So on my out of the bar tonight I got hit on by a black, err, I mean African-American, transvestite.
Not one of the regulars. Never seen him/her there before.
Burgundy being Burgundy, I was polite, "No thanks man, I don't swing that way. I'm just helping lock up."
Burgundy is also defacto security since he's friends with the owner and bench presses 300 pounds.
Debating if I should tell the other regular whose lap he/she was sitting on that it was a dude.
So that was fun. At least I'm still cute, I guess.
You handled that better than I would have. A **** squeezed my thigh at a bar in Montreal. I jumped up like I had been shot, barstool fell over and I yelled “WHAT THE F MAKES YOU THINK I’M GAY!? Ruined my night.
