Snogging a stranger

You meet people of all nationality in O’Neil’s at Leicester Square. The Irish, obviously, since it’s an Irish pub. Clutching Magners, the Irish girls are often seen gyrating on tabletops, as the nights start to get old.

It’s popular with the locals also. On the top floor of this three storey pub, a DJ pumps dance music to revelers on a dance floor. It's a club up there, and the English love to come here to party.

When I frist ventured inside O’Neil’s, the place was overflowing with the French and the Korean football fans. TV screens had mushroomed in the every corner of the pub, and people were cheering their sides. During the match, I met and chatted with an English girl from Blackburn. An Irish girl also came by my way. She was an Arsenal fan, and said she lived in North London. Unable to detect her accent, and as she hadn't yet revealed her nationality, I introduced her to my friend as an English lady. A fatal mistake to our potentially burgeoning relationship. It drove her away from me.

Anyway, she was with an Italian and a Spanish girl. Later, I met two French girls. There were people from other nations also. I could see Eastern Europeans, South Americans. Citizens of the world had descended in this place.

I went back to O’Neil’s again last Saturday. This time, there was no football game. The place when I walked in was comparatively quiet. One of my friends had called his office colleagues to the place. He said there were four young, pretty girls, and they wanted to meet us and have fun. Sounded exciting.

Two of them were ethnic Indians from Kenya, other two, Polish. The Polish girls came with their men. The Indians, as we started talking, turned out to be hopeless bores. We got out of the group and explored.

After few pints, inebriated, embolden, I attempted conversations with several girls. All of them fruitless. Then, my luck changed. In the top floor, at a quite corner, a girl was seating on a stool, doing nothing and with no one around her. I approached her and said, ‘Hi!’

She responded and we got talking. Her name was Alex, and I offered to buy her a drink. We settled down in an even quieter corner with drinks and conversed more. When she discovered I was from Nepal, she stared at me, saying she’d never met any one from my country. I guess that aroused her curiosity in me even more, as she offered her lips and we kissed.

Our snog lasted quite a while. I never saw the time but it was long. In between, I bought her a bottle of water. We talked more. I asked her where she lived, where she was from. She wasn’t forthcoming with her answers. But I didn’t care, as long as I was kissing her.

I offered her to take her to my place. I even promised her ‘the best night of her life’. She declined, but continued the kissing game. We stopped at one point, exhausted, and she said she wanted to use the loo. I knew she wouldn’t be coming back. She didn’t.

Later, while returning home, I thought about Alex. I was disappointed she’d vanished, but I was glad I’d met her and had a good time. My thoughts then turned towards what she'd said. She said she was a local girl. She’d said she’d gone to Warwick University, had lived in Coventry, but somehow, I didn’t find her English at all. Her accent sounded bit weird. But she spoke fluently. And her clothes, and her shoes, it wasn’t typically local. Something in there, didn't even had a Chavs looks. Very different.

During my analysis, a realization suddenly dawned on me. She had to be an Australian. She had to be. Her accent, the more I thought about, the more Australian she sounded to me now. The loud music and her sex appeal had lulled my perception, but I was sure now.

I smiled thinking that. I became extremely glad, and even proud that I’d kissed an Australian girl. Yay!