Booze, a fireplace and Playboy

Busy with work today (shut up Slyde!), but needed a break so I thought I would share with you a little tale from my drunken past. Well, my present is fairly drink-filled as well so maybe I should just say my past. But I was drunk...so there!

I've been a Playboy centerfold model.

Well, not officially, but I think I made a pretty good case for myself one night. Lemme 'splain.

In my mid-late 20's I worked with a huge group of similar-aged folks at this financial services company. We all hated our jobs and we all liked to drink. Our favorite time to drink was Friday night Happy Hour. Our Happy Hour, of course, lasted for something like seven or eight hours but you get the point.

There was this one joint down the road from us that was our joint of choice every Friday night. Our whole day was planned around leaving work 15 minutes early so that we could get a parkings spot that wasn't 3 miles away. It was right by a local airport so it had a military/airplane theme and a huge outdoor patio area. We loved that place! Many an evening were spent outside near the fire pit drinking un-godly expensive beers and bad shots. Good times.

Anyway, this one night we were indoors towards the back of the bar. There was a little walkway between one section of the bar and another and for some reason there was this huge, un-used, stone fireplace there. It was big...big enough for me to crawl into. That fact will become important a bit later in the story. Made no sense to me why a fireplace would be there, but there it was.

So I'm having drinks with Slyde and a few other friends (Cristina and Alice, I believe). We were sitting in this little cut through area and I am sitting directly on the huge slate in front of said stone fireplace. Don't know what we were talking about, but I looked around and said outloud: "Hey...doesn't this place remind you of something out of a Playboy photo-shoot?"

At this point my friends either pretended to have never seen a Playboy or they just laughed out loud...I can't remember. Most of them just scoffed at me saying things like "What the hell are you talking about?".

That's when I decided to show them.

I whipped off my suit jacket and I started a posedown. Here were some of my favorite poses:

• On hands in knees, ass towards camera, shyly looking over my shoulder.
• Sitting down, one hand behind my back to prop me up, the other spreading the privates.
• Demurely looking into the camera while licking one erect nipple.
• Laying on my stomach, elbows propping up head, feet in the air crossed above my ass.
• Standing next to fireplace, one arm covering breasts, the other cupped over privates.

I was a machine. I didn't let the howls of laughter from my friends nor the steady stream of bar customers on their way to the pisser distract me. I was in the zone.

I never did get a call from Hef, though. Nor from any magazine that would prefer to publish pics of pudgy, drunk guys. Sigh.