Saturday night was great fun. I went with one classmate, Lubos (who I have mentioned in an earlier entry), and a Slovak girl, a friend of Lubos, to a relatively new gay club outside the city centre of Bratislava. None of us had ever been there before, and we decided to make a night of it.

The club was of medium size, and, as seems to be very common, situated underground. That is, the main area was on a basement level. An open area, a sort of dance floor/mingling area all in one. Drinks were expensive.. on a Slovak standard, which is cheap on a London standard, and ridiculously low priced on an Icelandic standard. The music they played was a very typical club-scene mixture of cheesy dance and dance.
As usual my eyes surveyed the scene, looking for anything to catch their fancy - it is just a habit, for if my eyes meet attractive eyes that survey me back, it creates a fun tension which adds spice to the regular fun; dancing, chatting, drinking.. It does not mean I seduce the eyes to come to me, or that I would even want to.. Suspense of the kind, the sexual tension between strangers, can often serve as a prelude to extensive physical entertainment, as we all know, for me, however, the prelude is often enough.
There were not many pair of eyes which I took notice of. There was one pair, a pair that returned my glance, but we left it at that.. for the most part.
At the end of the night I had become quite self-assured in my drunken state, I had had my fill of the night´s fun and wanted out. My group was set on staying, seemingly for the mere sake of staying, as everyone´s energy had nearly gone down to zero and the club was gradually becoming empty. I announced my departure and took leave of the lot. On my way out I tried calling a taxi, but, as I might have expected, could not make myself understandable to the lady on the line. I said the name of the club, and recited the word taxi over and over again, I did manage to make out that she wanted the street name.. but then I noticed the owner of the nice looking pair of eyes walking toward where I stood along with a friend of his. "Perfect," I thought and galloped toward them.
"Do you guys speak English by any freak chance?" I asked, so sure of the magnanimity of my presence that I had foreseen the eye-beholder´s reaction before he had given it. He was, to my drunken eyes, quite obviously glad to have me addressing him, and let go of his friend as he answered gaily: "Yes."
"Please tell her where I am," I said and handed my mobile phone over to him. "Taxi."
He spoke to the lady on the line for a few seconds, then asked me my name and pronounced it into the phone in that typical Slovak fashion, "Kristían", after I had given it. After his conversation with the taxi company I, in my magnanimous air, touched him sweetly on the forearm and thanked him heartily for the help. As I prophesied his eyes lit up and he started to keep me chatty, by asking me things like why I was leaving and where I was from. I participated fully, we had a little chat that indicated mutual interest in each other´s.. well, persons, I would like to say, but bodies may have been our main impetus.
The taxi arrived five minutes later, I was given Róbert´s (that was his name) number, and then we said "Áhoj" as I boarded the taxi and drove off.

Let me elaborate on my inner situation that night, while I emphasize that even if I got a hot guy´s number it may not have to necessarily mean that I will ever use it.. it was a sort of personal triumph, a very human game to play, the search for a weird acceptance of strangers that mean nothing to you. We all start out as strangers to each other, surely, but it is not until we strike a connection that we start meaning that whole lot to each other that humans tend to do, and thus I did not mean to have it sound demeaning toward Róbert that he is, as yet, a stranger to me of the meaningless sort. We may well get to know each other, and I may well learn to like him. Perhaps he is even a fantastic big-hearted and loving person, who means the world to anyone whose life he touches. That night, however, that was not the point. The point of my sharing his glances and approaching him, was the egotistic need to prove to oneself that something more would be a possibility. The glances suggested it, the approach proved it. The number.. well, the number is the porthole that might aid in anything more happening should I choose to use it.

I conclude by sharing it with my readers that I may not use it all, simply because there are people that already mean a whole lot to me in that human way, and make my sober self less wanting to complicate my life with an added knot of intimacy.

The story of my life continues,
..kH