I’ve been watching a TON of movies lately, though I have also been watching a medium amount of porn too I’m mostly talking about mainstream cinema. My revived penchant for both theatrical releases, and the releases that come from seeing two perfect specimens’ writhe in pleasure got me thinking, “what would happen if a porn fantasy took place in real life?” As I thought more and more about this I found one specific instance of art not imitating life.
So the scenario sets up like one I’ve seen maybe a thousand times: You’re at a bar, it’s only you and the bartender. Thirty seconds into your first drink you start flirting with said bartender, because it is a typical rule of thumb that bartenders are suppose to be smolderingly hot. (Why did you think so many porn stars and models are also bartenders?)
Now here is where we switch from real scenario to fantasy- in real life, more drinks are had, then you go home, and even if you go home with someone, that someone is NOT the bartender. Now in porno you guys start disrobing, and dabbling in some light foreplay, because apparently NO ONE else is coming to this bar, ever.
Sorry to be a buzzkill, but herein lies the sticky situation (and my problem with the fantasy), the next step is for one of you, or both, to hop up on the bar. As a person who sometimes likes to get a little rowdy (clothing optional) in his spare time, I know what the surface of a bar feels like (clothing optional), and it’s gross (not optional, that’s just a fact).
Now in our porno bar this obviously isn’t a problem, let’s face it, if you can have sex on the bar without fear of being caught there are two things that must be brought to light: first off, I would love to meet you for drinks, secondly, we should go to this very bar because they are not making a dime, and will probably be shut down by the health department at any moment.
For sake of argument, and overlooking all that is wrong with bar-sex so far, there is still one giant red flag going off in my head, the tips of all of the pourers. Now I’m all for toys, and bedroom/bar surprises, but I don’t want a bottle of anything slipping nozzle first into my no-no zone (especially something that is as sharp as a pourer). Just thinking about all of the hazards of having sex atop a bar drives it straight into one of my no sex zones.
Alas, if all of these things haven’t made you redirect your sexpectations to drunkenly locking you and this handsome stranger in a bathroom stall, the second stickiest place in a bar (possibly the world), you should realize that you’re going to have to wait hours for this encounter to actually take place. In the real world, just because the bar closes at 4 doesn’t mean either one of you are getting off before 5.
My advice for sexing up your friendly neighborhood bartender (or barback) is to get some one one on one time that doesn’t involve a questionably made White Russian, unless of course you’re into that. Though I’m sure that this fantasy has probably taken place in reality at one point or another, and could also arguably explain why taking a black light to a bar is somewhat like taking a black light to a 14-year-old guys bedroom, it’s just not plausible. As far as I’m concerned the only sex on a bar I want is the drink, but let’s make it tall, dark, and maybe a little fruity.