The First Time I…Went To A Lesbian Party And Gave The Bartender My Number
There’s a few things in life you simply have to be intoxicated to be willing to go through with, for example, going to an all-lesbian party as a straight girl, peeing in a public restroom, a majority of the time, or giving your number to the hot bartender, and in an unabashed way. I did all of the above one night. My best friend had come out earlier in the year, and by “come out” I mean came to terms with the fact that she wanted to date both guys and girls. I, as a supporting best friend, couldn’t have been more accepting or understanding. My guy friends were quite the contrary when finding out that my hottest friend was now a “lesbian” for lack of a better term.
I did a few unmentionable things in support of my bestfriend’s newfound gayness, one of them being attending a lesbian party in Hollywood one night. So, technically you can’t really host an “all lesbian” party, and sure there were straight cats and some gay dudes as well, but in summary, the lesbians ran this shit. She had been wanting to go to this party that happened every week at a bourgeois cocktail bar, as it was essentially Tinder IRL for lesbians. I was single, and if there happened to be any eligible straight men there supporting their lesbian friends (how often does that happen?) then maybe we could have some sort of bonding experience. And if not, there was always hot lesbians, which I wasn’t mad about either.
Surprisingly, a lot of girls showed up already coupled up. To me, this seemed to defeat the purpose of going out to a party where there should be a gaggle of single hot gay girls, and consequently, Alanah and I were deemed a couple by association. This didn’t bother me, however, the whole point was to get Alanah laid, or at least a brief make-out, and not with me. As we continued to get more and more drunk, and running out of things to drink, she pressured me to ask the bartender to make us his “favorite thing” to drink.
Now, this is the right move if you want to try something different, most likely tasty, however, the wrong move if you’re not trying to get fucked up, given they typically tend to put about 7 different kinds of alcohol in your drink. Your drink that is now essentially jungle juice. This is also the time that I realize just how hot the bartender is. Covered in tattoos, tall, dark hair, in a man bun. Ugh, I know, he’s 2015 hot, but I don’t care. Several jungle juices, free shots and a lot of innocent flirting later, it’s definitely my queue to give him my number.
“I think I’m gonna give him my number,” I tell Alanah, which she reassures ever so drunkenly. I mean this is the girl who hooked up with a vine star by pretending to bump into him. After he brings the “check” for our drinks, shots excused, I sign it with my number attached. I’m definitely drunk.
Alanah returns to the bar later for water, where he then asks her if the two of us are together. She proudly tells him no and adds, “She’s cute, right?” Not too long later, he comes and sits by me, hand on my leg, flirting, on the clock, I might add. “I definitely thought you wanted to have a threesome,” he laughs which I now realize probably happens to him all the time. The attractive guy who works lesbian night is used to strange, and erotic, propositions.
I had to come to the conclusion that giving the bartender your number is not a sign of desperation or naivety. It is a sign of adherent intoxication, but in a way it’s actually liberating. He’s hot, you know you’re hot if you’re feeling brave enough to give the attractive stranger who serves you alcohol your number, but you almost know you’re not doing it for him, or in hopes that he’ll call you and maybe give you free drinks every time you come to his bar. You’re doing it because, even though you know you’ll probably never hear from him again, you did it because you wanted to. Did he ever call me? Of course not. Do I feel shitty about that ridiculous forward move made in my drunken state? Hell no. I’m sure he thinks I’m damn cute but was just disappointed when he found out we weren’t looking for an orgy. At least that’s what I’m telling myself…
There’s a first time for everything, and I don’t just mean your “first time.” Of course, there’s vital, “right of passage” first times that everyone must encounter at some point, for example, moving to a new place, getting your heart broken, and making your first humiliating, drunk decision. Yet first times are imperative to the better (or often, identical) mistakes we’ll make later, and teach us the lessons that we’ll continue to not learn from. Every week, we’re going to be telling real first time stories from real girls, and that includes everything from celebrity house parties to Instagram marriage proposals.