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2000-08-02 | 05:05:36

there's something you should know.

i'm a tongue-dancing slut.

at least that is what my friend jimmy would have you believe.

let me 'splain.

there's this bar in santa monica called the circle bar. it used to be a dive with grumpy old female bartenders... coyote butt ugly? anyway, it has since been remade into a dark dwelling for hip kids who favor red lighting. and the bartenders? young melrose place types in tight black tees and tanks. this we call progress.

my friend jean and i have closed the circle bar several times. we've seen their 2 a.m. ugly lights come on more than once. there is something about that place. something that smacks of the black voodoo mojo. she and i have been no better than zombies under its seductive come-hitherness.

one fall night last year, a bunch of us met there for a happy hour. a couple of coworkers, a couple of civilians, a couple of friends. jean and i were hanging with our buds and feeling about three cranberry-vodkas to the wind. feeling' gud, ifyaknowwhati'msayin.

she pulls me away from our friends jimmy and erik for a trip out to the back bar patio. we grab a seat on this bench and a cute blonde fella sitting next to us strikes up a conversation with jean. i'm enjoying their flirting badmitton match. then this other dark-haired fellow appears. soon dark hair is bumming a cigarette off of blondie. jean lobs a birdie to dark hair and it is returned with aplomb. this occurs over a span of five minutes. me, i'm just sitting there giggling into my sea breeze.

i don't know how this next thing happened, but at some point, jean implied to blondie that he was batting for the other team. he took offense and decided to try to prove his heteroness right then and there. she has since once more used this technique to meet up with another bloke. throw down the gay gauntlet, her new motto.

so she and blondie are standing thisclose and he begins to undo her belt buckle. she is laughing. holding her hands out and watching to see who is gonna blink first.

dark-haired boy comes and sits by me. "what do you think of all this?" he asks, nodding towards the two belly bumpers, "should we imitate them?"

i giggled.

"um, wow. it's like watching a biology filmstrip," i offered as a diversionary tactic. dark-haired boy, sitting about three inches away from me, looked intently into my eyes.

"do you want to kiss?" he asked, smiling gently. proddingly.

an instant "no" popped into my mental video display. it was only on the screen for a nanosecond until it was crushed by a seemingly involuntary verbal response..."ok!"

so we started kissing. he put his hand around my hip. i kept my eyes closed, but was not pulling away. i was smiling to myself and bobbing in for soft lip concussions. there were darting tongues and momentary lapses where we touched foreheads. it was soooooooo damn nice. i had never, ever kissed a total stranger before. my friend lisa calls it "banditting." i was in total pancho villa mode that night. jean and her boy were doing an imitation of us, but in the standing position about three feet away.

all of a sudden i hear, "nictate! nictate! how's it going over there?" ahhhhhhhhh! coworkers!!!!!!!!!! ahhhh!!!!!!!! shit!!!!!! i look up and there is erik (coworker) and jimmy (friend) waving sheepishly over their heinekens. they leave us alone for ten minutes...

well, i took that most embarassing moment to pull back from the lip lock and actually talk to the person i was sucking face with.

"so, what's your name?" i asked. he told me.

"you don't look like a michael," i said. (little did i know i have this renaming bar boys habit. witness basquiat in nyc.)

so i renamed him... fernando. ahahaha! he renamed me jenny. ahahaha! then he said what a pleasure it had been kissing me. i agreed. i mean, that it had been a pleasure kissing him, too. then he invited me back to his place. "it's close. we can walk," he offered. probably not the first time he had suggested convenient perambulation to a sweet petunia in that same bar. can you hear the lines, fernando?

i declined politely, saying that jenny wasn't that type of girl. i got his number. his PAGER number. doh! ok, i thought, either he has a girlfriend or is dealing. not interested, no more. but there was something in the air that night, fernando. kissing liberty, fernando.

so back inside, pager digits in hand, big grin on face, i readdressed my troops. they looked at me with confusion and vague awestruckedness. jimmy was pissed.

"all you girls are the same," he ranted. "tongue-dancing sluts!"

it was to be months before i was to meet lips with my next cute boy. this one was extra special. we had a little romance going. hot damn, was it sweet. the kind where you get a little trickle of knowing through e-mail kidding. then one or both open the faucet of affection until a nice warm bath is drawn.

i won't tarnish the experience with too many details, but boy, was that boy sweet. he used to say this one thing that i can't tell you because i want to keep it locked up safe, but he used to say this one thing. just two words. it would melt my heart in fourteen directions. it all culminated in a rainy night and hand-holding and sweet kisses. it all ended the next morning when the morning light shined harshly on reality and pressures and complications and he ran away.

the next boy i kissed in revenge and hurt. he didn't mind. but i know better now, and won't be kissing him again.

the next boy i kissed* because we had spent an incredibly fun, impromptu night together. a night that he described in an e-mail the next day as "my new definitive guide for a good night." we ended it with a little peck on the lips. we had to. it was in the script. the movie would have suffered without it. but it wasn't real. just real nice.

the next boy i kissed because i had been trying to seduce him electronically for over a year. ok. i had given up after he dissed me in a huge way at a halloween party where i was dressed to kill and thrill as ginger from gilligan's island. i shortly after called him on the carpet. hey mr. mixed message man, are we gonna date or what? he said, no, well, maybe, but probably no. "i'm not into it enough to risk the friendship." blahditty, blahditty, blahditty, blah. so i gave up. the new year meant new hope and that new rainy night boy i mentioned above.

cut to late spring and a couple of sour apple martinis later and i'm in halloween's boy's rec room. so, we kissed. in front of the biggest tv i have ever seen. a victory of sorts. of sorts. haven't seen him since. that's alright. that's ok. he's a big fat scaredy cat. poop on him.

i had hoped the romance with rain man could still return, but it didn't. and won't. even though i like playing with the thought. a lot. but can't anymore. silly now.

my lips were left vacant. so i kissed. four boys in four months. i'm a tongue-dancing slut, alright. jimmy called it.

*footnote: just so's you know, kissing is not used in this entry as a metaphor for fucking. i only mention this because a reader inquired. a kiss IS just a kiss, as the song says. my two-year sexual famine continues.

thank you, the management.

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