”
“Any bad habits?”
“None to speak of.”
“Name your worst habit?”
“I tuck my shirt into my underwear.”
I make a sucking noise with my mouth. “Really.” I grimace.
He's really lovely. He has a nice smile. I'm feeling really drawn to him, in a first date kind of way.
“Your worst habit,” he asks.
“Procrastination.”
“Oh,” he grimaces. “That’s a bad one. Lazy Josh, is it?”
“Laid back Josh.”
Ah... the fine line between lazy and laid back, it is something I have stepped from and to all my life. It's just perception really, depending on who is looking at you and how much they like you, I always think.
"Do you want to go somewhere for coffee?" He winks.
"Where did you have in mind?"
"Your place."
We head out into the street. It's busy, there are people every where. The punters are happy, having a good time.
“Boxers or briefs?”
“Trunks.”
“Cut or uncut?”
“Uncut.” He looks at me and waits for an answer.
“Cut.”
“Top or bottom?” he asks.
“Top.” I look at him and wait for his answer.
“It depends how drunk you get me.”
We head up Gertrude Street, up the hill. It is suddenly quiet, the people have been left back behind us.
“Manual or automatic?”
“Fellatio?”
“Gear box.”
“Manual.”
“Correct answer.”
He takes my hand. He looks over at me as he does. He smiles gently, I do to. It feels nice.
“Dogs or cats?”
“Dogs.”
“You?”
“Either. I have a dog and I have a cat.”
A cool wind blows up the street from behind. He puts his arm around my shoulders. The difference in height doesn't seem to make much of a difference.
"You're nice, you know."
I don't feel like a little girl, I feel connected to someone.
He passed out on my couch. I put a blanket over him. He looked adorable lying there.
The next morning I was in the shower. There was a knock at the door and it was James. He said he was going.
"Hey, you can't go out into the day without a shower."
"Another time, mate."
And he was gone.
"I hope she's nice," said Daniel, grabbing his bulging jeans as he reached for the front door. "I'll happily give her a bit, I could do with some."
"You should never go out with a loaded gun, Daniel."
"Bullshit, that's why I'm going out."
Then the house was quiet. The TV was on mute. The stillness fell over the furniture, the room and hung in the air only broken by the cat meowing for her dinner. I fed her and slid my bowl of lamb shanks into the microwave, Daniel's specialty since he has discovered the slow cooker. I ate my dinner and flicked through the channels of rubbish that was on TV and twiddled my thumbs, unusually for me.
What to do?
I thought about what to do on a quiet Sunday night? What to do? This was stupid. What did I once do on nights like this? Head out to bars. Head out to bars? Head out to the bar. Jesus! Was I out of practice, or what? Of course, I wasn't out of practice going to bars, I like bars and booze and all that goes with them. But, how long had it been since I went out to a bar on my own? Silly. Suddenly, I felt eighteen and awkward, which was strange as I never felt awkward going to bars when I was eighteen, and not thirty five and in control of my life and my destiny.
I used to shiver at the anticipation of heading out for a drink and not feel blank at the dumbness of it all. I wanted a mate to go with, but somehow, I felt like that was exactly the wrong path for this evening.
So, I put on my favourite jeans, the ones which make my dick look big and my Levis t-shirt which fits me just right and headed out to the bar.
The walk did me good, kind of centred me and got me chilled. I smoked 2 joints on the way. It is a tricky balancing act, going out and smoking pot. You don’t want to overdo the hooch as I want to do booze when I get there.
The bar was busy.
I took up my position at the bar with a schooner, I didn’t much feel like slipping around the walls pretending not to be a flower. The bar itself gives focus and purpose, not something I’d thought of before, but it felt apparent tonight.
The boy’s were pumped, jeans and singlets seemed to be the order of the day – bulging chests, flat torsos, round arses, packed jeans. I can’t help but look and think how much cock meat was hidden away just out of sight?
I got a beer and stood at the bar.
"Hi," says a handsome six foot 20 something?
"Hi," I say. Cute, I think. Very cute.
He smiles. “Do you come here often?”
“Do people really still use that line?”
“I dunno.” Smile. “I’m kidding... really.”
“Oh.”
“Are you here with someone, or here on your own?”
“On my own?”
“Nice to meet you, I’m James.”
“I’m Josh.”
“You’re pretty handsome.”
“Are you always this straight forward?”
“I find the other way doesn’t really work for me.” He smiles. Nice smile. “This does. Do you find it intimidating?”
“No, direct I like.”
“Me too.” He smiles again. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“No clichéd line is beyond you, clearly.” I know when I like someone, I get mouthy and cheeky.
“Not really, I’m just thirsty… and it somehow seems rude not to ask.”
“Rude? Why?”
“Well... if we are going to have sex later, it seems only right.”
“Those clichés... they don’t stop coming out of you, now do they.”
He laughs. “Sorry, I just couldn’t resist that one. Beer?”
“You want to get me drunk?”
“I find it helps.”
“What would you like?” asks the semi naked barman.
“A schooner for me… and one for my friend here.”
“So, I’m your friend, now?”
“If I get you drunk… you might be.”
“Thanks... You’re pretty confident.”
“Well, I haven’t scared you yet.”
“I don’t scare easily.”
The barman put the beers down in front of us with a clunk.
"What do you do?"
"Nothing." Ah fuck it, if he was being direct, so was I.
"Well... a man of means, I'm impressed."
"Or a dole bludger... you don't know."
"You don't look like a dole bludger."
"What does a dole bludger look like?"
"Oh." He smiles. "Multicoloured hair, piercings, bad clothes, unhappy, drug problem." He does hand movements and facial expressions with each attribute, which are endearing. And also tell me he is pretty hammered already.
“Perhaps you are a trust fund kid?”
“I haven’t been called a kid for…” I took in a big breath… “I can’t remember.” I couldn’t. I shrugged and couldn’t help smiling. He made me smile.
“Really…”
"What do you do?"
"I'm a lawyer..."
I grimace. "Oh... well... James, it was nice to meet you, I hope you..." I faux-move to leave.
"Where are you going?" he looks a little surprised, as though he isn’t sure if I am kidding.
"I don't date from the bottom of the food chain."
"Who said anything about dating?"
I laugh and sit back down again. "Yes... true."
“So, you are the marrying kind?” he asks.
“How so?”
“I ask you if you’d like a drink... and you practically propose.”
Jesus! Is that what it sounded like? “Slip of the tongue.”
“I have to say I like that in a man.”
“Proposing?” My tongue slid out of my mouth, practically before I could stop it. “Or the slip of the tongue.” I would have been mortified, if it hadn’t, by chance, made him smile.
“Tongues are good,” he said.
“Pool?” he asks. He motions in the direction of the pool table with his head.
“Sure.”
“I would have been disappointed if you’d said no,” he said. “Poofs have to play pool.”
We play pool and he kicks my arse. I'm actually a really good pool player, but I don't play often and I need a number of games before I warm up to the job. I enjoy watching him bend over the pool table though, he has nice, thick thighs, that go all the way up to his arse.
He catches me looking. He smiles. The smile slides off his face and I see his hot face, his turned on face, for the first time.
“I like you,” I say. It just comes out. I touch his hair, rub his head. He closes his eyes momentarily.
We stand at the side and drink our beer after I have been resoundingly thrashed. I'm sneaking looks at him, thinking what's going to happen here, when he leans in and kisses me. He's big and handsome and I wasn't really expecting this. He's taller than me, for a start, not something I usually go for. Amy says it's because taller men make me feel like a little girl. I dispute that theory. It's because I like to have eye contact when I'm looking at a guy I like.
I kiss him back. He smells like a man. I’m glad he hasn’t got any aftershave on. I suddenly feel like that eighteen year old out at a bar for the first time. Kissing James’s stubbly chin. He feels strong and hard and solid.
"Where do you live?" James whispers in my ear.
"Not, far. Carlton."
"If you asked me back there, I'd say yes."
I think about pulling his shirt off. I wonder what he’d look like in his jocks, with half a fat. "Are you house trained?"
"Sure, by experts. Anal mother, OCD father."
"That sounds tough."
"I'm lying... but I am house trained."
"I see."
"Clean." He holds out his finger nails for inspection."
I wonder how big his cock is, or how smooth his arse may be.
“Jocks and socks?”
“Clean on today.” He smiles again. “But... you don’t have to take my word for it.”
“Any bad habits?”
“None to speak of.”
“Name your worst habit?”
“I tuck my shirt into my underwear.”
I make a sucking noise with my mouth. “Really.” I grimace.
He's really lovely. He has a nice smile. I'm feeling really drawn to him, in a first date kind of way.
“Your worst habit,” he asks.
“Procrastination.”
“Oh,” he grimaces. “That’s a bad one. Lazy Josh, is it?”
“Laid back Josh.”
Ah... the fine line between lazy and laid back, it is something I have stepped from and to all my life. It's just perception really, depending on who is looking at you and how much they like you, I always think.
"Do you want to go somewhere for coffee?" He winks.
"Where did you have in mind?"
"Your place."
We head out into the street. It's busy, there are people every where. The punters are happy, having a good time.
“Boxers or briefs?”
“Trunks.”
“Cut or uncut?”
“Uncut.” He looks at me and waits for an answer.
“Cut.”
“Top or bottom?” he asks.
“Top.” I look at him and wait for his answer.
“It depends how drunk you get me.”
We head up Gertrude Street, up the hill. It is suddenly quiet, the people have been left back behind us.
“Manual or automatic?”
“Fellatio?”
“Gear box.”
“Manual.”
“Correct answer.”
He takes my hand. He looks over at me as he does. He smiles gently, I do to. It feels nice.
“Dogs or cats?”
“Dogs.”
“You?”
“Either. I have a dog and I have a cat.”
A cool wind blows up the street from behind. He puts his arm around my shoulders. The difference in height doesn't seem to make much of a difference.
"You're nice, you know."
I don't feel like a little girl, I feel connected to someone.
He passed out on my couch. I put a blanket over him. He looked adorable lying there.
The next morning I was in the shower. There was a knock at the door and it was James. He said he was going.
"Hey, you can't go out into the day without a shower."
"Another time, mate."
And he was gone.
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