We've been looking forward to this day all week. After a long week, we're going to go out and see who we can meet. We're a very unusual couple; we're both polyamorous, and we're both bisexual, and we've both been feeling it... that urge to get out and do something (or someone) new. So rather than sneaking around each other, we're going to do it together (or at least at the same time). Or at least that's the fun fantasy. We both know that the evening will probably end without either of us meeting anyone compelling, and then sitting up together all night at some dive bar laughing over some loser's attempt to get into your pants. But either way it should be a fun night.
You get home and find me sitting on your couch, waiting for you. Your apartment is vacuumed and dusted and made ready. You wander into your bedroom and laugh as you see that for once, I've made your bed. You point at it and give me a raised eyebrow; I shrug defensively and point out that you never know how the night will go. We have a drink and let the day flow out of us, quietly chatting in the way that established couples do as we share a pizza together. Finally, it's late enough to go out. And so... we do.
We arrive at the bar. This is very much the gay part of town, the part of town where people will assume that we're friends rather than coupled because of the fact that we aren't the same gender. It's liberating. Most of the men here are not staring at you, they're looking at me. Most of the women aren't worried about the men, they're checking out the other women. It's exactly what we're in the mood for tonight. You see me head for the bar proper to get us some drinks; on the way there I'm accosted by some muscle-bound guy who you see say something to me. You see me flush bright pink, meekly reply, and then get the drinks and head back to you.
"What was that?" you ask.
"Um... He asked me if I had a little bit of Irish in me. Then he asked if I wanted some." I reply.
We share a laugh at the audacity of the bold line. It breaks any awkward tension, and you look right at me and see me smirking. My face quickly goes impassive, but we both know I've been caught.
"Spill it." You demand. You see me contemplate stringing it out further, but I surrender to the inevitable.
"There's a reason I picked this particular bar tonight." You look at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. "Well, you see, tonight -"
I'm cut off suddenly as the bartender taps on a ridiculous microphone and begins to announce...
"LAAAADIES AND OTHER LADIES, WHO'S READY FOR SOME KAAAAAROKE!?!?!?!"
You affix me with a death glare. "KARAOKE!?" Then you smirk, and decide, "Fine. But you're going first!"
You see me gulp. Hypothetical fun thoughts are confronted with sudden performance anxiety of the impending reality. But you're having none of it; you point to me and call loudly to the bartender, "HE'S FIRST!"
Before I can so much as object the crowd roars their approval and shoves me forward. You have just enough time to see one last deer in the headlights look on my face as I'm involuntarily crowd-surfed up onto this ratty little stage. You see me ask for the song list to choose from, and the bartender/MC laughs, holding up his mic again.
"SO WHAT DO WE WANT TO HEAR HIM SING?"
You see me realize that I won't even get to pick the song. Before either of us can react, the big "Irish" guy we saw earlier bellows in a voice loud enough to stop traffic...
"COME ON EILEEN!!"
The crowd roars its approval and the bartender starts fiddling with his laptop. He hands me the microphone, and you can see me steeling myself to try and do this thing. The song abruptly begins playing halfway through the first verse and I suddenly launch into song, singing loudly and confidently, a confidence that you and I both know is faked but that I'm hoping to get away with.
As I stumble my way through a pretty horrific rendition of the music, it seems that I will in fact pull it off; partially at least because the crowd is basically singing along for every line anyway. As I'm singing, though, your attention is suddenly taken by a redheaded woman who has worked her way through the crowd to tap you on the shoulder. You lean in close to hear her.
"Is he yours?" she asks. She's beautiful, in kind of a punk-rocker kind of way. Short-cropped red hair, shorts, and a tank-top that says "Skate or DIE" on it. You realize suddenly that you haven't actually answered and that it might start to get awkward so you reply.
"No. Well. Yes. I mean. Sort of. I mean yes. But we're not exclusive. You know?"
Before you can fix the answer any more you see her smile, deep and genuine.
"Cool. And actually I TOTALLY get it. Mine's over there trying to hit on the bartender for free drinks, and we're not exclusive either."
Your conversation is interrupted and drowned out by a million drunken people screaming suddenly.
"COME ON EILEEN, OH I SWEAR WHAT HE MEANS, AT THIS MOMENT, YOU MEAN EEEEVERYTHING!!"
You both start to giggle as my voice clearly cracks in a failed attempt to hit or hold that note or even come anywhere near it. You stand together, in a sea of happy faces, watching me humiliate myself on stage and try to stumble through the rest of the song, confidence shot but carrying on bravely nonetheless. Finally, as the torture ends, she suddenly leans into you, and says,
"Avi".
You look at her for a moment, and then it dawns on you, and you give her your name as well. She smirks at you impishly and says, "Don't leave without me!"
Before you can consider what she means by that she's gone, disappeared into the crowd without a trace as the song ends and people start moving to and from the bar to get more drinks. You turn back to the stage and see me stepping down as the bartender retrieves his microphone.
"WELL, NOW *I* WANT TO MEET THIS EILEEN!! GIVE IT UP FOR THIS GUY! I THINK HE'S EARNED A FREE DRINK FOR GOING FIRST! OR SHOULD I SAY... CUMMING FIRST!"
The crowd laughs at the horrible joke and 20 people start jumping up and down and trying to go next. As they do, the second bartender pours me a drink, and you start making your way to me. As you start to get close, working your way through the mass of bodies, you see the guy that Avi had pointed out earlier, more clearly. He's tall, somewhere slightly north of 6 foot tall, with short blond hair and clean-shaven. While he's not overly muscular, he's got an athletic frame that suggests some kind of cardio, perhaps biking or some similar thing. As you take him in, you hear him whining to the bartender.
"Well, how come HE gets a drink!?!?! I've been here for you FOREVER, baby!"
The bartender chuckles as he hands me my drink, and replies.
"Well Jimmy, that right there is the only free drink I'm giving out tonight. So unless you're going to take him home and suck it out of him, you're not getting one!"