No party en mis pantalones.
I am not one to pussyfoot in the plight for penis. It takes but the merest of intrigue to prompt my initiation of an introduction. Dignity being subjective, we have nothing to lose.
“So,” I sidled up to the bar at Fiesta Cantina in West Hollywood, draping my arm across the muscled shoulders of a fellow patron. “Wanna give me your other beer?”
I grinned impishly as his eyes met mine.
“No.”
“- Oh -“ It took me a moment. “Ah -” I began to chuckle, “Well -” slinking backwards. “Yeah. Have a good night, then.”
Eesh, I grimaced exaggeratedly, cartoon-like, at my friends who only shook their heads, continually beguiled by my gumption as they are.
Beats me why he didn’t bite, though. I suppose I wasn’t as obvious with my intentions as I had been when shirking my shirt at the same ho hole on Halloween a couple months prior.
Dios sabes he wouldn’t have been able to resist that lust beckoning belly.
No matter. “ON TO THE NEXT!” I always trumpet. And were I a less prideful man, a more timid social swashbuckler, I could take advantage of the two-for-one beverage special myself and double fist my sorrows off the plank.
thank for share, it is very important .￣︿￣
haha. i would have gone with the drinks!!!