When I first moved to Vancouver, I didn’t really know anybody. In the first few months of living there, I had a great way of meeting people and trying to get lucky. I used to go down to a hostel that was a short walk from my apartment. I’d go there early and alone and sit at the bar. As I’d drink, various different people would come and go until eventually a lonely attractive girl would sit next to me. I’d strike up a conversation with something smooth like “so what’s going on with your face then?” you know, something James Bond would say and we’d get lost in conversation for hours. Eventually, when I felt we knew each other well enough I’d suggest we try a different bar which the girl would always agree to. From here I’d take the girl to a bar that was (conveniently) close to my apartment. The special thing about this place was that it is a gay bar, this would lead to the girls telling me how impressed they were that I’m so comfortable around gay guys. Most importantly, there wouldn’t be anybody hitting on her. Here we’d get into a deeper, more personal conversation until I’d decide to either take them to a gay club, the beach or, if I played my cards right, to my apartment. On one particular occasion, this is how I met a girl that, in this story I’ll call TheScandinavian.
Now the night I met TheScandinavian I didn’t take her to a club, beach or my apartment. I met her fresh off her 12+ hour flight and she was extremely jet lagged and tired so she went back to the hostel where she was staying for the week, but not before we exchanged numbers. A couple of nights later whilst I’m out with friends she sends me a text asking if I wanted to meet up. I wasn’t overly attracted to her aesthetically but she had a great, fun personality.
Also I’m male, I have a penis and I wanted to use it.
So I told her to come out and meet us. She meets my friends who all fall in love with her personality just like I did a few nights before and after many, many drinks, my friends all filter off until it’s me, TheScandinavian and my other female friend, let’s call her Tartan. I pick up where I left off the other night and suggest we hit the gay club. They both agree.
We hit the gay club, we drink, we laugh and then we start playing pool. I’m terrible at pool, but I’m beating the girls until a lesbian comes over and Challenges me. TheScandinavian and Tartan sit down to chat with each other. I start playing and beating the lesbian at pool. That is until one point where I bend over to take a shot and I get a massive slap on the arse.
I ignore it. I’m in a gay club. I don’t want to encourage this behaviour. I go for another shot and get my arse slapped again. I still don’t react. The third time I can’t help but look round. Only to find myself met with a big, black, drag queen wearing a short, strappy, hot pink dress. “You’re playing me next big boy” He/she says, in a way so stereotypical that it makes me wish I was exaggerating.
I pass the offer down but he/she’s persistent. I start getting encouraged by the lesbian and the gay guys orbiting around the drag queen. I have no choice. It’d be more uncomfortable if I walked away. I guess I have to play her/him now, at least one game. As I rack up I look over at my friends. In my absence, they’re getting hit on by two lads. No problem, I think, I’ll get this game of pool over and done with and then continue my pursuit of getting my fingers stinky with TheScandinavian.
I start to play pool. I want to get it over and done with quick. But as I said, I’m terrible at pool. I’m not potting anything. I look over at the girls again. They’re leaving for the outside area of the club with the lads to smoke. FUCK!
Embarrassingly I start to get owned by the drag queen. To add to that embarrassment, the pool game starts to become a spectacle as a huge crowd of gay guys form throughout the match to watch and cheer on the drag queen. She’s/he’s potting everything and absolutely destroying me. He/she toys with me. I’m clearly uncomfortable and the drag queen adds to it by taking his/her time with the black ball. She/he must have known I wanted to get out of there.
She/he finally potted the black ball and this suddenly left me in an awkward position. I’ve got to be polite, that’s my nature. Do we shake hands? Or do I hug him/her? Through quick thinking I decide, I’m in a gay club, a big crowd has formed, I don’t want to offend anybody, I want to be polite, I’ll go for the hug.
I’ve made better decisions in my time.
We embrace. My hands find his/her back. Remember, this is a big, black, drag queen wearing a short, strappy, hot pink dress. I can feel all the hairs as my fingers run through them. They curl around my fingertips as I pick up the sweat from his/her back with my palms.
Tasty.
I finally leave the pool table, red in the face and go to find the girls. But it’s too late. They’re deep in conversation with the lads in the smoking area. TheScandinavian has seemed to have lost interest and is now focusing all her attention on one of the lads. I blew it. I admit defeat and go home. Trying to figure out the moment I went wrong.
A couple of days later I meet up with TheScandinavian for some drinks for her last night in her trip to Vancouver. I want to end this story without going into too much detail, but I need to conclude it somehow. So with a cheeky play on words...
In more ways than one, there was a happy ending.
