A story that takes place in a gay bar which is vaguely about breasts. It's as good as you imagine.
Back in February Ms Foxtrot and I made one of our annual pilgrimmages (can that be a word? You very rarely hear of anyone making more than one pilgrimmage, so it sounds weird) to Blackpool, for the dancin'. On this occasion we went with the University DanceSport team so there was much drinkin' to be had after the sequins, fake tan, ludicrously tight trousers and wiggly hip action had faded been forever seared into memory.

Several of us decided that in keeping with the day's events we should go to the Flying Handbag. Now you may be thinking that this is the most flamboyantly gay name for a drinking pit in existence, well, you'd be wrong; right next door is a club called the Flamingo - the letters are lit up in sizzling neon, and the "O" is a different colour to the other letters. Think about it.

The Flying Handbag is basically a very camp hole (accusations of innocuous sexual innuendo will be met with the internet equivalent of a pitying look) of a pub whose principle redeeming feature is that it makes absolutely no secret of its preposterous levels of gayness. The DJ is a very loud-mouthed transvestite, and most of its patrons are to heterosexuality as Michael McIntyre is to comedy. What has all this got to do with breasts, I hear you cry? Well allow me, with enormous relish, to tell you!

One of my best friends amongst the dancey bunch is Nicola. She hot. Tall, slim, pretty, filthy mind. Recently (at this point) single and we'd forever joked about her being a secret lesbian. So, amidst many, many drinks, I decided to cheer her up. With the help of Chloe. She also hot. Stunningly pretty, breasts (there you go) that could block out the sun. Often found, whilst drunk, to be dubious of morals and sexual persuasion. I decided to take advantage of this.

Beckoning Chloe to me, I whispered (OK, shouted - we were in a gay bar, which stereotypically tend to be every bit as loud and disorientating as the Electric Six song of the same name. SO I'M TOLD) "Fancy a game of chicken?"

Chloe was up for this. I knew she would be.

"Let's see who can get closer to kissing Nicola before she pulls away and laughs it off", said I.

Chloe accepted. Chloe grabbed Nicola around the waist, leaned forwards and kissed her full on the lips. Nicola clearly enjoyed the attention. Tongues were visibly entwined. Whether by choice, encouragement or sheer gravitational pull, Nicola's right hand was all over Chloe's boobs. This lasted a good 30-45 seconds (please forgive me for not running an exact chronometer). Meanwhile I was stood about two feet away, watching intently with a whisky and a grin.

Eventually, the kiss ended and Chloe turned to me, looking triumphant, and declaring "I win!"

I simply replied, "Oh no honey, I think you'll find I win"

I never had the slightest intention of kissing Nicola. Ms Foxtrot would have broken all three of my legs.

See above for length. Best Only thing ever to happen to me in a gay bar
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Fri 7 May 2010, 13:43, 8 replies)

This is what video phones were made for!

( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Fri 7 May 2010, 13:49, closed)

Well it's no good telling me that NOW

(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Fri 7 May 2010, 13:51, closed)

Great story, well-told.
Clickage.
(anvil, Fri 7 May 2010, 14:12, closed)

Outstanding!
Well done, truly well done!
You can't see it, but I'm actually applauding you.

(may not be true, I'm very lazy after all)
(SpangoTheWonderBadger is brewing beer, Fri 7 May 2010, 14:13, closed)

Gay bar names
Fibre (Leeds)
Because they take it up the shitter
(babyaeroplanes, Fri 7 May 2010, 15:43, closed)

Clicks
for sneakiness (and knowing where to stop)
( Amberl was stripey and dominated Europe, Fri 7 May 2010, 17:17, closed)

pith
"most of its patrons are to heterosexuality as Michael McIntyre is to comedy"

best one liner i've read here in aaaages
( writerblock ... embedding disabled by request on, Sun 9 May 2010, 10:57, closed)

Now that is a compliment
Thank you kindly, you've made my Monday
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Mon 10 May 2010, 12:27, closed)

It's the way you tell 'em.
Clicky for that.
( Larry Vest One day at a time, sweet Jesus, FFS., Mon 10 May 2010, 11:43, closed)