Saturday 15 November 2008

3 Let Beauty be in the Eye of the Beholder

OK! So what's my day thrown up? I suppose it's mainly to do with how it never ceases to amaze me that no matter how old and past-it I seem to look to myself in the mirror as I prepare to go out there's always at least one or two in an evening out who get drawn towards me!
So Saturday Night out in Madrid. It's a ridiculously late scene which doesn't get started 'til way past 2 am. I got an early start at 1.30 and I decided that I'd do a round of the bars that kind of appealed from their description in the travel guide. One drink in the fist and then on to the next. My challenge was to do this alcohol-free! Well it's one thing being out in a strange city, on an unfamiliar scene, and lubricating oneself into it with liberal volumes of booze- it's quite another to be doing it all stone cold sober. However I had decided a few weeks ago to go teetotal for a few months. So here I was at the first major hurdle and I really didn't want to crack! So how did it go?
Well, alright, actually! The first bar was a bit daunting. Asking for 'un agua con gas' and being presented with a half litre bottle and a glass that looked like an oversized champagne goblet! Talk about sticking out like a sore thumb! So I quickly learned and subsequently asked for 'una tonica' so I could blend in anyone else drinking G or V&T. Once the problem of blending in had been dealt with, I found the initial nervousness I'd felt just getting myself into the place, gradually melted away. And it got easier and easier with each bar. So the blousy Black and White Bar was the worst with my Sundae glass and water bottle but then the Bear Bar 2 followed by Bear Bar 1 was a lot easier to survive. By then I'd summoned up the ganners to brave the Eagle Bar. From the description in the guide it seemed like it could be fairly heavy-duty since this was apparently the nerve-centre of the fetish scene in Madrid. Would my reasonably tailored combats, G-Star paratrooper shoes and hoodie cut it with the dress code fascist bouncer on the door? Sadly not! It was decided that the hoodie would have to be left at the door but then it was business as usual-Una Tonica in hand, propped against the bar though in this bar the porn wasn't just on the telly screens- just a glance to the left and there's some full-on live acts of man-on-man action taking place in the raised scaffolded back area. Both guys stark bollock naked apart from a few leather and metal accessories!! Meanwhile next to me at the bar- as is often the case in these sorts of places-there was a huge Booted, Thonged, Rubber-Leotard-clad, Pierced and Tattoed Queen chatting merrily away about quiche recipies and knitting patterns! 
So, onward and upward, I hurried on to the Leather Bar which, as the guide promised had nothing to do with leather with its brightly lit chic upstairs bar playing Erasure and Abba videos.
That's when I clocked Ismailie. Nice looking Spanish guy in his late 20's maybe early 30's- young to me (ie. the age a son of mine would have been if I'd gone and got married and had kids when I left school). Next thing I'm downstairs checking out the cruising area and who's there beside me reaching out to touch me, kissing me, caressing me? Yep, you guessed it! Next thing we're in a cubicle semi-naked just doing it!? 
Now how hypocritical is that? Yesterday I'm preaching the virtues of marital fidelity and today I've got the morals of an alley cat. Hmm! I can't quite put my finger on the distinction but it's something to do with beauty, integrity, gentleness and dignity. Sex last night was all of these things- even though it happened in a scuzzy cabin in a sleazy dark room. Sex at the Strong Centre the night before would have been none of them. Honest!

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