Prince of pleats

Two years ago on New Years Eve, I had planned to fly out to visit a friend but was thwarted just a few days before my flight was supposed to leave.  By the time I knew I was going to be home for the holiday, my local friends were all busy.  Good thing I have family in town!  I coerced my brother into feeling badly enough that he'd be willing to spend the evening with me.

We tried a concert but to no avail.  The pub was full, and there was no way we were cool enough to con our way in.  Instead, we headed out to our neighborhood bar.  (Yes, our neighborhood bar; my brother and I live just a couple of doors away from each other.)  The bar is a little seedy and is largely patronized for its karaoke and pool tables.  They also sell some of the nastiest Chinese food around.  It's a dive.  But, it was New Years Eve; we didn't have other plans; and going there meant not having to worry about driving home.

Disclaimer: I don't drink often, and when I do, I don't drink much.  It doesn't take much for me to feel the effects of alcohol, and I had more than a few cocktails that night.  That said, I know that I remember this story accurately.  Truly.

As my brother and I were sitting at the bar, enjoying each others' company, he noticed a few women who'd gone to his high school walk through the door.  He took the opportunity to chat them up, leaving me alone to my wallow in my sadness at our circumstances.

But not for long.

I was soon joined at the bar by a man who introduced himself as Ahmad.  In fact, he told me that he's a prince.  He's from Saudi Arabia, and he's here in the States for school.  He's working on his PhD in mathematics.  He's rich.  Really, really rich.  And smart.  Very smart.

Side note: I have a theory - if you have to tell me you're rich, you aren't.  If you have to tell me you're smart, you aren't.  

In any case, Ahmad is trying to snuggle up close to me.  He's been drinking but not heavily.  He talks and talks, telling me all about his friends and relatives.  He tells me that even though he's Muslim, he thinks that drinking and sex are amazing.  He's thrilled to be in the United States because he can partake in these activities without repercussion.  He tells me I'm beautiful.  I shouldn't really be flattered, but I'd just been told to stay home by a guy I used to love and I'd had a bit too much to drink at that point.  Plus, my brother is still chatting up these women from high school, leaving me to fend for myself.  So I let him continue talking to me.  He goes on and on about being a Saudi prince.  On and on and on.

He tells me he'd really like to come home with me.

I excuse myself to go to the bathroom.

When I return, I sigh with relief because he's moved on to the next woman.  He's snuggling up close to her.  He's got his arm wrapped around her shoulders, with his hand grazing her breasts.  He's moved quickly.  I am grateful to have gotten away easily.

Until she leaves to use the restroom.

Ahmad is back.  Telling me all over again about being a Saudi prince.  I tell him I already know.  And he leans in and says,

I want to play with your body.  I want to lick the folds.  I want to be touch your rolls.  I want to suck on your pleated skin.  Take me home so I can play in your folds.

There is so much wrong there.

I know I'm not thin.  I know you know I'm not.  But, really?  I wasn't going to take him home anyway, but pointing out my totally flawed body?  Really?  Is that supposed to seduce me?

It doesn't.