Awesome foursome(s)

A tub of Crisco, a mexican wrestling mask and a ball-gag.

These were the items proudly on display in the bedroom of the Fierce People, my lovely Franco-American friends.  I was passing through the bedroom on my way to use the toilet, before you get any ideas.

Anyway, I was invited for dinner, along with the crying American - henceforth known as Jersey, due to his Garden State origins.  Now, Jersey has gone up in my estimations over the last week, changing from a homesick, lost and sorry individual to a handsome young man who just so happens to be a rocket in the sack.  Jeepers.  I wasn't expecting that.

We'd been invited for 'dinner and a card game' which sounded lovely, and which was, indeed lovely, if a little, erm, unconventional.  The dinner was amazing, as ever.  The card game was a surprise.  

Instead of a couple of rounds of 'laissez-passer' or 'cherchez la femme' we sat around playing a vintage (1970's?) Mork and Mindy card game that had us all reaching to grab polystyrene eggs and shouting 'nanoo-nanoo' and 'shazbat' at each other.  Largely hilarious.  Especially when mixed with gin.

As the evening drew to a close around 3am, one of the hosts turned to me and said "why don't you both stay here tonight?"

"What do you mean?" said I, suddenly worried.

"We could do a little ménage à quatre...." he suggested, with his husband looking on eagerly from behind a glass of gin.

As you can imagine, me and Jersey laughed this off as the joke that it wasn't and kissed the hosts, thanked them for their marvelous hospitality and quickly left.  We hit the street and started to run.  Run and laugh.  Hysterically.

So, having turned down the offer of a foursome, we head home and to bed.

The following evening - yesterday, in fact - we were out on the town, the four of us drinking, dancing and being generally giddy.

"You see him?" said Jersey to me, pointing at a very handsome, hairy-beary kind of guy.

"He's nice," I replied.  "We should take him home".  

This was a joke.  A silliness.  A throwaway quip.

"Dare you" said Jersey, obviously knowing that those were the wrong words to say to me.

"OK" said I, rising to the challenge.

We walked over to talk to him.  He was very friendly, French and thrilled by the exotic anglo-american pair that had decided to talk to him.

Jersey nudged me.  "Go on then", he said.

"We were just on our way home, and we thought that maybe you'd like to join us", I said, thinking that even for me this was an outrageous thing to do.

"Sure", he said.  "I'd like that, but my husband is here tonight"

And with that, he introduced us to his husband.  A two-metre, handsome, gentle giant of a guy, with a football shirt on (bad) that was balanced by a very cute smile (good).

"These guys want to take me home with them" said the hairy-beary French guy.

"Oh, not this evening Chéri," said husband.  "I'm too tired.  Let's do it Sunday instead?"

Both Jersey and myself looked at each other like dumbstruck fools, muttered something along the lines of "you bet your sweet ass that we'll be there" and left the French pair to head off home.

So it seems I have plans for tomorrow evening.  Very curious plans.

I know, I brought it upon myself, but I do wish that I had someone else to blame.