The Pretty Stripping Barman

My prophesy that the vicious storm heralded the abrupt end of our Indian Summer was a tad premature. The weather has reverted to its usual generosity. We decided to take full advantage by spending the evening in the village. Yalıkavak is deafeningly quiet as most of the tourists have left. We patronised our little semi-gay bar with the pretty barman who strips off when the booze kicks in. As usual we were minding our own business when we were descended upon by Kay and Barry from Burnley. For some reason Kay took a real shine to me and Barry got on swimmingly with Liam. I said I’d never been to Burnley. Kay said she’d never been to London. Hardly a fair contest, I thought. Barry chirped on about his self-confessed homophobia but thought we were alright. Our gratitude knew no bounds.

Also in their company were an elderly woman and her new Turkish munchkin husband who was thirty years her junior. Clearly, it had been her Elizabeth Taylor looks that first attracted him. He was very, very small and made me look positively statuesque. The wife told me she has a gay son who just can’t find love – probably ugly then.

We all left together at the end of the evening. I gave Barry a big sloppy kiss right on the lips which he drunkenly reciprocated confirming the rumour that the difference between a gay man and a straight man is about 5 pints. As we left, the pretty stripping barman whispered provocatively to Liam that we should return later for extras. We didn’t.

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