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Tuesday, April 13, 2004

A few years ago...

I met a woman at a friend's show at the Troubadour here in LA. We shared a few smokes during the opening acts and had a wild make-out session upstairs in the Loft, a separate bar upstairs overlooking the stage. Things were going great. She was funny, cool, into my buddy's band, and amazingly hot. We exchanged numbers and planned on meeting up the next day for coffee and maybe check out another friend's art gallery showing.

She called the next day and said she's rather come over to my place and fool around. Nice. Straight to the point and pulling no punches. I asked her what she had in mind and she let loose with an amazing checklist of what can only be described as a penthouse letter. Tie her up? Check. Blowjob with ice in her mouth? Check. Overnight bag stuffed with toys and lotion? Check.

When we get off the phone I do the cursory clean up. Stack of mail tossed into a box and tossed into the hall closet, dirty dishes that are piled up go underneath the sink, assorted clothes packed into the already overflowing closet, the usual.
My place is as clean as it will ever get.

She shows up an hour or so later and I notice something's wrong. No duffel bag containing secret surprises. No scrumptiously dirty little outfit underneath a hip-length overcoat and thigh-high stockings. Nope, just the exact same outfit she was wearing the night before.

I ask her if she changed her mind or couldn't make it home to change\grab her goodie bag.

She then told me that she's only 17, and wanted to be my girlfriend.

No, I didn't sleep with her. And yes, I sent her away.