Sunday Stories: The Night Out Award

Seven beers. Oh, they’re pretty cheap! Three women introducing themselves. Some are hot but none quite as hot as the one tending bar. Is she available? She smilingly is not. That makes eleven people, enough to play soccer. As is wont first there is a study round. The place is clean. Number 12 enters, maybe he’s the coach maybe security. A tiny guy, he clearly is muscle. The ladiezzz sit down, there has to be a start button. Mr. Cool orders three cups of bubbly, damned expensive. The music picks the women up and places them at the bar drinking bubbly already somewhat moving.

The place is clean. A clean place to do business in. You are allowed to smoke although the ashtrays keep on moving out of sight. Another seven beers, another three cups of bubbly and the bartender is smilingly very much OK as she is. Mr. Tiny dims lights, bumps up the volume of the music and the speed of the game increases. Seven more beers. One of them is tall in every way, she plays offense. One of them is petite, she is the winger. The third is plain and hooks up with Mr. Nerd who earlier boasted about Mrs. Nerd giving a hell of a blow job when he wanted, how he wanted and now is taken apart.

Touch is allowed now and with it the game is no longer controlled. Two other customers come in. One stays at the bar and the other appears to disappear. Titties are caressed buts are touched. More beer, more bubbly. Some of us need air being convinced we’re losing here even if we don’t know what and we don’t know how. At least the place is clean. People go out – ring the door bell – buzz – people go in. More beers. Some of us get impatient to score already unable to make out the own goal for the other. Many up and down to the loo, alone. The guy at the bar asks timidly “Is the toilet there?” “Yes it is”. Mr. Nerd buys a bottle of champagne.

Panic strikes, bloody expensive it is. We others try to buy beers but, smilingly, have to pay up. Mr. Tiny has her back. We do, not the bottle though. Mr. Nerd is on his own on that one. Plain wins hands down, it is not about the game but about a good choice of opponent. Some of us need air, others want more, Mr. Nerd wants these others to get value for his money. Not himself, no-no, Mrs. Nerd gives good head and he is a true socialist which is surprisingly relevant at odd hours of the night as you will come to see if you bear with me.

Mr. Cool, a bachelor not the bachelor, checks the cost of value with the tall one as a re-enforcement is on her way neither tall nor petite nor plain but talkative. Value costs too much so disappointment can set in. Not even titties, barely a thong. Dancing is taken to the podium. They have done a professional job and the prize is that things stay clean. Our party leaves with Mr. Nerd pissed off at Mr. Cool for not going all the way. Other people piss as Mr. Nerd talks somewhat incoherently about how insulting it is for the women to spend but not dare to do.

It doesn’t even come to pushing as we are all shipped seven in a five seat hatchback to the next venue.

A night to remember Mr. Cool says and in order to right him I write this.

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