One of the selling points of moving to Pensacola was the dangerously close drive to New Orleans. It's exactly three hours. Myrtle Beach is only two from Charleston, so this would be cakewalk. Don't get excited. The story does not contain a cake recipe and you will see why. This boy does not in any shape or form take the cake. One of my cousins on my dad's side is a nurse, so needless to say, she associates with a bunch of nurses. The second night I was in town, they were begging her, at 3 minute intervals, 2 go out to one of the bars in Metairie. She was on the Westbank, which is approximately 30 minutes away and said if I was interested and going out, that we would go. Since essentially I was on vacation, I said, "why the hell not?!" At 1 a.m., we headed to the bar. Only in New Orleans. Things don't get lively until 2 anyway and the bars are hardly ever close. It's all owner's discretion. That's why I still, to this day, find it humorous that they call New York "the city that never sleeps" even though their bars usually close around 2 or 3. Besides the point. Along the way, we picked up my cousin's non-nurse friend who was also dress in yoga pants and an updo. We rolled up to the bar and met her belligerent male nurse friends. We did a brief intro; one of them, my cousin queued me in on being engaged, and the other had a reputation of being a man hoe. Just trying to enjoy the New Orleans nightlife on a Wednesday, I made my way to the bar, since my cousin decided she was just going to drive and not drink. My ass would have left my car and snatched an Uber but, hey- I was on vacation, so to each their own. I saw vacation lightly... I was just unemployed LOL same thing, right? "Hey! You can put it on my tab," the man hoe one yelled after me. After picking up a strawberry Abita, I returned to the group. Thanks, I said. He likely ignored me.... I suppose he could have not heard me, but anyone that's spoken with me or been in a room with me, knows my voice carries. No microphone needed. Engaging in conversation with another girl that joined the group who repping a Rangers t-shirt, I gushed about America's sport and tanked my beer. Returning to the bar, the man who is stationed up there, grabbing a handful of shots. Putting another strawberry Abita on his tab, I smiled at him and said thanks again for the drinks. His only response after telling me I had to take one of the shots was: "You wanna suck my dick." Yes. Because a male nurse bought me a drink, that equates to me wanting to suck that said nurse's dick. Insta-blowjob. He's a short-lived |
AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
April 2022
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