10 May 2019

THE NAKED BAR

So this happened...

I had my birthday in Sitges last year. If you don't know what or where Sitges is, stop what you are doing, go home, buy a plane ticket and go. Think of it as the Mykonos-Puerto-Vallarta-Fire-Island-Gay-Disney-Land of Spain.

So I was out one night at a bar called Parrots in the town square. Think of Parrots as ground zero for the Mykonos-Puerto-Vallarta-Fire-Island-Gay-Disney-Land of Spain. On balmy evenings the gays sit facing the square like it's a stadium, checking out who just arrived and who just left whilst knocking back beer stein-sized mojitos that will have you sliding down the nearest wall within two sips. Oh, and all the drinks are named after gay pop culture icons which just makes the whole thing even more fabulous.

So when my Ellen Degeneres mojito arrived, a friend started telling me about the time he was robbed in Sitges after having too many of the said beverages. He'd met a guy in a bar who wasn't as drunk as he was and rather than go home, they popped into a dark room for some on-the-go loving. The guy was very keen to get him naked and once my friend had his shorts around his ankles, the guy disappeared with his wallet and phone, leaving him with his dick out in the dark.

I then ordered another Ellen Degeneres.


As the night wore on, friend after friend made their excuses until there was just a few of us left. Now, I was pretty drunk, but I was the right side of drunk, not too messy, able to hold a conversation but up for literally anything. So when someone suggested a male-only naked bar, it just seemed like the next logical step. I would like to stress that under normal (sober) circumstances getting naked with friends is not really how I spend my Saturdays, but I was on vacation and what do you do when you're on vacation? You get nude and drink alcohol.

Now, a naked bar isn't like any old bar. There's no entrance nor signage, it's very cloak and dagger sort-of-thing. Well, perhaps just dagger - leave your cloak in the locker provided. AND most people who attend a naked bar plan to attend a naked bar and so adorn their feet accordingly, perhaps with a combat boot or some other heavy-duty, militarised look. I didn't know I was attending a naked bar when I left the house that night and as the curtain was drawn back, I shuffled in wearing nothing but a pair of lemon suede loafers and a smile. It's called making an entrance.

So anyway right out of the gate there was a guy getting fucked sans condom by this giant Spaniard against the bar.

"Was he just ordering a drink?"

I really wanted another Ellen Degeneres, but I'm not standing at that bar in case it's an invitation to another lascivious local. I need a condom, some privacy and maybe a bed. Not a sticky bar, lemon suede loafers and an audience of friends.

So obvi, there's nowhere on your person for your money to go unless of course, you have one very talented sphincter. I had put the entire contents of my wallet into my shoe because I didn't exactly trust the locker sitch, so it was a little uncomfortable to walk. I had to group my cards and cash into the arch of my foot which made me look like I was trying to deliberately roll my ankle or I had sharted - both as undesirable first impressions as the other.

Anyhoo, we get a drink and start chatting amongst ourselves. Little weird considering we're all naked, but we made a promise to keep eyes above sea level for the future of our friendship. Then my friend told me I should go for a walk because adjacent to the bar was a labyrinth of tiled corridors to explore (just quietly, easily hoseable). I could think of better places to take my lemon suede loafers on their maiden voyage than some Spanish cum bath, but I went anyways.

Now, what's the best way to describe the scene before me? Do you remember in the Matrix Reloaded, when they have a giant dance party/orgy just before they are all about to die or something like that? However, instead of young, hot subterranean dwellers, writhing together in a symbiotic mass, imagine several bears crammed into an area the size of a shower cubicle.

And they could not give a shit about me and my lemon suede loafers.

Suffice to say, I was ready to go. Also with two stein-sized Mojito's and other drinks in my system I was about to wet myself. I looked around, do I just go anywhere? On this hirsute Catalonian, perhaps? Thankfully, I found the disabled toilet and closed the door - not sure why I needed to close the door, I'd had my prune-shoot out for all an sundry for the best part of an hour, but anyhoo, I have standards.

The cubicle was so dark I couldn't actually find the toilet. So I Marcel Marceau'd my way around the walls, and I swear it was not there - I found the toilet roll dispenser but no luck finding the toilet. I'm not proud of this, but I just went on the floor.

I'm not sure that really was a toilet...

I went out to my friends and told them we needed to go immediately. Thankfully they were in agreeance, and we dressed and left.

But I wasn't done.

A friend had told me all about the after-sunset beat down on the beach. I know, stop slut shaming me. So I wobbled down the promenade and met a gent under the awning between the stacks of sun loungers. He was handsome, Spanish and shy, so shy he wouldn't actually kiss me. I thought, nawww, maybe this is his first time, or maybe he has a girlfriend and he doesn't want to get pash rash.

"I'll be gentle," is something I thought I whispered but I was so drunk it was more like "Mmmffllleddge."

Then my friend's story from earlier in the night came into focus. The guy was very keen to get my shorts down and yet was reluctant to take any piece of his clothing off. I was really drunk, he was not. I wanted to kiss him, he didn't want to kiss me. Oh my God, he's going to rob me! So I said words to that effect, pulled my shorts up and ran away. Then I realised my wallet was gone and he already had robbed me! So I stumbled back to where he was and wrestled him for it. I wrestled! I bought that wallet at a Jimmy Choo sample sale and no fucking gay-for-pay pickpocket is going to come between me and my small leather goods, thank you.

In fairness, there wasn't much of a struggle and he gave it up pretty easily. Probably because he looked inside and saw there was no money nor cards. They were all still digging into the sole of my right foot.

Lemon suede loafer - 1
Spanish thief - 0

I think there's a life lesson in there somewhere.

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