Kissing on Jose

One thing my friends know about me is that I love to drink tequila...Lots of it.

Jose Cuervo is my equivalent of spanish fly, oysters, chocolate, and another aphrodisiac that you can think of, with an interesting twist-I am on the prowl to make out. The problem is, I usually don't make-out with just one person (that would be just plain boring).

One night one of my guy friends and his girlfriend stopped by my pad before going out to the local 'mo hangout. I decided that Papa was on a budget so we would do a couple of chilled cuervo shots out of my 50's style glass pourer (it's really cool, with a spattering of quintessential stylized stars). Anyway, so I'm telling a story, while chilling the nectar of the gods (as I like to call it), all the while, pouring shots and continuing.

Telling story...
Adding more cuervo...
chilling shots...
telling story...
doing shots with friends...
telling story...
adding more ice...
adding more cuervo...
chilling shots...
telling story...
doing shots with friends...
doing shot alone because friends can't take more than 2 shots (pussies)...
adding more cuervo...
chilling shots...
telling story...
partaking again in a solo tequila imbibement...
telling same story, without missing a beat of...
adding more ice...
adding more cuervo...
chilling shots...
doing another shot solo...
doing another shot solo...
Finish story.

At this point, my friend and his gal are staring at me like I have 3 noses and 13 eyes...
I stop my story and say, "What."

Gerald says, "Dude, you amaze me...you just did 5 shots of tequila in 10 minutes, making sure that they were chilled, and telling a story like you do this professionally."

I reply, "Man, I'm gay; we're drinkers you know."

So we end up hitting your run of the mill the gay bar. I get good and shitty...but not sloppy, because Papa can hold his liquor (I have amazed people with my alcohol consumption, frat guys, military guys, any guy really, who thinks he can outdrink me).

So, I in full blown party-boy mode, with a impish grin on my face and a devilish twinkle in my eye am ready to have fun. Before you know it, I am playing tongue hockey with some random's uvula in the furthest corner of the dance floor. One down 6 more to go...

I walk over to my straight friends, and Jen says, "Okay make-out King, do you even know that guy?"

I smile, "Do you have to know someone to make-out with them... I never read that rule in the gay handbook." I grin wider, order another drink (it never takes me longer than 30 seconds to get a drink, even when it's busy. I have a secret move, called "The Volleyball Bump"-it makes the boys swell), and start to walk out to the patio, when what do my come-hither eyes see? A hottie next to the door leading to the patio...

I heave a tequila twinged sigh of longing as I start to move in his direction. We would make out...Oh yes we would...as God is my witness...I will never be kiss-less again (at least that night).

With my friends in tow, I start to pass the guy. He looks me up and down (trying to be sly...), and he gives me a winning smile (it was ON at that point). His teeth were mesmerizingly perfect. The kind you could lick for days...I only wanted 5 minutes...ten if he was good.

I, in turn, give him "the dazzler" (a smile that isn't too wide in the lips, and shows just enough teeth and dimple). He grabs my arm as I pass by. I look at my friends, who keep walking, knowing what's coming next. Before you could say, "Chick a pay, blo-in lik a tay inna weeeEen," I was making out right by one of the most heavily trafficked areas in the bar, and I didn't give a shit...Number 2 was hot, unfortunately, his kissing-not so."

I push him away, look around as he asks, "So wanna go to my place."

"Maybe next time champ," I reply sliding through the crowded area smoothly in seconds, leaving bad kisser scratching his head.

I find my friends on the patio, next to the bleachers in front of the volleyball court. Before I know it we are cutting up and laughing, and they are making fun of me for making out with 2 guys in 20 minutes.

I wasn't done yet...When Papa has the urge to make out, he makes out.

So where was I? Oh yeah, on the patio talking to friends, facing the bleachers, looking up, and what do I spy with my little eye?

Now taking number 3...Number 3, there you are; welcome to make-out night. I'll be your host this evening in the kissing festivities.

He smiles. I smile. My friends turn to see who I am smiling at, and they smile (and shake their heads).

Number 3 was blonde (normally don't like blondes-I know, what man doesn't...me), but very cute nonetheless. He was shortish-tall, skinny-muscular, blue-brown-greenish eyes (you get the point, I was tanked and he was available. Thankfully, he was cute. It was confirmed for me the day after).

Somehow I made it to the top of the bleachers where he was sitting, beckoning me with those blue-brown-greenish eyes. We started making out like two teenagers from Sweet Valley High at a football game. It was hot, he was the kind of kisser that sends tingles to my special places, that was, until, I heard a song that I loved to dance to begin its tribal rhythms from inside the club. I dash off with my friends, leaving Number 3 in no condition to follow us without embarrassing himself (you get the gist).

Gerald says to me as we're walking in, "Dude, you're outta control, and you should wear a tight shirt that says, 'TEASE'."

I drag them out on the dance floor, as I state, "Hey, if the shirt fits..."

Now we're on the dance floor. I am shakin my money maker. Hips are moving. I am a dance king. We are having a blast. With a quick turn, I survey the crowd, noticing a guy with a rockin bod checking me out. He looks at me. I look at him. He wants to rock my jock. Before I know it, we're dancing together. I get a close look-Butterface (nice body, "but-her-face").

The tequila was flowing through my veins like wildfire. I was in the moment, and I loved his body with my eyes, doing things in my mind that I couldn't tell my mother about. His arms pull me in, I feel his biceps, and before I know it, Number 4 and I were making out on the dance floor.
My friends look at me in utter disbelief; I usually don't make out in bars, and in the past I was known as the Ice Princess (people would say that when I walked in the temperature dropped). They couldn't believe that I was making out hot and heavy with this guy, and it got worse.

Our impromptu dance-floor, tongue-tango came to a screetching halt when Number 4's boyfriend tapped him on the shoulder and yelled that he was ready to go. Oops, hey I didn't know he was taken. No foul on my part.

I raise my eyebrow and go back to my friends who are ready to exit the dance floor. We move to the bar on the far side of the club to cool off from "dancing" and grab a quick liquid refreshment with agave in it.

I sat down on a stool (my height tends to intimidate people), and get a lecture from Jen about how I need to screen my make-out partners before going for the gold. I smile and nod, looking around like a starving man in an all you can kiss boy-ffet. We sit and talk for awhile when a guy takes the stool next to me. My friends look at him, and turn to me, wondering when I was gonna check him out. They didn't have to wait long.

Faster than you can say, "Lime and salt," Number 5 and I had done a shot and were getting to know each other. Jen butts in and asks, "So do you have a boyfriend, girlfriend, husband or wife?"

The guy laughs and says that he doesn't-GAME ON-We chat for a little while until he smiles at my smile and asks, "What are you thinking about wearing that smile?" (usually a question like "what are you thinking" would make me run for the hills, but his smile was as much trouble as mine).

I say that he's hot, and I've been dying to make out with him since he sat down. Well, he stands up, nudges my legs apart, drapes his arms over my shoulders and plants one on me that makes my toes tingle. Little did I know that the bartender who hooks me up with my "rocktailing" lifestyle had a wild hair up his ass, and he decided it was time to throw a little cold water on my bar-side makout extravaganza.

He taps my shoulder...Number 5 and I stop so that I can turn around and see what's up. The bartender then says, "Hey your mom has been waiting outside for 30 minutes now. She wanted me to let you know that she is tired of waiting for you all the time when she has to pick you up."

THEN.... He turns to Number 5 and says, "I'm sure you could follow them home. It looks like a match made in heaven the way you guy's were making out."

I HAVE NEVER SEEN A MAN RUN SO FAST IN MY LIFE.

My friends almost choked on their drinks from laughter...

I turned to the bartender and said, "Thanks for that...you bastard. Can I get another shot?" I can't help but laugh, and put that one in my mental notebook-you mom's outside-that's twisted.

Anyway, this story is getting too long, so let's finish up with the speed round...

Make out with 3 more guys.

Friends want to leave.

I want to stay.

They wont let me because they think (okay, know) that'll I'll get into more trouble.

They kidnap me to their place, feed me some slammin pot roast, and put me to bed.

I wake up hating Jose for punishing my head and stomach, but still manage to function (amazingly), and know deep down that Jose's a lover I'll always have.

I was hungover and suffering from make-out remorse.

They drive me home, and I give them big hugs and Gerald says, "Next time warn us when you are in make-out mode. We were horribly unprepared for your level of cockteasing...Man you rock."

That's why I love my friends. We take care of one another when it's required, especially if I'm hooking up with Jose for the evening.

Needless to say, I didn't go back to that bar for about 3 weeks... Luckily I think everyone was so wasted that my reputation didn't take it too hard in the shorts, and I could still show my face, although my bartender did give me shit everytime I saw him for a month.

So next time you want to get your make out on, boys and girls, never do it in front of the bartenders (or doormen). They are sober and never forget.

All my love sweet spirits,

deutschmarc