The reluctant Casanova
"Go on Moey, just a little line." I didn't want it, it never really agreed with me, nor me with it.

"Go oooooon, it's just a little bit of coke, what harm can it do, hey? Really? Reeeeeallllly?" They all seemed to chime the last bit in unison and I felt my resolve weaken with each over-used vowel.

My arm was soon sufficiently twisted; I was never one for standing up well to peer pressure: "Give us a little line then, you fiends." I said with an enthusiasm that belied my loathing and gingerly sniffed at it a bit before sitting back in stony silence for a while as it did the horrible glide down the inside of my face. I always hated the stuff, but never as much as when it was making its way through my sinuses and down my throat. Where others would sniff greedily then yabber like excited chimps, I would be rendered instantly speechless as the overwhelming gag reflex threatened to punctuate my every utterance with ridiculous retches.

Not many minutes later we were on the tube, beers in hand and excitement abound. We made stuttering progress through the antiquated tunnels beneath London and were soon spat out onto the cold streets of Shoreditch to join the ranks of the uber-trendy; where every head sported countless hairstyles, each seemingly crafted on top of the last.

The 333 was filled with a million haircuts and lively beats swayed them as reluctant dancers found themselves unable to resist the rhythms, forcing them drunkenly to shed their cool in favour of minimal movement. I felt more out of place than ever before, my head sporting only one haircut - one that was forced upon me by hereditary hairlessness - and my clothes lacking the labels that marked the others out as "with it". I've never known what "it" is, but I've always been happy to be without it, and I quickly found myself a little corner in which I could drink heavily and enjoy the music I was there to hear.

"So, what's your name?" she asked out of nowhere and I coughed "Moey" through a tight throat and went back to sipping my beer and staring vacantly. I'd just been given another nostril full of the bad stuff and it was leaving a chemical trail down the back of my throat, so talking wasn't in my plans for the next half hour at least. She wasn't to know this, however, and seemed to be staring expectantly at me. My voiceless request for her name was washed away in the swell of bleating trumpets and she glared at me like I was a mindless simpleton, which wasn't entirely inaccurate. An inconvenient gap opened in the tunes and I yelled my question far too loud, drawing dismissive tuts and glares from the cool kids and raising a barely concealed retch at the foot of my throat, while the target of my ever growing attention recoiled with a look of horror.

Shame-faced I resolved not to ask anything else and hoped that she'd leave me to my social awkwardness, but she was clearly very drunk and had taken an inexplicable fancy to this little bald bag of anxiety. Her questions, barely audible above the music, were answered without style or panache, but with a stuttered gibberish that was sliced up by the metallic cymbals and fell to the floor in pieces about her feet. I don't have chat up lines; they don't come naturally to one so socially inept, so despite deciding I was at least up to attempting the game, I had not the skills to perform at this level, particularly not in this arena among such seemingly seasoned athletes as surrounded me. I knew I'd have to make a move at some point, so I thought I'd test the water and see how warm it was.

I took a moment to compose myself; all I had planned was to ask whether she fancied going upstairs so we might talk easier. It wasn't overly presumptuous and who knew where it could lead. My body, however, had different ideas and she seemed distinctly disgusted as I leaned in close, fixed my voice finally to cut through the bellowing beats that filled the air and, with all the charm and wit of a retarded donkey, unleashed an almighty retch into her ear.

She suddenly had need for the bathroom, and is still using it to this day for all I know, I never saw her again.
( Moey, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 17:52, Reply)