The Dreaded Scottish Cockblock

This is a true story, although as you'll understand, some of the details are a bit hazy.

Back when I was a single lad living in LA, I worked at a law firm managing their records room--nothing I wanted to be doing, but I needed rent and beer money. I was so good at it (sometimes it's nice being totally overqualified) that the firm decided to send me up to San Francisco to shape their office there. So I had a whole week in a posh hotel, expenses paid ($25 per diem for dinner = $5 at Jack-in-the-Box + 6 pints of beer), and my nights free to explore the city. I'd only been to SF once or twice as a "tourist" in college, so I was psyched to check out the scene. Being a beer geek at the time, I found my way on my first night to one of the bars in town that had over 100 beers on tap. Didn't think it would turn out to be a good place for meeting girls, but you never know.

So there I am at the bar, trying all these weird beers I'd never heard of and starting to get nice and toasty, and these two girls start talking to me. They're Scottish, on vacation, about my age and pretty attractive. Now I was terrible at picking girls up or even making conversation, but for some reason, my new environment and liquid courage made me rather charming and witty that night. And I guess compared to the other, older beer geeks in the bar, I was looking pretty good. Their accents pretty much sealed the deal for me, not to mention that they were both very cute.

One of the girls quickly began to show some interest in me, while her friend said she had a boyfriend back home. The one getting friendly with me told me she was an aerobics instructor. I almost did a spit-take. Are you kidding me? An aerobics instructor?? Images of limber limbs and all sorts of positions filled my head.

We kept on drinking, and soon they decided to ditch that place and head across the street to an Irish pub they'd heard of. Being a Guinness lover, I was game, plus I would have followed them pretty much anywhere at that point. Mind you, I'm pretty drunk, doing a bit of stumbling and slurring, but apparently keeping up my charms.

This pub was a great place, really divey and raucous and crowded. As we found a spot by the wall and got our drinks, my new Scottish friend gave me a kiss. I kissed back, and pretty soon, we were full-on making out in this pub. Again, like
I've said before, I can be pretty oblivious to the world around me when I'm getting some, so I'm sure that people around us were noticing the slobbering, slurping drunks next to them, but we didn't care. I think her friend periodically interceded and tried to talk to us, but we pretty much spent the next hour making out and drinking.

I remember I was wearing baggy shorts and a sweater, as one does in San Francisco when you're in your 20s. At some point, she noticed that I'd become very hard as we were making out and rubbing against each other, and she began rubbing my cock through my shorts. I think I was relieved to find out that getting a hardon while rubbing against a girl was no longer a bad thing (as it was at junior high dances).

Then she actually unzipped my fly and reached inside to begin jerking me off. I guarantee people saw, but I could have cared less. I don't recall if I actually came, but I'm sure I made a mess all over her hand and myself regardless. It was at that point that I became very brave, and invited her to come back to my hotel (I dropped the name too, in case the upscale nature of it would add incentive to her). As I did that, it flashed through my mind that I had not brought condoms, and I wondered if the hotel gift shop sold them, but then I would be embarrassed to buy them.

She purred "oh yes" in my ear as she kept stroking my cock. Now this is where everything becomes a sad blur. I left her for a minute for some reason (either to get another drink or to go pee--damn you, peanut bladder!). When I came back, they were gone! I spotted her friend leading her out the front by the hand, and quickly fought my way through the crowd. Wait, wait, I called after her. She turned around and gave me a kiss, then continued walking out, dragging me along. We stopped out on the sidewalk and I think I realized how drunk she was, but didn't care because I was drunker. She started kissing me again (mind you, I've run all the way through the bar with a raging hardon still tenting my shorts, and am now out on the street with it). Her friend grabbed her and pulled her to a cab, and then said "bye, we have to go" to me. My little friend leaned out the window and yelled something to me as the cab pulled away, but then they were gone, and I had no idea where they were staying or how to reach them.

My shot at stardom was gone. I wouldn't get a chance to sleep with a Scottish aerobics instructor. Chances are, it wouldn't have been very good since we were both so drunk, and because of that I may have made some stupid decisions, so I'm sure it's all for the best. Plus it's almost a better story for not having gone to completion. And I suppose the fact that I don't remember her name is a sign that I shouldn't have nailed her. But for months, I was haunted by the thoughts of what might have been, a Scottish aerobics instructor twisting us into wild shapes in my hotel room.