(no subject)
I am starting this short narrative out with a warning of my lingering
intoxication, but I think this tale is better suited to tipsy glee than
morning after pangs.
About four weeks ago, the girls and I decided to wander into a local pub
called the Phoenix after tin whistle class (please igore the fact that tin
whistle appears in the story, it is a fleeting and necessary addition)
Upon our arrival an attractive, youthful barman with auburn locks and a
lopsided grin, greeted us with a flirtatious air and quirky sense of
humour.
Every tuesday after that, with one exception, we returned. Each time I was
greeted with that playful, doofy smile and idle small talk. According to
Ashton, my face would glow everytime he came around to retrieve our empty glasses.
As you all know, yesterday was Valentine's day. Instead of wasting away,
pining over things out of my control. Ashton and I decided
that a night of mayhem and revelry was needed. We invited our ninteen year
old, good-looking fiddle playing, dance instructor to join in our
debauchery because Jospeh is fast becoming our first local Irish friend.
With this decision the tale truly begins. Ashton, her host sister Colleen, and Sara all went to a pub/club hybrid called
the Metro. After standing awkwardly for ten minutes discovering that
everyone about was coupled up, out of the corner of my eye I saw a
familiar crooked smile. Realizing suddenly that the Phoenix bartender
existed outside of his counter top, I smiled and mouthed the words "I know
you."
With glee and fervor, he hopped forward to greet us. After being engulfed
in a bear hug and a pleased toothy grin, the flirtation picked up where it
had left off on tuesday at the bar. We got on splendidly. Suddenly and to
my vast disappointment, he made a bid for freedom claiming he could not
abandon his friends. Before retreating however and leaving me in a puddle
of frustration, he ran his hand down the curve of my waist and whispered warmly
into my ear a, "I'll see you very soon."
Convinced I had received the brush off, I slinked back to my corner
prepared to call it another fruitless evening spent in the Derry
nightlife. After fifteen awkward minutes, the impish bartender sought me
out again. Flirtation commenced and he insisted multiple times on buying me a
drink. After refusing with all my might for almost twenty minutes, I had
class the next day, I relented. Joseph arrived at the exact moment of my
weakness and in a fit of genius I played aloof, unavailable ice queen to and flirted mercilessly with the fiddle-playing
extraordinare.
At this time, a slight power struggle developed between Peter and Joseph.
Peter because I think he genuinely liked me, and Jospeh because he did not
want to be abandoned by his new friends in an unfamiliar nightclub.
Ultimately, my need for human contact and my general preferences won out
and I spent the evening canoodling, chatting and dancing with Peter.
Joseph made sporadic appearances on the dancefloor, but he seemed content
to wander about without restrain. Peter, however, revealed how shy he was
and upon asking why he didn't have a Valentine replied, "I am not
interested in any Derry woman," with a gleam in his eye.
After two torturous hours, he finally put his lips to mine. It was gentle,
tentative, sober and sweet. Lightly parted lips and moist pressure, it
felt wonderful to be touched with such affection. After a few more softly
placed, genuine kisses he pulled my face towards his and whispered with
great care, "You are gorgeous, absolutely beautiful. I do not deserve
this." He explained with hesitation and embarrassment that he looked
foward to my visits to the bar on tuesdays, and that he enjoyed seeing me.
After many more kisses, and quite a few more drinks. I realized that his
growing intoxication was going to prevent any further romantic endeavors for the
evening. Shortly past two, the bar closed down and began hurling the
slightly more inebriated customers out.
Sadly, the romance floated away into the sky upon arriving outside. What
had started out innocently and sweet had morphed into a stereotypically,
hilariously drunken scenario. He made every attempt at walking me home,
but after many failed attempts, I sent him home with reassurances that he
could call me while sober. It was almost painful because he was trying
with most of his might to act soberly. The desire was clear, he wanted to
take me home. However, his control and chivalry won out in the end. He
finished the walk with more musings about my beauty and a perfectly
respectable goodnight kiss. A sigh of relief escaped my lips at that point, I was not entirely equipped to handle a drunken man, regardless how sweet.
Upon arriving home and discovering I was locked out, I had to make frantic
attempts at calling my housemate before my battery gave out. Luckily, he
owed me the favor and let me in without any complaining. Just as I was
walking into the dead silent Canavan household, my phone began to croak.
It was Peter, insisting that he had sobered up (total lies) and that he
wanted to be with me for the night more than anything. Giggle. I was
forced to tell him to call tomorrow soberly, but over the course of this
narrative I have gotten two affectionate text messages and another apologetic
phone call.
The night was not only fun, it had a completely ridiculous end. With that I complete the story of my first official hookup, Northern Ireland style.
He was cute and an excellent kisser. Fin.
intoxication, but I think this tale is better suited to tipsy glee than
morning after pangs.
About four weeks ago, the girls and I decided to wander into a local pub
called the Phoenix after tin whistle class (please igore the fact that tin
whistle appears in the story, it is a fleeting and necessary addition)
Upon our arrival an attractive, youthful barman with auburn locks and a
lopsided grin, greeted us with a flirtatious air and quirky sense of
humour.
Every tuesday after that, with one exception, we returned. Each time I was
greeted with that playful, doofy smile and idle small talk. According to
Ashton, my face would glow everytime he came around to retrieve our empty glasses.
As you all know, yesterday was Valentine's day. Instead of wasting away,
pining over things out of my control. Ashton and I decided
that a night of mayhem and revelry was needed. We invited our ninteen year
old, good-looking fiddle playing, dance instructor to join in our
debauchery because Jospeh is fast becoming our first local Irish friend.
With this decision the tale truly begins. Ashton, her host sister Colleen, and Sara all went to a pub/club hybrid called
the Metro. After standing awkwardly for ten minutes discovering that
everyone about was coupled up, out of the corner of my eye I saw a
familiar crooked smile. Realizing suddenly that the Phoenix bartender
existed outside of his counter top, I smiled and mouthed the words "I know
you."
With glee and fervor, he hopped forward to greet us. After being engulfed
in a bear hug and a pleased toothy grin, the flirtation picked up where it
had left off on tuesday at the bar. We got on splendidly. Suddenly and to
my vast disappointment, he made a bid for freedom claiming he could not
abandon his friends. Before retreating however and leaving me in a puddle
of frustration, he ran his hand down the curve of my waist and whispered warmly
into my ear a, "I'll see you very soon."
Convinced I had received the brush off, I slinked back to my corner
prepared to call it another fruitless evening spent in the Derry
nightlife. After fifteen awkward minutes, the impish bartender sought me
out again. Flirtation commenced and he insisted multiple times on buying me a
drink. After refusing with all my might for almost twenty minutes, I had
class the next day, I relented. Joseph arrived at the exact moment of my
weakness and in a fit of genius I played aloof, unavailable ice queen to and flirted mercilessly with the fiddle-playing
extraordinare.
At this time, a slight power struggle developed between Peter and Joseph.
Peter because I think he genuinely liked me, and Jospeh because he did not
want to be abandoned by his new friends in an unfamiliar nightclub.
Ultimately, my need for human contact and my general preferences won out
and I spent the evening canoodling, chatting and dancing with Peter.
Joseph made sporadic appearances on the dancefloor, but he seemed content
to wander about without restrain. Peter, however, revealed how shy he was
and upon asking why he didn't have a Valentine replied, "I am not
interested in any Derry woman," with a gleam in his eye.
After two torturous hours, he finally put his lips to mine. It was gentle,
tentative, sober and sweet. Lightly parted lips and moist pressure, it
felt wonderful to be touched with such affection. After a few more softly
placed, genuine kisses he pulled my face towards his and whispered with
great care, "You are gorgeous, absolutely beautiful. I do not deserve
this." He explained with hesitation and embarrassment that he looked
foward to my visits to the bar on tuesdays, and that he enjoyed seeing me.
After many more kisses, and quite a few more drinks. I realized that his
growing intoxication was going to prevent any further romantic endeavors for the
evening. Shortly past two, the bar closed down and began hurling the
slightly more inebriated customers out.
Sadly, the romance floated away into the sky upon arriving outside. What
had started out innocently and sweet had morphed into a stereotypically,
hilariously drunken scenario. He made every attempt at walking me home,
but after many failed attempts, I sent him home with reassurances that he
could call me while sober. It was almost painful because he was trying
with most of his might to act soberly. The desire was clear, he wanted to
take me home. However, his control and chivalry won out in the end. He
finished the walk with more musings about my beauty and a perfectly
respectable goodnight kiss. A sigh of relief escaped my lips at that point, I was not entirely equipped to handle a drunken man, regardless how sweet.
Upon arriving home and discovering I was locked out, I had to make frantic
attempts at calling my housemate before my battery gave out. Luckily, he
owed me the favor and let me in without any complaining. Just as I was
walking into the dead silent Canavan household, my phone began to croak.
It was Peter, insisting that he had sobered up (total lies) and that he
wanted to be with me for the night more than anything. Giggle. I was
forced to tell him to call tomorrow soberly, but over the course of this
narrative I have gotten two affectionate text messages and another apologetic
phone call.
The night was not only fun, it had a completely ridiculous end. With that I complete the story of my first official hookup, Northern Ireland style.
He was cute and an excellent kisser. Fin.