My Date with Destiny

I had my one and only date with Destiny back in the summer of 1998. I was weeks away from my 27th birthday and I was visiting some friends of mine in Calgary. I knew beforehand what the weekend would entail – lots of laughs, some beers, probably me making a jackass of myself in front of my friends by trying to pick up girls. So really, it comes as no surprise to me that Destiny should show up on my doorstep. And I hate to admit it; but I wasn’t ready for her. Not one little bit. 

You never know where you’re going to be when Destiny walks into your life. If you’re lucky, you’ve been expecting her. If you’re not, you’ll probably trip over your tongue and look like an idiot. And I am not afraid to admit that I looked like an idiot when Destiny approached me in a pair of Levi’s one size too small and a top so tight Stevie Wonder could have read the patterns on her bra while standing beside us. 

My friends Glenn, Ernie, Tom, and I went to the strippers to help Ernie get over a broken heart, or something stupid like that. I have been to the strippers four times in my life, and this night was actually the last time I have stepped inside a strip club. Ernie and Tom lead us in and we sit down front in Gynaecologist’s Row, or “Sniffer’s Alley” to the uneducated among us. Thankfully we’re right by the pole so if a fire breaks out we’ll be the first ones the fire department saves when they slide down the thing. 

Three girls later I’m bored out of my tree, looking at my watch. There are only so many games of “do you think she’s completely shaved or sporting a landing strip” that one man can take. I think that number is two. As the fourth girl walks out onto the stage, Glenn and I get up to play pool. She casts me a rather evil look and I shyly smile, give her an apologetic wink, stuff my hands in my pocket and hit the pool table. 

I am not at great at pool but Glenn is even worse. But I’ve reeled off so many wins he doesn’t know whether to shit or blink the next time he gets to break. This is back before bars and clubs went non-smoking so the air was thicker than Chewbacca’s coat and Glenn, an avid smoker at the time, was doing more sucking than Linda Lovelace in her prime. We’re in no rush to finish our games either – Tom and Ernie haven’t seen a set of breasts they won’t fawn over. Apparently, the game hasn’t grown old to them. 

Glenn and I are in mid-game when Destiny greets me. I’m not going to lie, seeing her in her too tight jeans had me feeling like I was packing my own pool cue (except for one of those mini-tables that fit into a briefcase), and I flushed a bit when she smiled. As Glenn was in control at the table she popped her coin down on the side and said, “I’ve got the winner.” 

We start to talk as Glenn makes his way around the table. I introduce Glenn first, and then myself, and we learn that her name is “Destiny”. Okay, her name is actually Sandra but the posters and key chains she gives out when you’re lucky enough to throw a dollar coin down a rolled up poster she’s angling between her legs says her name is Destiny. And then it hits me like a size 12 shoe to the nutsack – her life history. She ran away from home, lived with her best friend, had more boyfriends than she can remember, and became a stripper because she had nothing better do and great tits. Glenn misses and I finally get a chance on the table and before too long I’ve won and Destiny is putting the balls in a rack not nearly as impressive as hers. 

“Let’s make this interesting,” she says. “If I win, you buy my drinks all night. And I’m only dancing once more so I’m here to drink.” She smiled. “If you win…” she walked around the table to where I was chalking my cue, “I’m going home with you.” 

When Destiny decides she’s following you home there is little that can be done I’m afraid. By this time, Tom and Ernie had come over to watch, obviously aware that I was playing a girl who had just spun around the fire pole in front of them. Glenn turns to Ernie and Tom and sighs, “We better pool our money tonight to help Ger out. He’s shit under pressure.” They all laugh. 

He’s right. If I’m playing anything for any kind of wager I’m useless. I choke more than a fat kid on a T-bone. However, I’m not playing for a typical wager. I’m playing for booty. I’m playing for a booty that even the most gold-loving pirate would have taken aboard ship and rummaged through. 

I sink a ball off the break, knock another one down on my next shot and leave myself a tricky bank shot for my third. I take my time over it. Tom is mocking me behind me, telling me he “can’t understand how I’m so used to holding anything that thick in my hands.” He’s a comedian is our Tommy. Destiny, for her part, stays quiet and out of the picture. I had visions of her leaning over the table across from me showing me a bigger pocket to aim at. Thankfully, she’s not playing pool to stay out of playing dirty pool later. 

I luck out and make the bank shot. Perhaps Destiny is on my side. I am left with a gimme, a shot so simple Stephen Hawking could make it. After I pick myself up from the floor and curse myself for being so stupid and in too much of a rush I walk back to the boys and hang my head in shame. Destiny prowls around the table, more Tiger than woman, making sure to cast seductive and playful glances back us. At that moment, she could take us for all our money. Her bra is pushing her breasts so high if she had whiskers on her chin she could tickle herself. And we are transfixed like our lives depended on staring at them. 

She lined up her shot and brought the pool cue back in one fluid motion. Tom stood with his mouth ajar. Ernie looked away. Glenn and I stared in disbelief until the crack and echo of cue ball hitting ball was replaced by the thud of a ball hitting the back of the pocket and the mechanical roll of it running down the rails inside the table. 

“She just sank the 8 ball.” Tom whispered. “Do you think she knows how to play?” 

“Yes Tom,” I smiled, “she knows exactly how to play.” 

“You win.” She smiled and gave me a gentle hug. “Dinner tomorrow, my treat, and then… well, let’s not make any promises.” She winked. 

We arranged to meet at a local restaurant because going by her house to get her “was not the smartest thing to do under my [her] current situation.” Knowing that I was going to be stood up, Glenn, Tom, and Ernie joined me at the restaurant instead. 

And then Destiny walked in again. Her thin red spaghetti strap dress barely held her in check, and our table nearly lifted from the ground when we all noticed her at once. She tells us she chose that dress because “it’s harder to tell when she’s not wearing panties.” I swear Tom and Ernie had their first ever orgasm caused by a girl that night. The boys leave us to sit by ourselves. Again, she regales me with her history and it is then, when I stop thinking about how her dress would look on my head that I hear the tiny echoes of fate ringing out from between her perfect lips – “I’m not dancing as much as I used to because of the clinic.” 

I walked her to her car and bid her goodnight. My hotel was only blocks away but I stared Destiny in the eyes (with some not so subtle glances towards her cleavage) and we went our separate ways after a prolonged hug and a kiss from her on my cheek. She told me she thought I would different, and I was, but still not different enough. I had no idea what she meant. I walked back to the restaurant knowing I wouldn’t need to spend $10 on the adult movie in the room later that night. I met the guys again and we hit our favourite pub. Destiny was gone, but fate provided Leanne and her friends at the table beside us. 

And interestingly enough, because hindsight is always 20-20, she actually worked at an animal clinic. She didn’t want people to recognise her, hence her limited dancing appearances. Tom saw her when he took his cat in for a check-up. Thought you might like to know. And when Tom told me that; I finally knew what she meant.

Cheers,

Ger

17 thoughts on “My Date with Destiny

  1. Such a story-teller. Who knew?

    Enjoyable read, Ger. Another Destiny was a ballerina, who just happened to have a sleeperette on an overnight train ride from Madrid to Paris. I’ve never looked at ballet the same way since.

    • My grandfather was the best storyteller I ever knew. If I’m half as good as he is I’ll be happy.

      Madrid to Paris. A great train journey ordinarily. This one sounds even more intriguing.

  2. Great story! I love the twist at end. I once made many a man ticked off because I was a great pool player. Some hate being beaten by a woman, and I refused to play those who “let” me win.

    Disclaimer: not a stripper and didn’t use my cleavage as an advantage. All business playing pool. 😀

    I’d buy the book by the way.

    • It’s weird that I’m hyper-competitive but have never been too annoyed by getting my butt kicked by a woman. If she’s better, she’s better. If she can trash talk, awesome.
      And there’s nothing wrong with using your cleavage to your advantage. All is fair in love and sporting events.
      Hmm, that’s two people who would buy the book.

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