Ye Olde Large Lad’s African Adventure Part 2: The Bartender’s Conquest

Ye Olde Large Lad’s African Adventure Part 2: The Bartender’s Conquest

Large Lad woke up the next morning sprawled across a rickety hospital bed, saline drip hooked into his arm, mouth dry as the Sahara. He blinked up at the whirring ceiling fan, tried to remember what happened, then instantly winced at the memory of the three stunning paramedics lifting his flabby arms and checking his chest while he drooled nonsense about kebabs.

With a groan, he hauled himself up, discharged himself (because hospital breakfasts aren’t bacon rolls and Guinness), and waddled back down the sandy road to the bar. The morning sun was blazing hot, cooking the tarmac like a frying pan. Sweat dripped from every fold of his body before he even reached the bar entrance.

And there he was – the bartender, same crooked grin, same missing teeth, polishing glasses with a filthy rag as though it were the finest crystal.

“Large Lad!” he hollered, slamming down a tumbler in greeting. “Back for another go, are ya?”

Large Lad merely grunted and collapsed onto the stool, his stomach growling for a greasy breakfast. Before he could order, the bartender leaned forward, eyes dancing with scandalous delight.

“Remember I told ya about that young Norwegian woman, eh?” he said, winking.

Large Lad rubbed his temples. “Yeah… you said you ploughed her.”

The bartender’s grin widened even further, if that was physically possible. “Oh aye. And again this morning.”

Large Lad blinked. “This morning?!”

“Oh yeah,” he cackled, wiping his hands on his shirt. “She came back for breakfast. I gave her the ‘special’ before the eggs even hit the pan, if ya know what I mean.”

Large Lad nearly gagged on his own saliva. “She’s young enough to be your granddaughter!”

“Aye,” he shrugged, with the shameless confidence only a bar man in Africa could wield. “But she likes a man with experience. Says the lads back home don’t know what they’re doing. I showed her how it’s done.”

At that, the Norwegian lass herself emerged from the back terrace. Tall, blonde, tanned skin glowing with a post-coital sheen, wearing nothing but a bikini top and denim shorts. She gave Large Lad a little wave and leaned over to kiss the bartender on the cheek before disappearing down the street, sandals slapping against the pavement.

Large Lad just stared, slack-jawed.

“Another drink to calm ya down, Large Lad?” the bartender asked, already pouring rum into a glass the size of a goldfish bowl.

Large Lad took it, raised it in salute, and downed half in one gulp. If he was going to survive this trip, he’d need every drop of liquid courage in Africa.

Because while he came here for a bit of sun, a bit of culture, and a few cheap cocktails, he was fast learning that Africa was not for the faint-hearted… especially when bartenders twice your age are out shagging you before breakfast.

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