2:00am. Bar close. Big guy runs up behind me and then matches my walking speed.
"hey man..."
"hey..."
"I've got a bottle of white wine... wanna party?"
"uhhh... sorry man..."
"ok, um, what else can i say.. uhh... blowjob?"
"ah. sorry man. don't swing that way... flattered but, sorry."
"aight."
ahh San Francisco.
And, in the time-honoured tradition of straight actors playing gay talking up their happy wives and children, you absolutely had to post this anecdote. The same thing could have happened to you on St. Catherine East.
bitch bitch bitch. ;)
Totally, and it has happened to me on St-Catherine East.. and on St-Laurent, and St-Denis and Mont Royal and and and...
Except it happens rarely. Here it happens immediately. It doesn't bother me, and I am sorry if you feel it perpetuates a cliché of SF... but you know... it happened and I mentioned it. And I was flattered. And I wish women were (a little bit) as forward.. though the female version of this guy would have gotten a "no" as well; not just because of not being physically my type but also 2am running after people outside a dingy bar is not a high indicator of quality... Did I mention I am VERY picky about who I let touch me?
Also, in some way this kind of thing is similar to how hanging out in Tokyo affords me the opportunity to experience what it is to live with subtle daily-life racism: here I get to experience constant unsolicited sexual attention. It's not a judgement, it's an observation, and as all observations, deeply steeped in the morass of my experience, my perceptions and my pre-concieved notions (yes I still have some of those... it's a side effect of structured thought. Very hard to rid oneself of entirely while maintaining social cohesion.)
it was a bottle of red wine, you big meany.
Aaaaahahahaa :)
but you do have a lovely butt ; )
