Excuse Me, Sir, But Can I Grope Your Thigh

Happening club - thumping music, grinding bodies and the occasional recreational drug slipping by. Guy's interested in you, gives you the eye, hands you a drink. Maybe two.

You'd expect Mr Interested to try for a quick grope, wouldn't you? Gotta check out the goods after all.


Well isn't this what clubs are for?
Year back, I would have said that the girls would squeal a loud no while the boys would be raring to go. I'd be wrong obviously. Turns out the sexual revolution had the girls turning into insatiable Samantha Jones wannabes while the boys turned into ascetic monks. Even my swinging bachelor pal - Rambling Robin - turns squeamish when it comes to unwarranted gropes in gay clubs.

Suitor : Hey, cute stuff.
Robin : Uhh.. hi?
Suitor : You look pretty hot tonight.
Robin : Hic. I do?
Suitor : Come over here and let papa have a feel.
Robin : Eek.

Just one hand on his thigh and our lil Robin's flying up into the boughs, modesty outraged. Hell, I'd have gone straight for the balls. Why pussy-foot around?

But like any other vestal virgin, Robin feared for his impeachable virtue. At least the one he'd apparently reclaimed after losing it in his foggy not-so-recent past. With the disconcerted squeals emanating from him, you'd think he'd been forcibly taken right on the dirty, rat-infested floor of the club.

And this from a guy! Come on, don't people go to the clubs to be groped no more? You wanna be treated like a prim little lady, head for a church social.

It's just a furtive grope. Not even a full-on sexual assault in a club. And trust me when I say even I've had worse. Ah, the insurance octopus. Hands everywhere under the table. I'll admit the blind scrabbles were unsettling but I could handle it. What I couldn't stand was the insurance sales spiel that came with it.