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I've been holding out on you


February 10, 2006 - 1:37 a.m.

Tomorrow is February 11th, Melville W. Fuller's birthday. Go celebrate. As I've said previously, I learned this fact almost 30 years ago from the old Weekend show with Lloyd Dobyns. I might also have mentioned that in a quirk worthy of a novel I can't even contemplate writing, I flirted with dating Lloyd's niece, Barbara, but she was wrapped a bit too tight and we never met.

I made the fatal mistake of agreeing with her when she said that men are sometimes intimidated by her looks. I think I was more put off by her perfect DC attitude, of "don't you just want to fuck me because I think I'm important?"

I never want to fuck anyone important, though I have.

Speaking of that, I've been holding out on you guys.

I didn't tell you about a minor adventure I had on my way back from Florida. Practical me, I called a woman (we'll call her Cathy, though that doesn't remotely resemble her name) I'd been emailing for a couple of weeks, as I neared DC on my return trip. We agreed to meet for a drink on Saturday night on my way back, as she lives in Springfield and I had to go by there on my way around the DC beltway.

Well, we met up.

I was relatively OK looking, considering I'd been driving 400 miles. She arrived dolled up to impress: black silk top, a short jean skirt, heels, nylons, a black leather jacket. After a couple of martinis, we ended up at her apartment a mile away, presumably so I could meet her cat and dog, but we had a bit more to drink, listened to some music, kissed a lot, and then that magic explosion occurred where all the clothes disappeared and no one quite knew where they went.

She wasn't actually much fun. She was one of those women you might picture having a wireless phone conversation during sex. I... really do try to be more focused on the person I'm with, OK? She literally didn't interrupt some moronic story she was telling about her twentysomething ne'er-do-well son in another state to acknowledge I was inside her.

Even more hideous, she awkwardly managed to break the gold chain that holds the turtle around my neck. She acted like it was a lost earring or something, not an assault on my very identity. I've broken that chain only once before, and that was during a very bad dream about my ex-wife. Between that and the sudden illness that took the life of my iBook, I knew this was a bad sign. The next morning, I got up and left. It's been oddly comforting that she has not returned emails or calls since.

So, yeah, I've had sex, if you wanna call it that. I'm not sure I do.

Sorry to hide this from you. I'll try to do better, OK?


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