I walked inside the pub feeling lame, sad and lonely. The first thing I spotted was the Gal. She was blond and had white teeth and I knew her ‘cause she worked the till in my dad’s local grocers.
She was fine.
I was drunk and sad and pretty absent, you see, my wife of choice had just turned me down (again). My wife of choice is beautiful and she always knows her way around me, she is always ready to deprive me of what I most need: her tight pussy.
She said, my wife of choice, and I quote: I like you my husband, and I’m attracted to you, and there’s this thing called empathy [funny word, I wonder what it means, for the sake of it I like to think it rhymes with irony] but there’s no click about us, my husband, no click.
There’s no click, so she said and I felt like William Tell when the emperor commanded him: shoot the apple or your son will die! That was how I felt.
And so, absent, dull minded, lame and sorrow, I just left. I was too fucked up to stay.
I remember thinking to myself: you don’t deserve me, wife of my choice, who the fuck do you think you are? But then, I forgot all about her, had a hair cut in friend’s house, shaved, put on a Robin Hood mask, almost cut myself in the proceedings, and just drove away.
I drove my old and shameful car hard to the limit and fast for some hundred clicks [or should I call them miles?] and then I stopped in a place, a town, a village, I can’t remember, I know it had a pub I’d never seen before and it was near my dad’s home.
I walked inside, ordered a martini with a lemon twist, sat by the bar, talked to the guys, (what a ugly lot they were) discussed local ugly politics, and when I got their respect I politely asked for women.
The bartender replied: You looking for some action?.. There was silence and excitement and testosterone in the air. You could fuckin’ smell it. No, I said, I’m just looking for some ordinary gals, you know, nice young women, just that.
The bartender nodded for effect, while the other geezers, all of them were married, shot murderous eyes at me. They were prisoners and for the first time it felt fine to be free.
The bartender had seen a lot in his days, was a nice guy and knew about the mundane affairs of the world. That out of the way, he strolled his eyes as if saying: the man’s cool, the man’s ok, after which is instructions were clear and precise. Nobody bothered me, and one of the guys even offered to buy me a bear. Instead, I gave the bartender is money and with an address in my pocket promptly left.
As the bartender had told me, and as I would have guessed in the first place, had I been not eager enough to drink as I’d done, there was a girl’s bar near by and, besides, I knew it was near by my dad’s home, of which I had the key, quietly resting in the car’s hidden “glove” compartment.
As I parked, and although everything was nice and easy, including the booze parking, including the horribly twisted driving, somewhat I knew I was fucked. I was in love. I remembered. In love, no way I could let go of that.
Ah… Love. Love always fucks one’s mind. Believe it or not, falling in love does not change with age, it just kind of… Well it kind of… “refines”, until one beautiful morning you’re dead, end of story, end of love, end of life - end of words.
Nonetheless I had a problem and I just love them. When I can’t solve them I go about them like Alexander the Great and the gordian knot [if you don't know what that is check Google and y'll soon find out] and: it was Summer, it was Friday night and I couldn’t care less.
I wanted to have fun, I had money, was in that ecstatic frame of mind when one is boozed but simultaneously sober, driving a fast car running full of petrol and without commitments when day light next morning came, and all things considered - I thought to myself while driving in a steady sober pace - Fuck her, I said to myself, fuck her, fuck the wife of my choice, I’m gona have fun, I said.
All of a sudden I was there. The place was glittering, shining, and just in case, just for luck, the moon was bright full. I parked and there was noise, at first. Then the noise turned into music, and then music turned into soul music and then I saw the Gal.
There I was, the middle of nowhere, sad, lonely and lame, but fine nonetheless.
There was music and it cheered me up. And as I was walking inside the first thing I saw was the gal who worked the till in the grocers just a click from my dad's home.
She knew me, and we’d both always been hot about each other, although it had never crossed my mind to give her a proper really cool shag (well it had, but the occasion had never arisen).
She saw me as if she had never seen me before. Cold and icy, she was wearing make up and armour made of a pink linen short tight dress.
Hell, she’s so god dam beautiful, I thought to myself. What a beautiful set of breasts she has… And those red lips, and those blue eyes and that golden hair. Fuck! What a dream she was. Again I ordered a martin, but right there and then I decided she was gona be mine.
She’s hot, she’s extremely hot, I recall reflecting to myself as I zipped the martini, she’s hot I almost spoke it aloud. And then… Click.
I went over to her and asked if she’d like a drink. She said yes. We drank and danced all night long and in the end, [or was it the beginning] I took her to my dad’s shack and… Well you all know the rest. It was click, and click and more clicking all fucking night long. In truth, I’m writing these words in agony, for the first time in my life I feel real fear: I think this Gal is probably gona sex me to death.
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