barroviajero

nightclubbing

So, I know some of you don’t appreciate the chance I give you to work on your English, but the thing is, many people know of this blog, and sometimes I like for some of them not to understand what I’m writing, if you know what I mean . It's good for me, it could be good for us all.

So, mind the gap, please. I have my reasons, please.

I went nightclubbing on Thursday night , you see. I thought I had had enough with my day, but then I realized that back in the hostel there was no TV, no free internet, but this loud snorer old geezer and since I wasn’t feeling that sleepy it would have been simply a bad idea.

So, I had a leaflet to this place called Ghetto, and I was trying to find the address, without much luck. The streets were full of gay boys and girls so I asked one, he pointed me out like people do here when you ask them for something. Super polite.

But Ghetto didn’t look that good, and there were so many other places, so many beautiful people going out. It’s a tough decision to make which place to go dancing in this city.

Heaven? No, Heaven is for tourists. Although that could actually be a plus for me. Then there are all this places like Popstars, Fiction, DTPM, but I’m not sure of their whereabouts, they could be at Brixton at the other side of the river, I want to just walk there.

So I entered G.A.Y., which is right there in Charing Cross Road, next to my favourite internet place.

I was by the door and a black girl nodded at me and let me in, that was cool. But then they asked me for my flyer, I didn’t have one, but that’d mean I’d have to pay full price entry.

So I went out, grabbed a flier and entered with the discount, it was dead easy, actually.

The place was not full but was going to be. There was the coverage of election day in the screens, and some ballons also because it was somebody’s birthday.

There I was, alone, nobody I knew, strange city. But the looking game was on and was fun.

A guy entered my line of sight, amidst eye candy galore he was 1^st division. He had a blue sweater that read on his neck “Industrie” in white letters.

So I started to dance next to him, and from time to time I got the impression that he jumped on me on purpose but trying to make it look as a misstep. Then I could swear his fingers were touching mine for a second. I was trippin’

Cuz here in England, for some reason that I don’t know of, I’m considered attractive. So this gorgeous guy might not be so totally out of my league.

The thing is, not only he had exquisite features (yes, blond, blue eyes, fair face, cute nose and all), but he was also very young and very popular, he kept on hugging and kissing all these other hot trendy young guys. Man, I’m being ridiculous, who do I take me for, Ricky Martin? Must go elsewhere and not stand dancing here like a stalker.

So I went around the place, the labour party winning everywhere but Putnam. I made eyecontact with a guy in his 30s probably, he was hot, but he sure had already got to the conclusion that he would be no longer. After a while of dancing with him I returned to the Industrie boy wonder, I’m not too keen on thinking about time and the end of youth right now.

As more and more friends appeared to greet him I became sort of part of his entourage, like I blended in or something. And then he was dancing with me, and then he was dancing with his back towards me. Could he be flirting with me that way? I’d rather think so.

But I had to take action, so I grabbed his sweater shoulder so as to read precisely what was in it, “Industrie”, I know. But it gave me a bit of physical contact. And I though it was allowed, I mean, everybody is touching each other shamelessly, I needed to be part of that game.

So eventually I got into talking to one of his friends, named Jack. And then along came another, soon I could tell they were all London residents, they all had jobs and they were all friends because this is a tough city and you need to have friends more than anywhere else. And at the same time, this is a horny city, and more or less I could tell they’ve been all in each other’s beds at least once like it was Melrose Place or something.

I so desperately wanted to fit in, to feel like I was part of this group of youngsters, making it in the city, and making it good. That Dolce & Gabbana t-shirt really is a Dolce & Gabbana.

They decided to go, and I followed.

Until I realized they were heading home, it was only 1:30 but this is London and tomorrow was Friday.

Craig, that was the name of Industrie kid, he had to get up by 7:30. Jack asked me if I was his boyfriend, I told him no, I told him I hardly knew him. And then this black teen came in saying hey, don’t bother my boyfriend! and being a bit aggressive but I could tell it was all an act.

And there I was thinking, on what basis am I even considering that I could be really part of this group? Craig, he seems attracted to me, and me, I guess I’m pretty obvious. So, if I wasn’t to his taste he would have made that clear hours ago, right?

I told Jack, mate, I’m really confused here. Craig is very flirtatious, I can tell. But then I’m nothing but a tourist here. And then Craig himself barge in.

We walked together towards Tottenham court, until I had to ask him bluntly, I fancy you, do you fancy me? Can I get one straight signal for once, would it be too much, would it be completely out of place?

And then he said that I was Ok, that he had to work tomorrow, that I should have his phone and that I should stop being such a drama queen. And we sort of kiss each other near the lips.

So he took his bus, I walked home to the hostel, feeling exhausted after of the tactics I had to master to avoid my natural shyness. But yeah, feeling superhuman still.

Another day in London Town. Gee, that’s great .

posted by Barro @ 11:50 p. m.