A perfect Coffee

It was so typical!

She always came too late. Most of the time, she walked twenty minutes later. At Bad Hair Days like ten minutes later. And on good days maybe five minutes earlier.

There was nothing to change, my girlfriend Angelica would run for time. She herself took it with the typical Ruhrpott drought and said she would probably never catch the twenty minutes she was born too late. And their friends would continue to bear it, because with no one could be a nice party, more funny celebrations and yet wonderfully profound conversations lead as with her.

We had arranged to meet in the Café Nord to start from there on a nice evening with bar and pub hopping. Girls’ evening. The ‘North’ is Angelica’s favorite trolley. Who as a Rocker or Metalfan something to himself, meets here to the well-groomed beer. Regular open airs, concerts, parties with pole and burlesque dancing always attract a lot of like-minded people, and as a hardcore metal fan, Angelica is often here and with crew and regular guests on you and you. I go far less often, but now and then I get attracted by the rude, quaint ambience.

Since I had at least another quarter of an hour, I ordered a latte macchiato. As a non-smoker, a milk coffee or latte macchiato length was my alternative to cigarette length and a good bridging of the waiting time.

While I was mixing milk, espresso and sugar in my glass, I looked at the ambience and the other guests. I sat at the window front opposite the entrance slightly elevated on the small balustrade at a dark, worn wooden table and could look at the huge bar, which occupies the entire longitudinal side opposite the window front. Huge and filled with glasses and bottles in indirectly illuminated shelves, the bar was the brightest source of light in the otherwise half-dark room, because the twilight had long since passed into night darkness. Two bartenders in tight tops and tight tube jeans were bustling behind the counter and cheerfully served the momentary, clear sketch. I had to squint my eyes to decipher the imprint on the top of the one – and had to smile at the moment: ‘Shit on the mold – real princes come with the motorcycle’ was written in bold letters.

Class spell My former I had also liked to carry such pithy sayings to market. I could still remember the many irritated looks of countless guys trying to decipher the imprint of my top ‘How beautiful, you’ve noticed my eyes’, only to look after my eyes, then two- To three times frantically between my bosoms and eyes back and forth to finally find somewhere in the widths of the room a goal for the view, which did not bring you into embarrassed anguish. I myself had always amused amusing.

Fortunately, over the course of time the fashion understanding changes, and at the end of the twentieth I had decided that I can emphasize my curves better than with cheeky sayings.

Long chains of glowing yellow lights made the ceiling sparkle and donate, though little, brightness. Long, thick metal spears, which drove from the ceiling, housed the lamps, which gently illuminated the counter with the taps. To the right and left of the bar were two standing tables, each of which protruded up to the ceiling. At events, these poles were regularly used for hot pole dances and the counter served as a stage for breathtaking Burlesquè performances.

The huge gazebo was divided into different levels of different heights. Standing at the bar on the bare stone floor, a wooden stage led to a first level with tables and chairs, and then another one along the window sill. A further step went to the back of the room in an alcove, where local bands played mostly at concerts, but two kickers, two of which were maltreated in black metal T-shirts has been. Regularly, they joked their shot gates and entertained the whole pub.

Between this niche and the toilet darts, there was an incredibly ugly, man-made wood carving representing an armless female bust, crowned with a delicate Iro-style hairpiece. Every time I saw her I had the impression that a moorla was standing guard at the toilets.

Despite the slightly advanced hour, the guests were still quite sparse and also not yet as alcoholized, as it was in the late evening and especially with special events normally. But the peak time in the ‘North’ had not yet come. The only group was sitting at the first stage at a larger table, six men, all estimated to be around forty, except for an average one. Only the type in the right-hand side of the face, the Mediterranean type, dark curls, which, with the slightest obstinacy, always fell into the forehead of a masculine-cut face, in which especially the bright eyes, framed by many laughs. Wide shoulders and a taut black shirt over chest and arms betrayed sporting activities. An absolute creed, I judged.

The eyes of these men – oh, actually all the guests – I had already noticed at the Hereinkommen, I nevertheless offered a rather unusual sight for a guest. In my dark red Sixties mini dress with oversized black bow, delicate seam tights and heelies I did not really fit. A barbie in the metal bar, great! So I had my five minutes of fame for today already behind me. If Angelica were to turn up later, we would give an even more odd sight: Most of the time, our style could be summed up as ‘Classic Barbie meets Monster-High’.

With this thought I had to grin inevitably. When I put the glass on my lips, I scalded my lips and tongue the first time. Ouch! Quickly I put the glass back and bite my lower lip. I lost sight of the other guests. Volbeat, the hero machine and the eastern front sounded from the speakers and were under the influence of the monotonous murmur of conversation. Strangely enough, this noise level had a soothing, almost numbing effect. I lost my mind in this atmosphere …

***

At some time, a curvy blonde came out of the toilet door next to the Moorlae. ‘Where is she coming from?’ I asked myself in astonishment. She did not fit into any of the guests seated here, and seemed not to belong to anyone. She wore a tight mini, which could be a wide belt, as a piece of clothing, an equally tight top and a very striking chain. At ‘Untendrunter’ I could at first sight suspenders and bra. In view of this presentation, all male guests were instantly drowned. Inevitably. Very conscious of her effect, she walked quickly to the bar and climbed to the table, from which the pole-pole rose into the ceiling. Then she put her chain around the pole, and at the same time I realized that this was a collar attached to a collar, and I tried to figure out her master in the audience.

All eyes were now on her and it was quite quietly in the room, when at a time “After Dark” of Tito & Tarantula sounded. Slowly, she began to circling her hips lasciviously. Wow, that had a hip swing! And even barefoot! Even the Monroe needed a difference of a few millimeters.

To the beat of the music, she moved slowly around the bar, looking defiantly into the crowd. Her hands slowly rolled over her body, squeezing her bosom, stroking her waist and her hips to finally open the zipper of her skirt. Slowly, she turned her butt to the audience and nudged her bravely slowly, except for a few red fading seams, makellosen buttocks and her thrown thighs, and gave the view free on a tight topstring and fitting suspender belt. The skirt fell and was kicked by her into the group with the cream cut, who enjoyed the drama visibly.

The blonde walked around the Polestange a few times to present herself to her audience from all sides, playing her hair with a mischievous and provocative look. Then she buttoned her blouse at the end of her nerves, slowly, rubbing her eroticly from her shoulders. The suspected bra turned out to be a bust, her nipples had tied the dancer with pailletted tassel pasties.

Except for the sounds of the music, it was deadly in the ‘North’, all staring at the spectacle that was offered to them. Even the two young guys on the kickers had interrupted their game, leaning on the table self-forgetting, the bottles of beer in their hands, and steered the counter.

The second piece of clothing flew into the audience, the dancer hooked the rope out of her collar, and now moved slowly across the bar towards the second pole, with a hip swing that would have made a belly dancer pale with envy. The metal line fell on the plate.

At the front bar the jack fell, then she took a whiskey bottle. A close-up, young man with a giant gaze staring at her, she waved to herself with a promising smile, and he followed her request as if it were hypnotized. As he stood in front of her, she slowly pushed her shrunken foot into his mouth with prancing movements. She unscrewed the bottle and slowly let the golden liquid run down into his mouth.