Wine Country, my Bartender at the Pit

Wine country with Barb and Vick today. We drove up the Sonoma Coast, through Guerneville for some quick cruising and a stop at Armstrong Woods, “It was only a moment for you..,” then on to West Side Drive, and the Dry Creek Valley, blah blah blah. There’s a beautiful new winery on the West Side Drive–called Roshambo. Really. The wines were fairly good–light, but with lots of complexity and fragrance, and the architecture was stunning, a departure from the Sonoma County vernacular combining sleek contemporary lines and curves with beautiful warm wood planked ceilings and large glass windows framing spectacular views. Joe Bob says check it out.

Did I mention cruising in Guerneville? Well (now close your ears, tulip), while munching our sandwiches at what’s-the-name-of-that-cafe-on-Armstrong-Woods-Road? an employee in way tight shorts and an even tighter tank top that rode 3 inches above the top of his shorts, exposing a cute little furry belly, made frequent trips to the front counter for no apparent reason other than to jiggle that 3 inch section of flesh my way. My lunch companions were oblivious to the heated non-verbal dialogue that I was engaged in.

Do you remember The Pit? It was a dance club downstairs from Cocktails, on Howard at 9th, where AsiaSF is now. I often went there after Manny died, just to watch the bartender. He was a black haired fur-ball whose pudgy tank of a body was frequently poured into an outfit similar to the one described above. As he leaned over the stainless steel counter to give patrons their drinks, that same 3 inch section of belly made contact with the counter-top for an instant or two. Imagining the sensation of that live hot belly, on those hot nights, pressed against the cold steel sent shivers down to my prostate…

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