Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Service: * * *
Ambience: * * * 1/2
Babe Count: * * *
Catherine is sitting with us briefly. She's a giantess. Damon says, "Show us your muscles!" So she stands up and strikes a Charles Atlas pose, arms flexed. Fuck'n hell. This chick is seriously defined.
"Feel them," she commands. Damon and I obey, feeling her rock hard biceps.
"I've gotta arm wrestle you," I say. "And I so totally don't mind losing to you!"
We sit down, square up, and Catherine says, quickly, in that, 'I'm gunna win this by hook or by crook' kinda way, "Three-two-one-GO!"
And she pounds on the pressure. This chick is an Amazon! But with two breasts. I know, cos I've locked my arm, and I'm taking inspiration from her cleavage. We're using our right arms, which is a BIT unfair of her, seeing as I'm left-handed. But my arm refuses to give, even though she's leaning into it, with her body over her hand, putting some weight into it too.
On the inside, I'm quaking. And I'm taking serious strain. If she's got the stamina, I reckon I'm a goner in the next twenty seconds. So I hold on. And she starts huffing and puffing, and she tries one last frantic burst of power. But she fades after about two seconds, and I just butter her arm down to the table.
"Okay, left arm," I say, expecting to crush her instantly. Instead, it's exactly the same battle. If anything, Catherine's left arm is stronger than her right. But she relents, and I pound the back of her hand to the wood.
"First time I've lost," she says. She leaves. Probably to beat up on her gym instructor.
"Holy fuck, she's strong!" I say to Damon.
Damon says, "Wow, Roy, this BDSM stuff... you've learned a thing or two, huh? You didn't even flinch."
"I'm flinching now," I say. "Can't even move my hands!"
"You didn't show a thing. Just glared at her like a dom."
We start chatting about polyamory and BDSM. He asks me about Kathy (not Catherine), a friend of his. I first met her at one of his parties.
He says, "When Jose told me you two were hooking up, I couldn't believe it."
An actor acquaintance of his stumbles over to our table, drunk. He sits down. And starts talking crap about how South Africa's poor people are NOWHERE near as poor as the poor people in the rest of Africa.
He demonstrates with a particularly odious epxpression on his face how Joburg's poor people hold their hands out demanding money. "Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!!"
"Oh come on," says Damon. "You can't say ALL of South Africa's poor are like that. And anyway, poor is poor. YOU try living with absolutely no money."
"Ya," says the guy, clicking his fingers aggressively. "But these fuckin' okes go home with Nando's burgers in their stomachs. In Mozambique they've got NOTHING!"
"You're talking about the car guards," Damon says. "What about the rest of the poor people?"
I zone out and turn my chair away from this dork. I figure that if I ignore him for long enough, he'll just bugger off. But he's too drunk. And he loves his voice. He's an ACTOR, you know?
Eventually Damon also ignores him. Fifteen minutes later, he stands up to go to the loo.
"Fuck," I say. "What a bore."
"Carry on about Kathy," he says. "Is she... uh... relaxed about the BDSM stuff?"
I kinda give him a non-answer to his non-question. "Yeah, she's relaxed about it." I figure if she wants to tell him about BDSM relaxation, she will. Or he can read this site. Hehehehe.
The actor comes back. "Ah, fuck," I murmur, and turn my chair and stare into the middle distance.
"Where was I?" he says, and starts on his diatribe. Damon and I slip out, and he's still declaiming to an empty table. But there are other people in the restaurant, and they're sure to want to hear his opinion.
Kathy's got flu. Karen's got a tummy bug. Helen's overseas. Susan's not into polyamory. Joanna's just a glimmer of hope on the horizon. And if I'd known I could beat the Amazon, I should have bet her a blow job.
I think I'll go home now and think about the poor in Africa.