Tonight. The college bar I've been frequenting in recent months. On the dancefloor with my girls and random dancer-boy slides up behind my friend. And then his friend slides up in front of me. We dance for a bit and then he introduces himself. I still hate small talk on the dancefloor. We're drunk. It's loud. Who cares? Just dance.
But I play along. For now. I give him my bar name, which is a shortened version of my actual name. He shakes my hand. Seems pretty gentlemanly.
And then, more questions. Sigh. Please just dance.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asks.
"No," I reply. At that point I should've just said yes. What would he have done then?
A broad smile spreads across his face. "Well you do now."
Woah there. I've known you for all of three minutes. Timbaland's just gettin' started and you're already claimin' possession? Uh-uh.
"Umm...no thanks. Not interested in a boyfriend."
"Why?" He's seriously perplexed. Perhaps it's a cultural thing. He's from out of town, like way out of town and maybe he's used to things moving along at this fast of a pace. But this penguin don't play dat way.
"Because I'm really enjoying being single," I reply. Nuff said. He looks dismayed. Fortunately, my girlfriend motions that it's time to visit the loo. We narrowly escape.
When we emerge from the ladies' room, we grab another drink and I begin looking around for this hot number I noticed on the way in. I spot him slowly wallflowering his way onto the dance floor. Why does it take some guys way too many drinks to get the nerve up to dance? I sally up to him and we start groovin'. Damn. Good dancer. Damn. Very drunk. In the first five minutes of dancing, he introduces himself four times!
The beat gets stronger. Our bodies fit together pretty well. I'm in the zone here. I close my eyes and drift off somewhere warm. Yum.
He reveals his age. 24. He guesses me at 22. Sure. Whatever you say. Why argue with a cute drunk boy? Through the course of our grinding (which he's really good at) he begins to sober up. He is now able to remember my name without my repeating it. Progress.
Now, I'm having a good enough time. He's hot. He can dance. Oh, and he can kiss. Really kiss. And then...it goes to hell in a hay-basket.
He says, sheepish grin on his face, "So my Mom's out of the country for the next three weeks. You should come back to my place."
I've never done such a thing and as tempting as it would be to spend the night at college boy's house while Mommy is away, I'm acutely aware of the vast ocean between us. Physical attraction aside, what the hell would I do with a 24-year-old?
I left the bar alone, but I did take his number. We'll see if he can carry on a conversation sober. Hey, I've got three weeks right?
tall (and very naughty) penguin