Monday 21st August 2000
Once we closed up last night, I was happy to follow the lads and some of the staff into town. It’s good to show the workers that though I am their Master during opening hours, once the doors are shut, I am in fact one of them (just more likely to do something worthwhile with my life that is).
Being a seaside town, the clubs are less strict in Torquay than in Brum. Here there are no dress codes, so Miller is in his element, wearing his flowery shirt and shorts, sporting big sunglasses under his straw beach hat that hides his long straggly hair. Actually it’s Curly who comes out best. I don’t think he has ever owned a decent set of clothes in his life. Every school has a stinky kid wearing hand me down clothes, and in our class, Curly was that kid. Many a night out back in Brum were spoilt because Curly got turned away for wearing old trainers and crumpled t-shirts but down here the clubs don’t give a shit. Curly can look like a tramp and still have a good night out. I, however, like to look stylish. Unlike Clint, I am not a sheep following the flock. I’m a shepherd, leading the way. While Clint wears ‘trendy’ clothes, and has a quiffy blonde haircut that is currently popular with celebrities, I want to look like a person of power and influence, which of course I am. Disregarding the free and easy dress attitude, I garbed black pants with Suede shoes and wore my prized red velvet shirt, which I nicely topped off with a pencil leather black tie. I still look professional, but with snazz. Looking as slick and as good as I do, it amazes me even more that Miller, the bearded buffoon doing the monkey dance in the middle of the dance floor, is my twin.
We went to a new club last night, Café Rouge and it certainly provided a lot of eye candy. I felt like a boy in a sweet shop and I was taking my time choosing what lolly I wanted to lick. Unfortunately, our Bruce Lee wannabe chef (Phil) wouldn’t leave me alone. He had decided that I was his new best friend and as he was completely incoherently pissed, he wanted me to have a drink with him. I tried to politely say no, informing him that I was above the need of alcohol to have a good time but he just wasn’t having this and soon he had me in one of his customary headlocks. I should have kicked his midget ass right then and there but I didn’t want to spoil my refined clothes with his blood, so I relented and accepted his offer of a drink. Out of nowhere Miller appeared.
“Whay hey! Hank’s coming to the party” he shouted to Clint and Curly and they both answered with a hearty cheer.
As you know, my full name is Jacob Hank Cox. It is very very rare that I drink but on the few occasions that I have, Miller has spread vicious rumours that I am some kind of Jekyll and Hyde character, that once I have a drink, Hank (Hyde) comes out to play. Everybody seems to love this imaginary fella. Three times this morning I was awoken by each of my brothers and Curly, so that they could tell me in explicit detail what Hank apparently did last night.
The lad’s version of last night
Clint said that after a few rounds with Phil, I was on the dance floor, with my expensive tie wrapped around my head, Rambo style, grabbing any bird that crossed my path, trying to force them to do the Latino tango with me to the latest techno beats, while Curly swore blind that I was table surfing, and while riding a table that had a group of fit young lovelies sat around it, I threw up, Exorcist mode, all over their exposed, charming bouncy cleavages, filling’em with my crisp chunks and tangy lager spray. Miller was the last one to wake me up, so that he could inform me that the pair of us had supposedly bullied two small geeky lads into giving us piggy back rides while he and I whipped each other with our beer soaked shirts. He then went on to say that I had found it incredibly funny to run around with my willy hanging out, dipping it into girl’s drinks, asking if they wanted to ‘down it’. According to him this was the final straw and we were all kicked out, so we went back to the Gladrags club (which according to Clint it is NOT a gay club).
What horrible, terrible nonsense! I will admit that some of my memory from last night is somewhat patchy and my head is killing me but I have a perfectly sound explanation for that. I was drugged! Yes, that bastard chef Phil must have spiked my drink. Miller and the lads are obviously having a laugh at my expense. I am sure that they are making it all up. The lewd photos Clint showed me as evidence must have been faked on Photoshop!
My memories of last night
What I do remember is waking up in Gladrags at about 2am, but the night still seemed young for all of the pilled up clubbers dancing like morons around me, with their dumbass glow sticks waving in the air. I felt extremely sick! God knows what the lads did to me while I was out but my prized shirt was soaking wet and my gorgeous black tie was missing.
I was just about to attempt getting my sorry wet arse off of the seat I was slumped in, without vomiting, when through all of the greasy, jumpin, semi naked yoofs writhing about around me, I caught a sight of Heaven, whilst there in Hell.
The usual, dreadful, Club beats had been replaced with cheesy party hits, and Abba’s ‘Dancing Queen’ started blaring out through all of the speakers. There, in the middle of the dance floor was this girl. She was dancing all alone beneath a bright spotlight. I don’t know if my memory is faulty but it was as if she was moving in slow motion. Her hips were swaying side to side, while her sweet curved bottom slowly grooved up and down to the pulsating beat of the disco classic. I couldn’t help but stare at her. She was absolutely beautiful. Her silky brown hair was parted in the middle, she had moist alluring lips and she was dressed in black skin tight leather trousers and a low slung, boob hugging top. She kept her eyes closed as she danced, completely immersed in the music. I found that, and everything else about her ever so sensual. Suddenly she opened her eyes. They were a summer sky blue and even more beautiful than I had imagined and then they were looking right at me. She gave me a Mona Lisa of a smile and a soft, inviting wink, before closing again. I stood up to act, being led by my over excited pecker no doubt, but my body acted against me and the next memory I have is having me head down da toilet, getting sick all over a stinky floater!
Eventually I remember getting back out to the dance floor but the girl, the winker, was gone. I felt complete and utter despair. I felt even worse when my attention was drawn to an argument near me, only to find a group of guys were surrounding Miller, Clint and Curly.
It turned out that Miller, who had reached his ideal stage of super drunkenness, had gone up to a girl and started getting off with her. She seemed quite happy about it, or so Miller was shouting, but her fiancé, who had had his arm around the girl at the time, was obviously not as pleased. He was a mountain of a fella, and so were all of his friends, a team of rugby players, and they were now threatening to kick the living daylights out of my twin. Don’t ask me why, cos I dunno, but I went over to protect my idiot brother. Clint was already trying to reason with the gang but he was having difficulty doing so while Miller kept shouting ‘let me at’em’ (Scrappy-Doo style), as Curly tried desperately to hold him back. You see there is a male code. If one of your mates gets into a fight against more than one person, you HAVE to join in and help, even if it looks likely you will get battered. It was blindingly obvious to Curly and Clint that if they had to help Miller, they were fucked. I waded over and instead of sticking up for Miller, like Clint was, I told the group that I totally agreed and he was a fecking dickhead. I pointed out what a joke he was, but added that he wasn’t worth the hassle of getting arrested for. What I was saying seemed to work because they started to back off, content with just throwing verbal insults at him. This was obviously more than Miller could bear and he managed to break free from Curly and made a bee line for the boyfriend. Luckily Clint and I both pushed Miller away before he could reach the bloke, and he went flying on his ass. The stupid bastard was too pissed to realize that we were trying to save him and the next thing I know he had sprung back up off of the floor, like a Jack in the box, and punched me square on the chin. I saw stars and then everything went black.
When I came to I was flat on my back and my head was killing me worse than ever. People were still dancing around me, oblivious to my state. I opened my eyes and I saw Miller wobbling off, being held up by bleedin Bertha, without a care in the world! The pair of’em disappeared out of the club together and Clint had raced off to see if Curly was okay, as the poor knob had run away in tears, due to seeing his rapist so soon after the event.
I don’t know how long I was lying there on the floor. I was just about ready to give up and go to sleep right there when I experienced a second vision of wonder. The Winker girl was kneeling over me, looking right into my eyes. Yet again she winked and gave me a huge, happy, gorgeous smile. Her eyes shone and melted my heart.
“Are you alright down there?” she asked. Her voice made my blood swirl around inside, I felt like I was being tickled from within.
“Yeah” I answered coolly “I’m just trying some new moves. Vertical dancing is sooo yesterday. It’s for ya gran you know. I’m trying out some New York moves. This is all the rage over there at the moment. Do you wanna try?”
She just laughed. I laughed. I have no idea if she believed me, but it was obviously a good line. She helped me up and asked if I wanted a drink. I should have said no, but I didn’t. She asked, she smiled and I said yes. I would have said yes to anything.
We went to the bar and we had a couple of shots, which we washed down with some alco pops. I could feel the floor beginning to spin again. We couldn’t really talk because a different DJ took to the stage and he had decided to ditch the cheesy pop tunes, in favour of some ultra loud, ultra beats.
Once again the movie in my head of last night begins to miss some scenes as I polished shot, after shot, off. I do remember showing Winky (I can’t, for the life of me remember her name!) some of my moves. She must have been impressed with my Jiving because she started dancing with me and she laughed so warmly and affectionately as I span her around. She felt so good against me. I badly wanted to kiss her but I didn’t want to get it wrong. I didn’t want to scare her away. I tried to wait for the right moment but time was escaping me. Every time I held her close she took my breath away. Every time she smiled at something I did, she took the strength from my legs. I was having the time of my life and I didn’t want to ruin it. However, after one last spin, when she had collapsed into my arms as I dipped her, she lent forward and kissed me. The club didn’t need music because my heart was pounding away like an epic summer anthem.
The next thing I remember is her whisking me outside of the venue and then us being in the back of a taxi together, kissing more! I don’t know who suggested it, it must have been her, but we went back to mine instead of hers. Considering how much of a tip Miller has made of our room, I must have been quite drunk, or just too randy to care. Luckily when we got upstairs to my room, Miller wasn’t there being raped by Bertha. I had the room all to myself and my Winky.
I wanted to make the moment really special. I didn’t just want a quick fumble. I wanted her to remember me for being the best she ever had. I decided I would be dead sexy and copy a scene I had seen in a movie. I turned on the shower and invited her to join me. She just laid on the bed in a fit of drunken giggles and egged me on. Before I knew it, I was humming the song from ‘The Full Monty’ and I was doing my best attempt at a strip tease. I got down to my pants and began wiggling my bum, sliding up and down the en-suite door seductively. The more she clapped and laughed, the worse I behaved. Eventually I was completely naked and I was wiggling my bits and bobs like tassels. Oh the horror. I can’t believe I did that! Maybe I was Hank! I have a bottom that looks like it’s got a hamster clenched between its buttocks. It’s so terribly fluffy. What on Earth could she had thought. Obviously in my drunken, horny state, I gave no thought to that. I jumped into the shower, ready to invite her in but then I remembered that it was on the blink. It blasted skin peeling hot one moment, and frost biting cold another. I was hopping in and out like a bloody Morris dancer. I kept shouting for her to wait a minute while I got it sorted but eventually I gave up and decided it was time to give her the ride of her life.
I stepped back into the bedroom and she was spread eagled on the bed. I crawled on top of her and gently whispered “Are we about to make love my sweet?”, but she didn’t answer, she was out cold, fast asleep (or after seeing my hamster, pretending to be asleep?)
I must have passed out next to her because the next thing I know I am in bed, under the blanket, being woken up by Curly.
What happened to Winky? Why did she sneak off without saying goodbye? Was she embarrassed? Regretful? Ashamed? Was she even real? Maybe after I passed out from all my drinking with Phil, the lads put me in a taxis home and I dreamt the whole thing?
Will I ever see her again?