The Libation Attraction

Martini

I see the bar is packed tightly tonight, friends. The air is crisp in downtown New York City as the young 20-somethings in attendance all hunt for a fun and sexually satisfying evening. It appears they’ve all come to the right location, the bar that sits hidden and nearly invisible on Mercer Street just between Spring and Broome. The outside shows no indication of a name, simply a martini glass and the number 89 below it. Bar89—the beautifully trendy restaurant/bar in SoHo—invites you all inside tonight.

The future rummies, the horny cubicle dwellers… these are the barflies I notice this evening.

They’re all present with slightly boasted egos because each knew about the trendy hotspot. Everyone is on the lookout, eyes reeling and pulse racing.

And they all have one thing in common: they’re drinking.

Libations

Each one screams different things, some are more approachable than others but all call out something about the hand securely wrapped around them. Are you hot or not? Are you virtuous? Tonight, as I span across the room I see all types:

The fruity martinis.

The minty mojitos.

The brawny beers.

Would they ever mingle? Or would they each be forced to only converse with similar beverages? The man next to me with his Starburst Martini, would he ever be able to approach the woman towards the corner who holds the same drink, or would she turn him away for fear that his masculinity is about the same or even lower than a toddler’s?

Drinks.

They say a lot about us: who we are, what we like and especially what kind of evening we wish to have or are going to have.

I see two Vodka Martinis tonight:

The drink is traditional and respected.

The young woman sipping it down it calls comes and get me. She’ll be flirty, sensual even. Prove that you are worthy among the countless amount of guys that hit on her along with being well groomed and clean your night could head towards a direction topped with pleasure filed-moans and lust.

That mature beautify drinking it down the bar, you’ll hear I’ll eat you alive from hers… something that can either be immensely enticing or frightening. Should you choose the former she might be combative at first, reluctant even. However, if you’re able to withstand initial rejection and show that you are the one who can make her feel young again, congratulations I say.

Your decision.

Luckily, tonight I see no women with the typical beer:

Unless you’ve just been released from prison, are an avid biker or enjoy spending all day in the woods hunting, forget approaching this one. The beer screams either I’m alone and like it or I sleep with women and like it.

We are what we drink. I assure you of that.

We are that fruity cocktail. We are that minty refreshment. And we are on the prowl.

By Kyle Dowling

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