He saw her as he leaned into the bar to order his first drink - his first drink at Limelight, that is. He'd had a few at the Rex, of course, and one or two at the house party before that. And, naturally, he'd had some wine with dinner, a half litre or a litre perhaps, and a little brandy with his crème brulée that he'd felt obliged to accept from his gracious host, but that was hours before, and didn't really affect him presently. Nor did the pitcher of Steam Whistle he'd consumed with lunch, and certainly not the little nips of tequila he'd taken from his flask on the morning commute as was his custom. So he saw her on the dance floor as he ordered his first drink at Limelight: her beautiful black dress aglow with lint or maybe dandruff under the black light; her substantial, partially-exposed bosom heaving and glistening with sweat like two Easter hams baking in the oven and for some reason heaving. As he downed his double vodka neat and signaled the bartender for another, he thought to himself, she's just my type. He also thought, admiring her full figure, those ankles must be really strong. Then he thought about how fat people looked sitting on the subway: like a short person standing up, because the front of their torsos stuck out nearly as far as their legs. Then he thought about how expensive metro passes were getting. It hardly seemed worth it anymore. Then he realized his thoughts were wandering and he focussed back in on her, on the dance floor, moving with the grace of a dog on a skating rink. But a graceful dog on a skating rink, he thought. Like, maybe, a terrier of some sort. Yes, he thought, a really, really fat terrier.

Finally the bozo she was with excused himself to go to the washroom. Here was his chance. He thought about his half-full box of Trojan condoms, only a month shy of their expiry date, and knew he'd sorely regret it if he let this opportunity pass him by.

He ordered two more double vodkas neat, then ordered a third upon deciding it might be good to offer her one and so much the better if she didn't want it. He made his way out onto the expansive dance floor. He stopped when he realized his knees were wobbling. He wondered if he'd had too much to drink but then decided it must be his nerves because as far as drinks were concerned he was still in the teens. He sipped casually from the drink he planned to offer her and continued fighting his way through the throngs of dancers between them.

He was less than three feet away from her when he caught her eye. It was made of glass and it had been knocked out by the clumsy idiot beside her who was gesturing wildly for his friend at the bar to get him another cocktail.

"I think this belongs to you", he said suavely, handing her the eye, silently thanking God he hadn't had to use the line he'd planned which was, "Don't I know you from AA?"

"Nice catch", she said, gingerly popping her eye back in its socket, "you've got quick reflexes".

"That's not all I do quickly", he said winking.

"You mean you ejaculate prematurely?", she asked coyly.

"Well, yes", he said, "but that sounds so clinical. I prefer saying, 'that's not all I do quickly'".

Instinctively he grabbed her, right hand on her waist, left hand on her right, pulled her close to him, and led her whirling around the dance floor.

"I was born to dance", he said.

"I was born to cousins", she said.

As they continued dancing he pulled her closer, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath on his neck. He was lost in her. Parts of him anyway, as she was quite fleshy. Should I kiss her?, he wondered. He wanted to. He wanted to desperately. But would she let him? Or would she reel from him in horror, repulsed? Damn it, why did matters of the heart have to be so complicated? He noted the mustard stains on the front of her dress and decided she probably wouldn't be repulsed. He dislodged his right hand from the folds above what he supposed was her waist, placed it on her cheek, and kissed her deeply.

"Mmmm...limburger and...pickled herring?", he inquired when the kiss was finally broken.

"Why yes", she said. "How did you know?"

"I have a keen gustatory sense", he said. "I'm a wine-taster."

"That must be an interesting profession", she said.

"More of a hobby, actually", he said, "but enough about drinking. Shall we to the bar?"

He offered her his hand as they left the dance floor. She took it. At the bar he smiled at her and flagged down the bartender. "Two double vodkas neat and a scotch on the rocks, my good man...and a white wine for the lady."

They sipped their drinks in a comfortable, satisfied silence. "Shall we continue this conversation elsewhere?", he asked suggestively, one eyebrow raised.

"I think we shall", she said, blushing slightly.

They moved toward the door arm in arm, both imagining the night ahead of them: romantic music, their naked bodies intertwined, moving as one, the smell of sweat, cologne, and vodka permeating the air.

But then, abruptly, her mood seemed to change. She stopped and turned to him before they reached the exit. "Wait", she said hastily, her good eye staring deeply into one of his, "there's something I...I have to tell you that...that you might not want to hear."

"Say it, darling", he said reassuringly, returning her gaze. "Whatever it is, it couldn't possibly dissuade me from...", his voice quieted, "dare I say...falling in love with you."

"Well...", she began hesitantly, "I have...this itch...this infection...", she continued, "so I'm afraid you might not want to...consummate our relationship."

"I'm glad you told me, my dear", he said. "Perhaps going home together is not such a good idea. I've never been one for...rash decisions."

He saw the tears well up in her eyes. Suddenly, last call at Hot Tub Girls didn't seem like such a bad idea. Didn't they have a two-for-one lap-dance special on Fridays?

"May I call you?", she pleaded.

"Certainly", he replied, brushing her aside.

"...But...but...your number...your name", he heard her stammer meekly as he walked past her, out of the bar, out of her life.

Outside he waited for a taxi. The thousands of revelers on the street, typical for Adelaide at that hour, made him feel small and alone. He swigged from his flask pensively. Would he never find love? Would he never know the joys of the type of sex that didn't appear on a Visa statement?

He hailed a cab and climbed into the back seat. The driver turned to face him. "Hot Tub Girls, my good man", he said, cheering up. He glanced at his pocket watch. "Quickly, if you don't mind. My lap has an appointment with destiny."