Let me tell you about hot barman. I have mentioned a barman here before, but it wasn’t hot barman. Hot barman and me go way back. I used to live in this shithole of a city about 6 years ago, just for about 9 months. I didn’t like it, had no luck with any gender of people, being too far out for all of them. (Read: got drunk and committed faux pas all over the shop) I’m back now, obviously, but have only recently relaunched operation: seduce hot barman. It’s a bit of a long game so it’s more about making regular deposits in the Bank of Wank than actually expecting results. But a girl can dream. (and boy, do I!)
So the story of hot barman is as follows. Note that the Italian city I live in is a fair bit more repressed and into female dignity and niceness than the great English speaking metropolises.
There once was a young, enthusiastic and sexually frustrated girl by the name of…. oh no, this is anonymous. Ok. Forget the name. Or just call me “Smooth-ass Mofo” if you need something to moan as you caress your computer screen. So Smooth-ass Mofo used to go to this bar for her coffees, about six times a day. She would generously offer to bring her coworkers coffee then strut around the corner in the hope of an interaction with hot barman. There were actually several hot barmen in this particular bar, but hot barman took it to another level. He smouldered.
Anyway, I would buy my coffees and carry them back to work like a pro waitress, tray on one hand, thrusting my pert 18 year old ass out into the world like a baboon in heat, and then when I rounded the corner, I’d breathe out and slump back to my normal, everyday shape. Oh my lack of belief in a god, he’s so hot. And then I would drink up and my coworker would graciously offer to return the cups and tray, as I had bought the coffees. “NO! Mine!” I would yell, grabbing the tray and flying out the door. I returned the cups and then skulked back to work, the juiciest part of my day finished. Until lunchtime. Then back to the bar for a whole freaking sandwich. Except I’m a pig, so it was an ordeal to sit there, in front of hot barman as he did his hot busy bar work, trying to take the right size bite so that I could get enough yummy sandwich in my mouth but not too big or it resulted in a really foul prodding at the thick bread bulging out of my cheeks until it would wedge down into my oesophagus and then the choking and coughing would commence. It was a damned stressful way to enjoy my meals. I alternately scoffed with furiour hunger, then checked myself and nibbled at sandwich that really fucking wanted to get in my belly, having been sensualy handcrafted by his hotness himself and containing all sorts of delicious cheeses and meats…
And my face time with hot barman was so brief, that we really exchanged very few words. I always said hi, and he always said hi. One time I asked him if he thought it would snow for Christmas (yeah, killer moves, I know) and he answered something ambiguous. I went bright red. But I was like, 18 at the time.
Anyway. I played the long game. I was coy, I smiled like a nice girl, I wore little skirts and sometimes heels but never gave any reason for doubting my purity. Hot barman and I exchanged gradually more and more unequivocal smiles. I had been investing a sizeable chunk of my wages in this bar for about 6 months.
One day, I’m at work, bored off my tits, and this annoying bald guy who always came in to ask me out comes in and starts being a pain in the ass, but a welcome one because I was so bored.
“Hey beautiful, when are we going for dinner?” he asks. I tell him something like never.
“I’m only joking, don’t get annoyed. Hey how are you? How was your weekend?” I reply ok, tired, bored, worked all weekend.
“Ah… me too. Sono Allupato.” (we’re speaking Italian throughout, I’m just translating the rest with my awesome skills) I ask him, what does allupato mean?
“Ah… you know, tired… like… too much work, ha ha.” I make a mental note of this new word to add to my vocabulary, and carry on with my day as sleazebag leaves to inflict his company on someone else. A momentary lapse of judgement (back then, my lapses weren’t so frequent… I miss my innocent, less drug scrambled brain and fewer bizarre, conflicting life experiences to confuse me) stops me from looking up this word before adding it to my repertoire.
I proceed to my first bar visit of the afternoon, where I am greeted by the entire band of hotties including their young captain, Mr. Hot Barman. At this point they are very warm and friendly in their greetings. I feel positive that all my time and effort on this mission is soon to pay off.
The bar is in a lull of silence but for the casual clinking of cups and spoons.
“How are you today? How was your weekend?” asks hot barman.
“Oh” I say, thinking I’ll whip out my new word of the day to impress these guys “I Just worked a lot, nothing interesting. You know…. Sono Allupata.”
Gorgeous, chiseled jaws drop. Hot barman blushes, looks down and starts drying a cup. Stunned silence.
No one speaks. Eventually one barman mentions something about the coffee machine in a low voice to another. Business resumes. I’m baffled. What happened? What did I say? (I didn’t immediately think of my new word. I was learning a new language, I used new words all the time.)
I drink my coffee and rush back to my work, where it dawns on me what I might have done wrong. I pull up an online dictionary and type in my new word and see what it means. Ah, now it makes sense. I just told the bar I was madly horny, desperate for a fuck… like a sexually ravenous wolf.
The next day, I came to work with no intention of ever going back to that bar. My co-worker surprised me with a coffee though, and it was my job to bring back the cups. I jaguar-skulked back into the bar and tried to deposit my tray unseen and dash away again. No such luck. Hot barman was in my path- he avoided my eyes and gave me a crappy normal customer hello and another one of the hot bar men (from a much lower echelon of hotness) invited me with a hungry grin to join them for drinks after work. Hot barman was lost to me. I wasn’t the sweet girl I seemed. All those months, wasted. I resolved to join the other barman for drinks, but got there alas too late (just happened to be a night I had to work later and the bar was closed when I arrived.)
But now! I’m back, I’ve started frequenting the hottie bar again (to be honest, only two of the hot staff remain, but hot barman is one of them) and he is yet again on ravishing smile terms with me. Will this be the year? Am I hallucinating all flirtation as part of my sexual withdrawal symptoms? Is this guy still too shy to cope with “the horny wolf” or has he grown to appreciate vulgarity in a woman? It was about 6 years ago and I was a sweet looking young thing so I can forgive his being a little appalled by my vulgar declaration. Anyway, I’m back on the sandwiches. Here’s hoping I can reap some sort of reward out of all the years throwing money at a pretty face. Oh what a face. Out of my league, yes. But if I can just get him drunk, and give him head like ONCE… in the bag. (That’s how I bagged myself a first husband. A tale for another day) By the time morning face is presented to him, I’m already like a million times more attractive and valuable to him. Mwahahahahahahaaaaaaaa