Mr Shane

Sometimes you’re hovering, irresolute and there aren’t any money pings hitting your radar and then out of the corner of your eye you see someone with a wallet full of twenties and hundreds buying a drink. Cha-ching.

I walked up to the guy with the money, a short Asian guy in glasses and a hat. His friend, a tall blonde man of the bearded Comrade Lenin type-a type my city is so full of it’s likely I’ll never date again, or at least no dating til Brooklyn-was overtly uninterested in me but the little guy happened to to be eye level with my new 34DDs. I knew I got these for a reason.

“What’s that!” he asked about the gulag chest tattoo.

“It’s your face.” I shoved his face into it and he yelled. A yell of delight, a little muffled by my boobs.

I let him go and he circled around me.

“What’s that say?”

“It’s a stanza from a Russian poem.”

“You like Russian poetry? You like Akhmatova?”

“Akhmatova?”

“Is that how you say it? yes. And you say ‘Sve ta ya eva?’”

“Tsvetaeva?”

“Yes! And now say ‘poetry’!”

“Poesia?”

YES! it sounds like this!” He pointed emphatically at my lap.

I started cracking up. “Ah, yeah, I guess it does sound a little like that. Wanna dance?”

“Yes! Mr Shane!” Bored beardy blond man came over and looked at me, still devoid of interest. “I’m going to dance with her!”

“With her? You don’t want her.”

Oh my God, Mr Shane you are so lucky that I am on my best behavior after assaulting a customer or you’d be next.

“She knows Russian poetry! Poesia! Tsva-say it again!”

“Tsvetaeva.”

“Yes!”

I smiled winningly at Mr Shane. “We have so much in common. Russian poetry in the club! We’re going to dance now.”

Mr Shane was unimpressed but maybe just unimpressed with life in general. He shrugged and let me haul his tiny friend away.

The dance started and

“Pinch my nipples!”

I obliged.

“Hard! Harder! HARDER!”

I did my best, giggling harder every time he yelled.

“Okay, now you make me hard.” He let go of his death grip on the armrest and I grabbed his hand before he could get saucy.

“Ah… Yes. I’m trying.”

“I know why you’re holding my hand! It’s so I don’t touch you. I won’t!”

“That’s really great.”

He flailed the whole while, yelling. At the end of a song he asked if we could get all of the girls in there, to pinch his nipples while he smoked.
“Smoking’s not allowed indoors.”

Dealbreaker.

“Let’s go back to Mr Shane and get more money for a dance!”

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