Martini Madness
Hung with my galpals at nearby D.M.'s Martini Bar last Saturday night. Becky, Denise, and I chilled in the back of the joint, checking out the crop and listening to a great band. We did a little dance, made a little love, but then it was time to get outa Dodge.
As we snaked out way out the exit, a long arm stretched out and a meaty hand grabbed my wrist. Not a good look for my little blue-black oriental number with the embroidery in front, you know? Next thing, I'm dragged through the crowd and hauled toward the dance floor. I try to pull away but this monster-sized man was no match. He wanted to dance and didn't want me to leave. End of story. Or so it seemed. My friends each grabbed an ankle adorned with my strappy stilettos and tried to get me outa this precarious situation. In a game of tug of war, the two friends pulled a leg and ran. But when they started to run, they hauled butt in different directions. I felt like a wishbone in a gyno office and my two buds were making the wish...to get the hell outa there!
They lost the tug of war and had to chase me down on the dance floor. Monster man (in size not looks mind you! Looks were more than tolerable!) already had me in his arms swinging me in the air. But a 6'6" guy can do that with a 5'3" gal.
I thought, "Oh, hell, I'm going down. And if I'm going down in front of all these people staring at us on the dance floor, I better make it good!" At that, I struck a pose--thighs poised daintily and a knee bent showing off my Jimmy Choos like in a Fred Astaire film. Once the guy thought he had me swooning in his embrace (and my friends came into view) I gracefully slipped from his bear hug and twirled away. He tried to grab me again, but I was too quick.
"Don't goooo!" he yelled and loped after me, toward the exit. I eeked my way out the door with my girl-posse, blew him a kiss, and the bouncers took it from there; they sure make a great barrier. Martini Mahem, I tell you, Martini Mahem.
Buh-Bye 4 Now! Love, Myki
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"Write to annoy people." --K. Llewellyn
As we snaked out way out the exit, a long arm stretched out and a meaty hand grabbed my wrist. Not a good look for my little blue-black oriental number with the embroidery in front, you know? Next thing, I'm dragged through the crowd and hauled toward the dance floor. I try to pull away but this monster-sized man was no match. He wanted to dance and didn't want me to leave. End of story. Or so it seemed. My friends each grabbed an ankle adorned with my strappy stilettos and tried to get me outa this precarious situation. In a game of tug of war, the two friends pulled a leg and ran. But when they started to run, they hauled butt in different directions. I felt like a wishbone in a gyno office and my two buds were making the wish...to get the hell outa there!
They lost the tug of war and had to chase me down on the dance floor. Monster man (in size not looks mind you! Looks were more than tolerable!) already had me in his arms swinging me in the air. But a 6'6" guy can do that with a 5'3" gal.
I thought, "Oh, hell, I'm going down. And if I'm going down in front of all these people staring at us on the dance floor, I better make it good!" At that, I struck a pose--thighs poised daintily and a knee bent showing off my Jimmy Choos like in a Fred Astaire film. Once the guy thought he had me swooning in his embrace (and my friends came into view) I gracefully slipped from his bear hug and twirled away. He tried to grab me again, but I was too quick.
"Don't goooo!" he yelled and loped after me, toward the exit. I eeked my way out the door with my girl-posse, blew him a kiss, and the bouncers took it from there; they sure make a great barrier. Martini Mahem, I tell you, Martini Mahem.
Buh-Bye 4 Now! Love, Myki
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"Write to annoy people." --K. Llewellyn
posted by Kimberly Llewellyn at 7:53 AM
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