Narcissus

Bond leaned forward across the bar and spat in the woman’s face…
“And fuck you too!”
The woman was just one in a long line who had refused Bonds ‘bed-time gymnastics’ that night and she probably wouldn’t be the last. He was desperate now. So desperate, he would do anything to perform fooly kooly. Even if it meant feeling up his own mother he was game.
“Hmmm, my groin is on fire with liquid love.”
Filled with sex thoughts, he was ready to whip out his love candle and stick it in any woman who didn’t run away.
This was his night. He could feel it.
The bar was dense with babes. Bond looked around ranking women as he scanned them with his dry, beady eyes.
“A four. Too fat”
“Ooh… A seven. No. No arse. Three.”
“Glasses. Disgusting. Zero.”
“Fucking ugly. Two.
“ARGH. YOU REPULSE ME. A ONE.”
And this was when he spied her, a hot blonde of the female persuasion ripe for his expert tutorage.
“Oh, even better than that!” he cackled, back hunched, as he spied that she was heading towards the bathroom.
“Romantic shag in a cubicle…”
Oh, he slobbered at the thought. Spit ran down his cheesy work shirt, which was peppered with hashish burn holes. Grabbing his pint, he drunkenly sauntered over to the ladies lavatory and tripped over a dustbin.
“Sorry, little boy. I didn’t notice you parked there” he slurred.
The ladies loo was the work of several brilliant minds. Inside, red satin couches lined two walls. A woman, whose sole occupancy was to dry hands with soft velveteen towels, stood patiently in the corner. Machines adorned the walls gifting ‘womanly’ items and expensive Swedish chocolates. The cubicles were each uniquely designed by separate Interior Designers famous in mainland Europe.
Unfortunately, Bond never made it as far as the inside of the ladies toilet because, as part of its features, the lavatory had a mirror for a door. Bond was randy beyond comprehension and upon viewing his own reflection he proceeded to rub himself lithely against the mirror.
“Uh, you want it, don’t you?” he asked the door like an idiot.
The muffled sound and ugly sight of a deranged moron getting off with his reflection lured some real people to the situation and Bond was promptly ejected from the establishment.
Outside, he picked flowers from the city park and shoved them up his arse.