Love thy neighbours

Saturday night, Italian Neighbour and I hit the town.
With an ulterior motive, (aka: find a reasonably cute guy each, share a cab in between the four of us, and wish eachother good-night-wink-wink once at our respective doors), of course, because there's only such an amount of time one can go without sex without losing one's sanity.

We did find a nice pair, and followed them around the club discussing potential ways to chat them up, until they grabbed eachothers' arses and exchanged a long and langourous kiss. Well, so much for the infallible gaydar then.

I was cursing my consistent lack of luck over my cranberry juice (having been ill as fuck for the past few days, I still was on antibiotics, hence no alcohol, and before you say it, I know it would have been in my best interest to stay home, but FYI, I did not go out on Friday, so I consider myself half guilty only) when this absolute hunk walked past.
I poked IN on the shoulder:
"Me. Jane. Him. Tarzan!"

I should have never forgotten than IN's flirting and matching techniques were still very much jungle-like. Or at least, primary school courtyard-like.
She pushed me into him, and before I had time to say sorry -and feel sorry for myself- she had already asked him his name, whether he was single or not (he was), said the two of us had something in common then, and buggered off.
Oh dear. Now Lilith, say something. SAY something!

"So... Erm.... Hahaha! God, I wish I was hammered. Rest assure she will not live to see the next sunrise. Anyway! Do you come here often?" (oh-dear-oh-dear-oh-dear)

After the initial embarrassment, it went surprisingly well, I have to say.
We chatted for the best part of four hours, until he invited me to come along to an after party with his friends. By this time, I had realised that not only "Tarzan" was super fit, but also smart, funny, employed, and straight!
Unfortunately (or fortunately, I still don't know), my sober mind had also decided that he could be more than one night stand material, so I politely (and ridiculously) declined and let him beg for my number.

I not sure I like my sober self that much.

When the lights came back on, I said goodbye, and he gave me a bear hug, promising he would "definitely" call.
I grabbed IN who was lap dancing one of the two gay guys in the utopian hope of getting a threesome, and we went home.

No cab. No good-night-wink-wink. No hot sex.
Night buses. And harassing drunken arseholes at the bus stop. And enough time spent in the artic wind to have a relapse.

Tarzan'd better call.