Gentleman

I'm such a gentleman, I thought to myself, as I leaned into him, pulling up the hem of his shirt and covertly slipping a 10 into his front jeans pocket. I couldn't really afford to give up the 10 dollar bill, but I figured I should give him a little for paying for the taxi and the drinks.

Somewhere between the second and third shot of Patron I figured that I could probably order myself a Red Lion or a grapefruit martini on his open tab, and I probably deserved too as well. I was the third wheel with two other people, one an acquaintance, the second, even less so--and the "third wheel rights" probably would have afforded me some personal indulgence on his dime. After all, I'd kind of been ditched by my friend and left behind in the third wheel configuration--one that was supposed to be more platonic, but the booze was working on the two of them, so they ended up lip locked against the wall. Luckily, I didn't have to be the killjoy, because she was the first to suggest we go back to her place. After dancing with the both of them in a bar atmosphere not quite ready for dancing --taking my arms away from his neck, we went outside where his sister drove us all and we reconvened with our mutual friend.

It's a good thing I didn't have that fourth shot of Patron--or I'd have been as wasted as them. I got to enjoy my tipsy buzz, with just enough drunkenness to be silly. Luckily for me, the only thing I regretted was taking my top off back at the house, wandering around in a bra in front of a few people I didn't know too well. They were lucky enough to see hints of a nice rack--a thing not every one of my paramours have seen. If I'd had that fourth shot of Patron the bra might have been lost when he said "let's all take off our tops."

But a lady never loses all of her clothes on a first date, gets too drunk or too loud. After all, I'm a gentleman.