Success/A Second Attempt

Well, the other night went fairly well. To be precise, certain parts of it were awesome, and others were dire. Let’s be brief…

I had bought a bottle of premium tequila for a ludicrous price (Sauza Conmemorativo for $25), some triple sec, a couple of limes and some ruby grapefruit juice. I then proceeded to drink half the tequila in the form of ruby grapefruit margaritas, which were made in my hotel room with copious free ice provided by the premises (I would expect nothing less for a deluxe establishment). I felt fine until I left, at which point I got a taxi down Second Avenue to the bar I had chosen for the evening – The Cock. This is notorious, by all accounts, for its sleazy atmosphere and almost-naked go-go boys who dance on the bar. Apparently, it was a favourite of Christina Aguilera, too, though I didn’t see her there…

Well! I was wasted when I got there, I now realise. I don’t think I was there very long, and I don’t remember a huge amount about the layout – I do, however, remember one particular dancing boy who I kept looking up at, and who looked back with (I believe) a smile on his face. I guess they’re paid to do that, but it made me feel good. I then met a nice (blonde?) American man, who I proceeded to snog, which was fantastic – he loved the fact I was English, and for my part I am so proud: firstly, because I pulled my first American, and second, because I pulled in New York!

I also remember putting my finger up the asshole of the cute go-go boy – with no complaint from him! I licked said finger, and re-inserted. At this point, things get hazier. I left – I believe my "I feel ill" instinct kicked in. I got a cab back to the hotel, and was then sick on the floor next to my bed.

This should have been embarrassing – humiliating, even – as my mum witnessed it. However, she has barely batted an eyelid. I cleaned it up the next day and that was that.

I am now drinking the rest of the tequila, and hope for as good an evening, if not better. I think I’ll go somewhere else, just so I don’t get a reputation (and because, although I am sure I wasn’t, I can’t totally convince myself that I wasn’t told off for fingering that dancer). The search goes on…