Until this weekend, I had never let a stranger buy me a drink. It’s not that it hasn’t been offered on occasion, but rather that I am at least smart enough to know the vague sexual contract that drink buying can but does not always imply. I’d rather not deal with such uncomfy-making things.
I am also a junky for new experiences, large and small. So on St. Patrick’s Day, after a guy elbowed me in the head, I said yes to letting him buy me a drink. He asked me what I was drinking, and I answered “hard cider.” I quickly lost track of him in the crowd.
A little later, he approached me again and asked, “Can I buy you that drink?”
To which I replied, “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
“You have to come with me, though.” Hmmm.
So I followed him to the bar. He asked for my number (“may I have the honor of getting your digits?”) before ever getting my name, and then introduced himself. Apparently, he was on tour with some hardcore band, and was only in town for an hour or half hour longer, then off to Orlando and from there another state. At least, that’s what he said. I countered with my fair share of lying, placing myself as a local who lived a ways away— hell if I was going to let him know I lived around the corner.
He asked for a kiss. I was okay with that. I kissed him. And then he pressed me for a place to go have sex.
“Oh honey, I’m not sure you want that.”
He insisted. (“I’ll call you a cab.” “What about my vehicle?” “We can have sex in your car.” “My car is a bike.”) So I tried to scare him off with the “I’m freakier than you can handle” defense (I’ve had mixed success with it in the past), which— lo and behold!— backfired. He was unfazed by spanking, bondage, humiliation, or feminization.
“We have to go find somewhere to have sex right now!”
This was the exact situation I did not want to be in. Horny guy who had “accidentally” bumped into me in order to talk to me, who had the very clear notion that a purchased drink means he’s getting laid, even though he’d done me an injury. All the little controls? Likely in the pick up scene. Okay. I could deal with that. I looked him dead in the eye wearing my best impish grin, and handed him back the cider.
“Enjoy your drink.”
And I proceeded to rock out for the rest of the evening.