The drag singer at that rural pub sang it.
A guy, a friend of a friend, 27, gorgeous, was ever so friendly.
I liked him.
We play-fought, then we played being a couple for the drag artist’s schtick.
He grabbed my crotch as his darts mates laughed.
He bought me drinks.
I enjoyed the attention.
We mock-kissed for a photograph.
He laughed with his darts mates about it.
I poured a pint of beer over him as part of a complex joke I still don’t get.
He had me sit on his lap as a joke for his darts mates.
We all laughed.
I went home alone.
So did he.
I was 17 and a fool.