The Reason I Stopped Calling....

Phyllis-9 years ago, I met Phyllis at a party. She was a tall redhead with nice cheekbones and pretty blue eyes, but her perm did not do her any favors. It was one of those late 70s, early 80s tightly-wound bunched up frizz-jobs that makes one think, poodle. Like Al Pacino in Cruising, but on a woman. Nonetheless, she was terriffic at the art of flirting---she did this thing where she would raise and lower her eyebrows and then grin. It turned me on. She gave me a ride home and we made out at every red light. The following week I went to her apartment, which was filled with heirloom type furniture. It was like being in my great-grandmother's home as a kid, and being careful about not touching anything because it was old and delicate. Still, for being ten years my senior she had a terriffic and well-kept body and total bedroom eyes and I spent the night. For our third date, I chose a now-defunct restaurant on Clark with a patio. Phyllis showed up in a sweater with a poodle on it. That, for me, was the deal-breaker. All through dinner I looked at her in that ridiculous red sweater with the poodle and at her hair, which reinforced the motif and thought, no. No. I made an excuse and left after dinner.

Ann-I met Ann earlier this year and we went for coffee and Indian food. She was a single mom with two kids. She confessed to being a recovering alcoholic. Precariously recovering. With lots of stops and starts. I'm a drinking guy---I meet my friends in bars, start my weekends with bloody-mary brunches and good scotch is my elixer of happiness. I realized that I had no business seeing a single mom struggling with alcohol addiction.

Suzy-I met suzy in '94, when we both worked at a sales office straight out of a David Mamet play. Suzy was a petit blonde with blue eyes and a small nose, classic All-American good looks. She was also crazy. She began flirting with me aggressively from her second day at the company---"David, can I have lunch with you today?" "David, can I come over to your apartment?" We went to my apartment and within ten minutes she was giving me head as if her life depended on it. Suddenly she stopped. "David, this isn't just about sex, is it? You do like me, right?" "Yes," I managed to squeak out. "Good," she said, continuing. We never had much to talk about but the physical connection was immediate and powerful. Until I acquired a roommate. The three of us, Suzy, my roommate Tim and I, were sitting aound a table when Suzy plopped a foot on each of our laps. "I want a foot massage," she announced. Tim and I looked at eachother quizzically and began massaging her feet. Suzy closed her eyes and started massaging her breasts. Masturbating in front of my roommate was a bit too much, and that was the end of Suzy.