I can’t lie. Our first night out in Germany, I was expecting to meet a hot German guy. I’d been practicing my German diligently and knew enough to order beers three different ways and respond to any pick up line that was tossed my way.
This was not the case.
Lizzie elbowed me.
“You look like a jackass,” she warned.
While she was turning up German lager, I was attempting to dance with the bar stool.
That’s what I liked about going out overseas. I could do whatever the hell I wanted and no one would ever know. Besides, by the power of the magic shoes vested within, I had a get-out-jail-free card to dance however the hell I wanted, and look damn sexy doin’ it.
“I don’t give a f*ck,” I retorted. Living in a small Alabama town had drawbacks, and never getting to do a strip tease on a barstool was one of them.
“Alright, as long as you know … you’re cock blocking yourself.”
It turned out Lizzie was wrong, I was right, and the magic shoes prevailed. Thirteen and a half cock-blocking stripper moves later, Rafael Lopez came to my rescue. He was an American soldier of Puerto Rican descent. He had a crucifix tattooed across his neck and he sported a set of Dumbo ears, which after fourteen beers, I found kinda sexy.
“You are too pretty to dance with a stool,” he said with a smile.
I snickered at the thoughts in my head. Apparently, he wasn’t impressed with my stool sample.
Liz nudged me again, which I think translated to, “he’s asking you to dance, Dumb*ass.”
I took the cue and followed him out onto the dance floor.
I knew I couldn’t dance. He knew I couldn’t dance, and so I kept doing a series of crazy little kicks that I hoped would activate the magical powers of the shoes.
My theory worked, and three songs later, he whispered in my ear, “I gotta big d*ck.”
This for some reason made my ankle turn over and my crazy little kick turned into a drunken stumble. I tried to make it look like a dance move, but I could tell by Lizzie’s face that the plan didn’t work.
Rafael flashed a wicked smirk. He must have realized I couldn’t talk and dance at the same time.
I stood up straight, recovered my balance and leaned forward to better respond. He didn’t give me a chance.
He just smiled, took my arm, and then ushered me out of the bar like the gentleman he was.
He could have been lying, but the alcohol made me curious enough to wonder.
.....................................................................................................
Hi everyone. I just published my first book, She tells all, and am trying to get some feedback. If you're interested in the excerpt. Check out my profile to get my website info and find out more about me.
. .........................................................................
This was not the case.
Lizzie elbowed me.
“You look like a jackass,” she warned.
While she was turning up German lager, I was attempting to dance with the bar stool.
That’s what I liked about going out overseas. I could do whatever the hell I wanted and no one would ever know. Besides, by the power of the magic shoes vested within, I had a get-out-jail-free card to dance however the hell I wanted, and look damn sexy doin’ it.
“I don’t give a f*ck,” I retorted. Living in a small Alabama town had drawbacks, and never getting to do a strip tease on a barstool was one of them.
“Alright, as long as you know … you’re cock blocking yourself.”
It turned out Lizzie was wrong, I was right, and the magic shoes prevailed. Thirteen and a half cock-blocking stripper moves later, Rafael Lopez came to my rescue. He was an American soldier of Puerto Rican descent. He had a crucifix tattooed across his neck and he sported a set of Dumbo ears, which after fourteen beers, I found kinda sexy.
“You are too pretty to dance with a stool,” he said with a smile.
I snickered at the thoughts in my head. Apparently, he wasn’t impressed with my stool sample.
Liz nudged me again, which I think translated to, “he’s asking you to dance, Dumb*ass.”
I took the cue and followed him out onto the dance floor.
I knew I couldn’t dance. He knew I couldn’t dance, and so I kept doing a series of crazy little kicks that I hoped would activate the magical powers of the shoes.
My theory worked, and three songs later, he whispered in my ear, “I gotta big d*ck.”
This for some reason made my ankle turn over and my crazy little kick turned into a drunken stumble. I tried to make it look like a dance move, but I could tell by Lizzie’s face that the plan didn’t work.
Rafael flashed a wicked smirk. He must have realized I couldn’t talk and dance at the same time.
I stood up straight, recovered my balance and leaned forward to better respond. He didn’t give me a chance.
He just smiled, took my arm, and then ushered me out of the bar like the gentleman he was.
He could have been lying, but the alcohol made me curious enough to wonder.
.....................................................................................................Hi everyone. I just published my first book, She tells all, and am trying to get some feedback. If you're interested in the excerpt. Check out my profile to get my website info and find out more about me.
. .........................................................................
