Trophy hunting.

After several hours of traveling on a plane, a train and an automobile I found myself in the fog-shrouded part of San Francisco known as Inner Richmond. A friend of mine, originally from the Emerald City, has recently finished Nursing School; her sister is scheduled to fly down and meet us we are all driving back together with her belongings. It was shortly after midnight when we rendezvoused and I was thirsty, (the beer on my flight having long since worn off.) Fortunately, my friend lives walking distance to a number of bars, I chose the one with sexiest name: The Buckshot.

The place was packed, much like any dive bar on a Saturday night at midnight. I ordered a shot of Fernet and a pair of PBRs (hey, "when in Rome...") My friend and I found a little spot between the shuffleboard table and the skee ball machines, where we could indulge our curiosity and observe the crowd. Underneath the gaze of countless mounted hunting trophies (so many and so varied Linda D., herself, would drool at this collection,) we took note of the various cliques, each group of drunkards easily distinguished by the uniform attire they wore, whether it be of an athletic jock-like variety, urban gangsta', or bridge 'n' tunnel mini dresses with heels too high to gracefully strut in paired with obnoxiously monogrammed Coach bags (sorry, at that price point there are a lot more labels to choose from and not all of them are made in China.)

I suggested we migrate towards the dance floor for better viewing of the various weekend courtship and mating rituals occurring all around us. We wove through the boisterous mass and were able to find a pair of stools to perch upon and continued our analysis of the crowd. (And quite honestly, we were also checking out the boys.) Apparently I got caught checking out a tall, dark and handsome guy, with a great build and chiseled jaw line, his eyes locked on mine and immediately he came over and sat next to me on a vacant stool asking me what my name was (Gush!)

Beside my newly befriended hunk-of-a-friend, I was completely beside myself. I could scarcely believe he was talking to me! He kept reaching down to adjust his socks and every time he would press his leg closer to mine (Gush!) We shared more about each other, where we came from, he himself being from San Diego. He was surprised I was 31. I was surprised he was 22. (Cougar! I know.) He did preface our conversation with saying his girlfriend just left (Really? Was that some sort of invitation? I can never tell.) He kept asking me why I wasn't out on the floor dancing, I tried to play coy and mumbled something about wanting to wait until a song I really liked to come on before hitting the floor. So we kept talking, he told me he worked at a retail store downtown and that he's used to being around a lot of gay people because of it, all the while he kept getting closer, our arms touching, our shoulders touching. I couldn't have asked for a warmer welcome to SF (Gush!)

He finally went out onto the dance floor and a flock of girls surrounded him. My friend kept encouraging me to get out there and after a few songs, I went. He was happy to see me, but I made sure I maintained a distance from him, (I didn't want him to think I was making assumptions, but sometimes it's hard not too, especially when cheap beer is involved.) Before leaving, being obliged to meet up with some other friends, he made a point to say goodbye to me and I ended the night gushing and glowing.

-----

A few days later, while downtown looking for a sweater to ward off the ever-present San Francisco chill, I decided to do a little "drive-by" where my hunk-of-a-friend works and as I walked by, sure enough, there he was in all his glory. It took him a moment to register how he knew me, then he smiled and opened his arms to give me a hug (Gush!) He introduced me to a co-worker of his, a slight, coiffed and well manicured Asian boy, who graciously complimented me on my leather jacket (BR.)

"So did you have fun the other night?" My hunk-of-a-friend asked me, three times. (Isn't it true, when nervous, people tend to repeat themselves? Just sayin'...) He asked if I were going out again this weekend. I told him I'd like to, but wasn't sure, just playing it all by ear. I asked him if he ever goes out during the week. He suggested I take his number and maybe we could go out together sometime (Honestly, it was his idea, not mine!) So I entered his number into my phone and shot him a text and took my leave, after another tight hug, of course (Gush!)

Quite the souvenir to come home with, if you ask me (Gush!)