In the last episode, Yukker, Beer *& The Black Panther [Part Three], Mephisto found himself stranded in a big pink room, with a stage full of girls doing windmills. Mephisto was looking around for Yukker, who had disappeared. He was feeling out of place in a room filled with dollars and devoid of any testosterone. He was thinking, “Is this how straight guys bond? Is this where they like to bring their Gay friends, but decline to go to Gay bars because it’s not their scene?”

You’ll have to forgive me Chereme, for being so tardy with the conclusion to this story. You’re not the only one. My sister Lilith, is dying to know who the Black Panther is, and I’ve told her this story before, but she has forgotten. Too many bad ex’s have dampened her enthusiasm for the three minute thrills that men chase, and now she finds these stories boring. Still, you should meet her sometime, if only to compare inches.

But first, let me backtrack a bit. There was another pub before The Pink Pussycat? I think, but I am fucked if I know which one it was. All I remember, is Yukker crying out for one more, and the friendly bouncers outside the Pink Pussycat leading Yukker by the hand into the Pink room.

Anyway, I was sitting there, my head throbbing, and out she comes. I didn’t look into her eyes. I barely glanced at her face. I didn’t need to, I have very good peripheral vision. I saw her sit down beside me. I saw the frilly lingerie, and long black hair. I smelt the sweet perfume. I looked away, and she pounced. A ragamuffin in my sloppy joes, rucksack, eyes cast down, forlorn and beer in hand.

I was hoping she prowled right on by, but no. She had to sit down next to me, didn’t she? She had to lean forward and whisper sweet nothings in my ear, didn’t she? She had to repeat herself when I told her I couldn’t hear her, didn’t she? is that a hearing aid I am wearing, ISN’T IT? And I wasn’t starting to get pissed off, when the message didn’t sink in, no I wasn’t. I FUCKING WELL WAS?

You know, thinking about it, it was an opportunity to see what all the fuss over a girl a man could make. NAH! If I did follow my muse, I could have always justified it using that time honoured excuse, “Gee I was so drunk last night…!”

I really did wish she would slink off and fan some other guys face. But she was sitting next to me, legs crossed. She slurred, and she purred, and she raked my leg, leaning forward to whisper some more sweet nothings in my ear. A waste of energy, I thought, as would anyone, but she wasn’t to know that I am a poofter, and I am Deaf .…”Ah there’s Yukker!’ Without a backwards glance or politely excusing myself, I stood, marched over to him, and said “Let’s get out of here!”

We were walking to the door, when Yukker was accosted by the Arch Angel High Heels and Fried Eggs, out for dollars. She sat him down on a stool, and he didn’t fight it. “Oh fuck!” I thought. “Just when I want to go,” She reduced him to simpering mess. He gazed up at her beatifically, lips pursed to suckle. If I didn’t yank him out of her clutches, his face would have been in her tits, and memories of his pregnant girlfriend, would have been that.

Outside the cold air was bracing.

By this time, we were well past sobriety. Thinking we were going home, I found us climbing out of a taxi, back in Paddington. Outside yet another pub, Durty Nelly’s. Yukker, being an Eastender, from Loonden was staying true to his roots and crying out for one more. One more. What can a poor boy do but give in to his cries of one more.

So we plopped ourselves on to the bench at the back, drinks in front, and he started nodding off, I was struggling too, but, but….and it wasn’t too long before the landlord came over and asked us to leave, well not US but HIM. We had no choice, but to leave.

“The night is young,” he cried. “Let’s buy a bottle for a nightcap.” We zig zagged to the BWS bottle shop up the road on Oxford Street. Why we were going for one more, only the Lord knows. But we did. One fucking more. With a bottle or two, whatever, we continued our zig zag to his house, where his pregnant fiancé was sleeping.

We tip toe in. I plop onto the couch, he turns on his iPod. His fiancé barges out, turns it off, gives daggers him, and storms back to bed. “Yeah, I’m fine. How are you?” Yukker just chuckled. We move to the backroom, I sit on the sofa bed, already laid out for me, Yukker wanted to keep going, but I was too far gone to drink or talk anymore. So I just waved, closed my eyes, and let my head fall back.

Previous Episodes
Yukker, Beer & The Black Panther [Part One]
Yukker, Beer & The Black Panther [Part Two]
Yukker, Beer & The Black Panther [Part Three]