<h3>ID My Ass</h3>

"Go to the downstairs bartender – he's wearing nothing but an apron and you can see his cock!"

How could I resist? When you hear a sentence like that, uttered by one of your friends as you walk into a bar, auto-pilot takes over. RMatt and I pushed through the crowd, headed for the back staircase. Logic should have won out. The simple fact that we were at Splash, one of my least favorite bars in New York City, should have made me know better than to descend the stairs. But sometimes it's just out of your control.

He was actually wearing less than an apron. It was a rectangular piece of fabric, about the size of ½ a piece of paper. The head of his penis was actually visible dangling below the cloth. The fabric was tied around his waist with a piece of string. In theory, this could have been hot. But we were at Splash, so it wasn’t. He was short and stout – not quite fat, but not exactly muscular either. Beefy is a good term. It also became apparent rather quickly that he was very loud, and very straight.

"Yo!" He shouted at us in a thick Staten Island accent while we were still 6 feet away from the bar, "Yous guys want drinks!?"

We approached the bar in a car-crash trance, reluctant but unable to stop ourselves.

"Yo guys! What's goin ON!" Clearly straight, but trying to play the Flirt-with-the-homos-while-working-the-gay-bar game. Badly.

"Uh, Hi."

"YOU!" he pointed at my face. "You look too young tuh be drinkin here! Lemme see some ID!"

I was momentarily flattered, but R Matt guffawed at the ridiculousness of the thought. I realized, reluctantly, that he was right – this guy had to be joking.

"She scanned my ID at the door on the way in," I told him.

"Yo Baby-face, gimme duh license – I'M gonna scan it right NOW! C'MON!"

Unsure what else to do, I pulled out my license and handed it to him. He spun around, giving us a full view of his bare, thick ass. Then he slid my ID from the top of his crack down deep between his cheeks. When it was almost invisible at the bottom, he let go. Needless to say, it stuck.

"Uh…." I muttered, somewhat disgusted. "Approved?"

"You BET it's approved Babyface – now take it OUT!" He bent forward, sticking his ass toward me at the bar. Once again, I felt I had no choice. I gingerly leaned over the bar and, trying to touch as little flesh as possible, pulled my license from between his sweaty butt cheeks.

"Ohhhh YEAH. NOW – Whadda yous WANT!?"

"A can of Lysol and my therapist," I mumbled.

"WHUT??"

"Uh, a Corona and a Ruby Red and Soda," I said.

"No Problem!" he replied, and went to the cooler. He returned with RMatt's Corona. "Ruby Red with whut?"

"Soda," I reminded him.

He turned back toward the bar, and in doing so saw someone else at the far end. He lumbered over, greeted the guy, took an order. Turned back toward the bar. Came back over to us. "Ruby red with whut?"

I stared at him. "So.Da."

Finally, he filled my glass and placed it on the bar, taking my money.

"Yo, I just got one question for yous guys." RMatt and I braced ourselves. As it turned out, no preparation would have been enough. "Yous guys like my outfit like this, or…" he spun the string around his waist, moving the tiny piece of fabric to the back to fully reveal his flaccid penis. Which was of average size, but looked smaller next to his thick, fleshy thighs. "Or like THIS!!!"

"Uhhhh…"

"HA HA HA – I'm just kiddin with yous guys!" he cried, putting the cloth back in place. Then he performed perhaps the most shocking maneuver – he reached across the bar extending his hand. "I'm Vincent!"

We reluctantly each shook his hand, introducing ourselves.

"Yous guys know it's two fuh one right now," he said, handing me a receipt. "Come back when yuh finish those and I'll give yous your free ones!"

We nodded, and gratefully took our escape, with no plans to come back when we finished those, or ever.

Because I'd paid, R Matt said," I owe you a drink."

I stared at him blankly, my eyes still glazed over from the traumatic experience at the bar. "There's not enough alcohol in the state of New York…."