60-Year-Old Who Licked My Right Arm

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NYC Mayor Michael Bloomberg. No, he’s not the 60-year-old who licked my arm, but I did indeed meet Mikey this past weekend … and I did indeed have a 60-year-old man lick my arm. The two incidents are not related. It’s just that I realize that I never told you about my weekend — specifically Thursday and Saturday. Both days involved 60-something men. Mikey was on Thursday. The other guy was on Saturday.

Thursday, first. The Mainer — a blonde-haired, blue-eyed friend from Maine — and I go on a girl-date. She’s been invited to a swank party at the Gracie Mansion where one of the guest speakers is none other that NYC Mayor Michael Bloomberg. She invites me to come with her. While there, the Mainer and I munch on food, sip a few glasses of red wine, network, and snap this picture of the mayor. Eventually, we cut out the party a little early because the Mainer has a prior commitment, and I have to meet Maria and Bro for dinner and drinks at Union Square. Nevertheless, I’m thrilled that I get to stay long enough to see Mikey and hear him say that he’s excited that the Latin Grammys will be held in New York. Shakira is his favorite; he says ( … and I quote …) “those hips don’t lie!” Ya gotta love Mikey, right?

So, then, eventually, it’s Saturday. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about the full details of what happens earlier that evening, but for now I’ll just tell you about the 60-year-old guy who publicly licks, sucks, and kisses my arm at a crowded Lower East Side bar. Okay, so, yada, yada, yada … It’s about 1:30am on Saturday night / Sunday morning, right? Bro, Maria, and I are sitting at a table in a bar. Maria’s drinking Red Bull & Vodka; it’s a Vodka Cranberry for Bro; and I’m drinking a Captain & Coke. A much older man sees us in the dark corner of the bar, and he comes up to us. He seems nice enough because he starts buying us rounds of (GHB-free) drinks. He says he owns the bar and, because he thinks “you girls are hot” he says that he’s happy we’re in his bar. He keeps lavishing on the complements until he somehow ends up sitting next to us. He puts a drink in my hand, and then he kisses it. (My hand, not the drink.) Harmless enough, right? Well, he doesn’t stop there. The kisses go up all the way up my arm until he reaches my armpit. “I can’t believe it,” I think to myself. “This guy might actually kiss or lick my armpit.” I look across the table at Bro, Maria, and Maria’s friend “S”. They think the whole thing is odd, too; but, it stops almost as soon as it starts. Until, he kisses my hand again. And, again. Eventually, he stops and leaves the bar. So, now, I have only two words for you, my friends, two words: FREAK. MAGNET.