Are flamingos sexy?

Good evening Lovers!

And a happy Saturday to y’all!

Boy, I tell you Lovers, it has been slim pickings lately! Honestly, I’m on three dating websites and I barely get a bite! Well actually no that would be a lie. I do get a lot of attention but it’s usually from guys like Hornyindian69 and ThePenetrator4U. Not exactly the type of guy you want to bring home to the family, that’s for sure. I stooped to am all time low the other day though, when the saddest of all sad sacks tried to add me as a favourite. His profile name was Whatsthepoint86, (that’s enough to get any girl moist in the panty area for sure) and his opening line to his profile was “Love is dead… I give up.” I couldn’t even get a look at this obvious stud because the only pictures he had put up were either of cartoon men standing next to broken hearts crying or wilting roses that are on the edge of death.

That shit is like cat nip to the ladies.

Not! Good god who was this guy? When I scrolled down to the question “What would be your idea of a dream date?” he had just written “nobody cares.”

And he was right.

So as the online dating isn’t going gangbusters at the moment, I thought we’d take another trip down memory lane and I’d tell you all about my second serious boyfriend. It took me a while to get over Rick (because let’s face it, being deprived of amazing sex can leave a real gap in your life.) but eventually I got back on that horse and went searching for a new cowboy.

The night I met Callum was very much like any other. I do remember it was hot though, very hot. That type of heat that makes you picture sweaty boys with their shirts off playing badminton or baking a fresh loaf of bread. (Ok the bread thing is a little random but seriously what could be better than bread and boys? It’s a man sandwich that you can work off with the guy after you’re done!) I was working up a sweat myself that night, sadly sans bread. The girls and I were on yet another ladies night out, an occurrence that wasn’t so much a special occasion but more of a Friday night ritual that could not be ignored. Our Friday’s had become the night to rate the weekend by. Who picked up, who fell asleep in the men’s toilets, who tried to pole dance and ended up flashing the world? But most importantly, who was buying?

We stumbled into the newest club in town, eager to see what it had in store for us and more pressingly, to use the toilets. Let’s just say the seal had been broken about an hour ago and white dresses just don’t go with yellow these days.

After surveying the plumbing and playing with the sensor taps for a good twenty minutes we emerged, lips freshly glossed and cheeks pinched and powdered. And that was when I saw him.

Standing behind the bar like some shot pouring Adonis, he was perfection itself. Adorable short brown hair that cut off just after his temple in a sharp line, framing a face so gorgeous you couldn’t take him home for fear your Mum would seduce him. He possessed a body that frustratingly was covered in a loose shirt but hinted at being quite the visual treat underneath and shoulders that stood back and proud like a peacock showing his plumage, and my what plumage. He was just….


I hadn’t noticed I was staring with my mouth open until an eager young man stood in front of me and pointed at my mouth, slurring

“Well, if you’re offering…”

I wrinkled my nose at him and stepped away, drawn to my pretty peacock boy. He was just so damn gorgeous! It was like staring at a mirage. After a while my eyes started to smart, although that could have been from the neon lights behind him. I dithered about, fumbling for my purse and wondering what to say when he finally came over and took my order. Would he notice the connection? Would he compare me to a bird as well? I thanked god he hadn’t been working at the karaoke bar we had just visited or the only bird that would be coming to his mind would be a seagull. A dying seagull with bronchitis. I shook myself off and tried to visualise something sexy.

A sexy bird.

A sexy bird that all the dude birds wanted.

Got it!

Turns out trying to be a flamingo whilst standing at a bar is not the best way to snag a man.

In my tipsy state I think I took assuming the role of flamingo a little too far, trying to elongate my neck and stick my butt out so my legs would look longer and thinner. Take a moment and just picture how that might look, a girl with her neck craning over the bar, ass out behind her with her legs fully straightened, a beak-like expression painted on her face.

Oh yeah, sex on legs.

He avoided me for a good five minutes, and I don’t blame him, as I was still trying to perfect that beady eyed look that birds give you when they catch you in their sights. Finally he literally had no more customers to serve and he warily approached me.

“What’ll it be?” he asked

I laughed and replied “I bet that’s what you say to all the girls.”

He looked at me for a beat before saying “Well….yes.”

I died a little inside, knowing just how lame I sounded. However, I carried on, the bird firmly in place on the exterior. I smiled thinly at him, trying not to break my beak impression.

“ Five Jager-bombs please.”

If I couldn’t impress him with bird postures, then maybe showing my prowess in binge drinking would set him off. He nodded and got to work while I scrabbled for cash in my purse, wishing I’d taken the time to play with the hand dryer as well as the taps. Luckily at that moment my ladies appeared and like good friends, let me wipe my hands on them, much to the delight of the aforementioned eager young gentleman.

My peacock returned, drinks in hand and I quickly resumed position, flicking my hair so hard my necklace came up and smacked me in the teeth. I giggled awkwardly, pretending I had totally meant to do that.

Again he just looked at me nonplussed before confirming the price of the drinks. I handed over the money, hoping for a little bit of hand contact in the process but got nothing. I shrugged, thinking maybe he was a germ freak, which was not a good thing if he wanted to be with me, as last weeks laundry was still sitting in the washing machine growing a new species of bacteria.

I threw back my drink with gusto, my necklace hitting me hard in my eye as I did so. After setting my glass back down and resolving to sell all my jewellery that ended below the chin I looked back at bird man. He was gone, replaced by a busty brunette with little to no pants on.

I blew out a breath in frustration. It was time for an emergency conference, and we gathered in a little booth, heads together, talking tactics furiously.

The girls eventually convinced me that although our feathered friends are vastly attractive, some people tend to find them over rated and may in fact prefer humans. I frowned at this turn of events, realising my conundrum. How was I going to make contact a second time without looking like I had some crazy (yet amazingly attractive) alter ego?

Again my ladies stepped up and in the swing of a cubicle door I had switched dresses and hitherto, switched personalities. I was given a swift look up and down and a nod confirmed that I would look not only like a completely different person, but a slightly bustier one, thanks to a borrowed water bra.

My confidence and chest boosted, I flounced out into the bar. (I had previously decided that this version of me would most definitely be a flouncer.) Swanning over to the crowded bar, I patiently waited until my peacock (or in this scenario, cute human boy) was in front of me, hands open, ready to fulfil my every desire. So long as that desire could fit into a highball glass and be doused with ice.

I smiled winningly at him, all traces of beak gone, in fact almost all traces of lips too, as my mouth strained to produce a smile that showcased each of my individual teeth in all their tiny perfection.

He produced a tired smile back and I thumped myself on the back in congratulations. (Mentally of course, I didn’t want to look like a total freak) I ordered a shot of tequila, trying to make my voice sound as smooth and sultry as possible. I sounded fantastic, but as we were in a nightclub at 2am, nobody heard my delectable audio but me. In fact, I may have been tuning into someone else’s conversation and pretending it was me.

But that was neither here nor there, as my beautiful boy was slowly starting to edge away. Startled, I lunged over the bar and yodelled

“Tequuuuuiiiillllaaaa please sir!”

Well, if I hadn’t scared him before, you can bet he was reaching for the pepper spray now. Never before had I seen a shot poured so quickly, lemon and salt flying across the bar towards me before I could even get my new boobs out.

Feeling totally dejected, I handed my money over, remembering that he was sober and would remember every excruciating moment of our interlude. As he handed me my change and went to serve another customer, I threw all caution to the wind, a kamikaze mission of the dating world if you will.

“Thankyou,” I said, slipping the change out of his hand and turning away. As I did though, I threw him a meaningful look and stated “ I think your really cute.”

And then I ran.

As smooth as my line was, I knew I had to do something more to get a number, or at the very least a conversation. It was obviously time for a stakeout.

I stayed out of his eye-line for a good hour, waiting for my moment to pounce.

I was still hoping the previous events of the night might conveniently slip his mind, but after my shenanigans, there was little to no hope of that miracle happening.

Still, the night was young and all of my ladies were working hard on their own personal conquests, with a few already snuggled up in booths getting it on hardcore.

Finally though, I summoned up some Dutch courage and marched up to the bar, no tricks, no gimmicks, just me and a lot of ingested alcohol.

“ Hi. My name’s Claire.” I said, leaning over the bar with a smile.

He looked up from pouring what must have been my fourteenth tequila shot and smiled back. I saw his lips move but I didn’t catch what he said.

“What?” I yelled at him, trying not to spit on his face as I said it. Why is it that whenever you drink your spit glands go into over-drive? Very frustrating when someone is talking in your ear but you’ve failed to catch a word they’ve said as your ear canal has already filled up with saliva. Although I’ve heard some people are into that.

Hey whatever floats your boat people, I don’t judge.

So while my mind was heading off on that fascinating train of thought, I hadn’t realised bar boy had grabbed a pen and paper and was scrawling down a message.

I waited eagerly for the note, trying not to lick my lips in anticipation and scare the poor boy off. When he was finally done he slid the note over to me with a wink and went on to serve some girl and her pimp standing next to me.

I unfolded the scrap off paper and almost let out a whoop of joy, in very neat, very concise writing was the word “Callum” and a phone number directly below it.

I’d done it! I’d officially pulled a bartender! Adrenalin flooded through me as I rushed to the toilet to tell everyone and anyone who would listen about my great adventure.

Giddy with excitement, I headed home with the girls not long after, as they had their own unfinished business to attend to in a more horizontal fashion.

Sounds like things are going well, yes? Well you just wait until I take bar boy out on our first date Lovers. Cringeworthy doesn’t even cover it!

Claire xx

Pick up line of the week: You know how I got these guns? (points to biceps) lifting children out of poverty.

(Wow I threw up a little in my mouth just writing that one ;-))


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