Sit with me at the corner of the bar, at the turn, where I can whisper my thoughts in your ear and you can run your fingertips over my knee.
We can both look at her from different directions. I’ll find her eyes in the mirror behind the Johnny Walker and without my knowledge, you can let your eyes travel over her blond tresses and the curve of her beautiful posterior while she stands waiting for her drink to come across the rail.
You should know I don’t mind.
But you like to think you are a gentleman.
And I like to let you believe you are.
Treat him like a man. Get to know him. And then let him be himself.