So I was slightly amazed and a bit grossed out when at midnight on Saturday I found myself making out with a 25 year-old Donny Osmond look-alike. At a gay bar. I'm surprised we didn't get our asses beat: a heterosexual groping session in a gay bar has got to break some sort of unspoken code.
Saturday, my friend got married on the beach (well, it was supposed to be on the beach, but the bride decided she didn't want to wear her 40 pound gown in pouring down rain. wuss!). There was a pleasant reception at a local restaurant then most of the guests under the age of 70 went to a bar and hung out for a bit. KT came down to be my date (the last time I took a boy to a wedding was in 2001. Sad.) and we were the only single women there. So, it didn't really surprise me when one of the two single guys there made a beeline for us, with drinks in hand, the first chance he got. I forget whether it was my little friend Donny, the groom's youngest brother (who went back to Kansas today, thank god), or the groom's friend from Nebraska. But it wasn't long before both Donny and Nebraska were all about KT and Susan. By the time we decided to go to the next bar, we had paired off - KT and Nebraska, and me and Donny.
The unfortunate thing in this story is that Susan stopped drinking at about 10pm. I was a bit buzzed, but was on my way back to sobriety so I could drive back home. The gay bar was a bad idea for a girl who aspired to sobriety. Also a bad idea was leading on a young impressionable and slightly desperate 25 year-old guy.
He was sorta cute, and very ernest, and was paying so much attention to me. I didn't really see the harm in dancing with him and letting him grab my ass on the dance floor. The problem started when he pinned me against a table and started kissing me. I went with it for a while. I mean, why not? Everybody else has cheap, tawdry meaningless hookups, why not me?
But I really wasn't enjoying myself. It was kinda gross. He was really drunk, and overly grabby. And, I don't know what was worse, the desperation that was oozing from his pores, or the cigarette/liquor breath. Oh god. I was making out with this guy out of obligation. Obligation to what I have no idea, but that's what it was.
Turns out that I got stuck with this kid until 3 am due to circumstances that were way beyond my control. Most of the evening after last call involved him trying to lift my dress, grab my crotch and jam his tongue down my throat. We sat on the beach for a while and I tried to talk with him; he would tolerate that for about 3 minutes, then make a go for me again. I would let him until he would make a crotch grab, then push him off and chastise him in this motherly tone. He did tell me that I was hot, which I liked. He also told me that he loved me. Which was nice, but I expect he's changed his mind about that by now. Oh, one of the nicest moments of the evening came when he grabbed a handful of wet sand and shoved it down my dress. I had a big clump of wet sand in my bra, which really felt nice. His motivation for doing this? He thought that if I was sandy, I would have to take my dress off.
He passed out in the hallway of his motel, with his head on my purse. I did mange to eventually get him in the room and flee. But the stink of his desperation, cigarettes and Southern Comfort lingered. I had to shower twice to get it off. Ew.