You may remember the below scenario from my contribution for the TMI Award.  I’m sharing it again because, well, it happen right around this time during my stint at this particular lesbian bar.  But allow me to elaborate…

Tampa, me, drunk…insert cute bartender, Gwen – cute, with long black hair and the knowledge of every popular drink recipe known to man.  Not really, but at least the ones important to me.  I was toasted.  She offered to drive me home after her shift.  I remember sitting around waiting for her – patiently.  When my eyes were open, I was dizzy.  So I’d close them, only to get severely nauseous.  If anyone was watching me at that point, I’m sure it was quite comical for them.  

Finally, it was time to go.  She cajoled me out into the night, pausing long enough for me to figure out where the hell I had parked.  We needed to move my car because it was parked in a lot that towed after a certain time.  She moved it for me – so sweet.  And then we were off – only to turn around halfway because I  left my house key in my car; she was a real trooper.  I’m not sure if she thought at this point that she was only helping out a cute girl, or if she felt like she had a chance for an easy lay.  I found out soon enough.

We made it back to my place from Ybor City and the kiss good night turned into a raucous affair in the front seat of her Isuzu.  The kissing turned into heavy petting, which turned into – how did my pants get down so fast?  She was extremely lithe and it was making me dizzy.  So, naturally, I closed my eyes – only to have that intense nausea come over me once again.  

‘Don’t be sick.  Don’t be sick.  Don’t be sick.  She’s really cute.  She won’t call you again if you puke on her.’  

I was just too drunk to truly enjoy it.  I’m not quite sure how long we were in the car, but we were both naked.  How and when her clothes came off?  No idea.  But lucky for her she was so damn tiny.  She fit everywhere: down by my feet, up in the air between my head and the roof of the car.  I’m not kidding.  Maybe I was drunk, maybe she was actually a flying lesbian monkey.  Who knows?  What I did know is that I needed to appreciate the non-nauseous moments in this epic front-seat affair.  She went from crouched at my feet pleasuring me to a weird, floating 69 position – she was a lesbian ninja.

Cunningly enough, I convinced her to come inside.  She actually asked me, ‘are you sure?’  Even as drunk as I was, I knew better than to let my smart-ass flag fly and say, ‘what?  you want to keep doing lesbian olympics in your front seat?  don’t you have a headache?  I reiterated my desire to continue our romp indoors.  We got dressed and went to my front door.  

To explain the exterior layout of my complex: I enter my apartment on the first floor and then I had interior stairs that led up to my living area – kind of like a loft.  But back on the first floor, my front door is smack next to the patio of my downstairs neighbor, whose entire apartment is ground level.  As I struggled with the keys, he pokes his head out over the railing: “Ohhh, so that was you two humpin’ in the car.”  

Me: “No, no it wasn’t.”  Finally getting the door open, we spill inside and up the stairs.  Once inside, I realized there was no denying it – my shirt was on inside out.  And backwards.  Great.  I’m sure I’ll be getting a lot of nods and random grins from him every time we see each other.  I sit her down on the sofa, but I don’t kiss or even attempt to continue the already-in-progress intimacy.  Instead, I go for my new pictures.  To this day, I still have no idea why the hell I decided that my new portfolio would make a great aphrodisiac.  I mean, they were nice and all, but I was already in her face, in the flesh.  Literally, I might add.  So pictures didn’t really matter at the moment.  Perhaps I was just trying to buy some time to quell the nausea.  Yeah, that must have been it.

Needless to say, she had to go – yawn – it was getting late and – yawn – she had to get home.  Of course.  Oh well, but at least she gave me her number once again to call her to return for my car the next day.  In my mind, the evening wasn’t a total loss.

I called her that following afternoon.  Several times as a matter of fact.  No answer.  No return call.  She blew me off.  My friend ended up taking me back to my car, but I was definitely pissed about the situation.  I let her have a little some of me for crying out loud.  That, at least, warranted a return phone call, even if she couldn’t take me to my car.  I decided that she wasn’t going to get away that easily.  

I went back the next weekend.  She half-smiled when she saw me and then was conveniently busy the entire night.  Like, disappeared from one area of the bar to another, any time I stepped up.  So I asked around.  I had made some friends with the other bartenders/bar backs/security.  Okay, okay, by friends I mean they watched me open/close/open my eyes the previous weekend while waiting on Gwen.  Apparently, this was her m.o.  Seriously?  She was actually bisexual or, more technically, a trisexual.  She had a boyfriend but would occasionally have her way with a girl at her leisure.

Her leisure?  At first I was kind of pissed.  At least let me know and I could make an informed decision: which would’ve been yes, but give me the opportunity to pretend to be demure.  But then I thought about it.  Didn’t I already do this exact thing to someone else?  Set her happy ass up for disappointment?  Why yes, yes I did.  Lisa drove an hour and a half, so my obligation to her was a wee bit stronger, so I felt obliged for my own amusement.  This though?  Fewer theatrics, but still quite entertaining.  I mean, I have skills but I’m not quite a ninja.  Who could be, other than midgets and tiny Indian women who weighed 80 lbs soaking wet?  No, Gwen was not a midget.  Yes, she was tiny at about 80 lbs soaking wet.  It takes talent to squeeze in and out of compartmentalized sections in an SUV.  And suspend oneself mid-air in a vertical 69 without losing lingual contact with my clitoris?  Outside of the Matrix, that’s talent!  Plus, I was drunk so I wasn’t as much an actual participant so much as a wide-eyed observer.  She did the bulk of the work.  And at least this time I got to experience the front seat of a car instead of the back.  So, if you ask me…still winning.

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