California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Karen – Old Western Style – Part 2

STOP! THE REST OF THIS STORY IS NSFW. 

But you can read it here:

https://lapetitemort17.wordpress.com/?p=983

 

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California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Karen – Old Western Style – Part 1

It all began when I walked into the Rainbow Bar & Grille on Sunset Strip to watch TV and grab a drink. (We couldn’t afford a TV back in those days.) I heard Lemmy from Motorhead drinks here so I figured I’d stop in. Every time I went there I was always hoping to see him there, sitting at the end of the bar drinking whiskey and playing the poker machine.

I had just come from working in the studio nailing down some tracks for a demo my band and I were working on. I wasn’t happy with the production and knew I had to clean up my lyrics.

I walked in to this bar and I saw one of the most beautiful women I had ever had the fortune to lay my eyes on; she was a tall, slender blonde sitting at one of the often empty tables laughing and smiling with her friends. During the day?

Naturally, from the moment I sat down I couldn’t stop looking in her direction. My eyes kept wondering, and my mind kept telling me that I should get up and introduce myself to her. As I watched the game I continued to muster up the courage to go talk to her. I’m 19 and even though I’m in a band, I suck.

Still no Lemmy.

After 4 innings of the baseball game on TV, I finally mustered up the courage to talk to her. Then, as I turned to get up from my seat I noticed that she was absent and her friends had also gone. My heart immediately sank to the depths of my stomach. I had missed my chance, and I probably would never see this woman again.

Then the most amazing thing happened.

As I returned my gaze, and saddened heart to the television behind the bar, I felt the sensation of soft hands on my face, and then immediately thereafter the softer lips. My eyes had closed at the touch of her hands to my face, so I couldn’t see her, but somehow I just knew it was her. I went with it, and kissed her as passionately as a man could kiss a woman he had never spoken to, and to my delight when I opened my eyes it indeed was her. I couldn’t believe this was happening! I’m blinking my eyes, my mind trying to process this impossible moment.

“What’s your name, dear?”

“Karen.” she whispered.

“You’re the guy with the black guitar in that band that played at the Troubadour last friday night, Right?”

“Umm… yea. I’m Chaz.”

After the kiss, I asked the young lady if she’d like a drink. She declined the offer to my amazement, and to paraphrase her response, she didn’t want me to buy drinks because she wanted me to know that what happened later was a result of her choice, and not because I bought her drinks.

“Okay…. Okay.”

We sat at the bar talking for a while. By the time we decided to leave the bar we had indulged in a several shots of whiskey, and a few hours of banter.

I had walked to the bar that day, so we decided to head to her house in her car. By this point, we were both pretty intoxicated so being the chivalrous man I am I offered to drive. (Idiot)

I was driving down Sunset when I saw the ominous glow of red and blue lights approaching from the rear. Was my time with this woman going to be cut to a short end by the officers in that car? I quickly decided that I was going to beat this case right here and right now. I pulled the car over to a gradual stop, rolled my window down about half an inch, and waited for the police officer to approach.

He came to the window and asked for my license and registration. This smoking hot baby fumbled through her glove compartment and retrieved the registration. She then handed it to me, and I offered it and my license through the crack in the window

“Here you go officer.”

He left to do what cops do, and it was then that I noticed that the girl had a glass of beer between her legs. I quickly instructed her to drink the entire beer and put the glass under her seat. (I didn’t even realize she had a drink in her hand when we left the bar!)

When the officer returned he told me that he suspected I was drinking, and asked me to get out of the vehicle. I did as commanded, and soon I was a competitor in several olympic events that nobody ever wants to participate in.

After the competition had ended, and I ended up winning the gold in the foot lift and count, the closed eyed nose touch, and the night light follow the officer told me that I was free to go. I don’t think I had ever been happier! Well except for about two hours before when that girl sitting in the passenger seat of the car I had been driving first laid hands on me.

But, before I got back in the car, the officer asked me to do a breathalyzer test without consequence to determine if I should get back in the car. I was skeptical, but I did the test. I blew a .09, and the officer was amazed, but he let us leave on foot after we locked the car up.

We began walking and once we had made it around the corner we broke up into hysterical laugh and started running towards her home.

To be continued in a couple of hours…

 

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California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Dillon – The Girl That Just Couldn’t Hold It

I’ve told many people this story, and while I tend to find it rather funny, not a single person I’ve told can come up with a more ridiculous and awful experience.

We were each around 18-19 years old.  A friend of mine worked at a local arcade, and that’s where I met Dillon.

She lived about a half hour away and was in Los Angeles with a friend to do some shopping. We started to hang out and, of course, fell madly in love with each other. A few months later, I was still living at my apartment  but I kept a lot of my stuff at Dillon’s Mom’s house. I’m surprised Dillon didn’t get pregnant. Seriously. You’re going to let an 19-year-old boy hang at your house while he’s dating your daughter and you work all day? I must be sterile. Needless to say, things were going fine until…

One afternoon, we were having sex, and I smelled something foul. Not quite sure what it was, I asked her if she could smell it, too.

“Nope.”

Back to the pogo stick. After finishing, she rolled off, and I began to get up. Until I saw it. A mess of brown funk on my apple bag.

“What. The. Fuck. You fucking shit on me?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, what the fuck is that?”

“Maybe you shit on yourself.”

(Anger rising, nausea increasing.)

“My asshole is on the other side of my body.”

(Hurling is imminent, running to the bathroom.)

After showering for about a week, I went home. A few days passed with zero contact between the two of us — she would call, I would avoid the situation. Until she decided to call my house at three in the morning.

“You better come and get your shit out of my house or it’s going out with the trash tomorrow.” Define irony: The girl who pooped on me telling me to get my shit out of her house.

My buddy and I headed over there, blissfully unaware of the insanity that awaited.

We pull up, and she’s standing at the door, salivating. She runs out of the house, spewing a deluge of obscenities and insults toward my manhood. My buddy and I begin to load his car with my belongings. Neighbors are waking up, turning on their porch lights and wondering what all the screaming is about. I was in hell.

At one point, I had a suitcase with clothes in it, and after carrying it to the car, I put it down to rearrange some things in the trunk. She seized the opportunity to go max-crazy by picking up the suitcase and hurling it down the street like a discus. Unsatisfied with her weak toss, she followed the suitcase down the avenue, picked it up a second time and once again heaved it further away from my friend’s car. Mind you, she never stopped cursing my existence while this mini-Olympics unfolded.

Then, things went berserk.

She ran into her house, screaming and crying and completely losing her shit. Her poor mother just stood there, watching the madness unfold.

I was outside at the time, but I watched her through a window in the kitchen as she opened a bottle of pills and took a swig. My friend sat in the driver’s seat of my VW minibus, pleading with me to just get in the car so we could leave. I should have listened.

Not only did she down a mouthful of pills, but she grabbed a big knife and came blasting through the screen door toward me. All around the mulberry bush I ran, being chased by an insane 18-year-old girl who wanted to filet me. Thankfully, she lost her footing and fell down, allowing me a tiny crevice of freedom. I hopped into my van, and we sped off towards sanity and safety.

I never went back to her house for the rest of my stuff and didn’t hear from her for quite some time. I found out through mutual friends that she had, in fact, tried to kill herself with the pills and ended up in the loony bin at the local hospital.

A few months later, I got a call from one of my former co-workers. After chatting for a few minutes, he asked me if my story of defecation was real.

“Of course it is.Why would I lie about some girl pooping on me?”

“I was just wondering, cause a buddy of mine says that he banged Dillon at a party, and she apparently did the same thing to him.”

Sounds like someone needs a new O-ring.

Poor thing…

 

 

California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Party in the Front

Me on the left. (F# Major)

This was early ’80s, in L.A. We were a five piece rock/pop group, and I played guitar. The bar was rather large, with guest/band rooms upstairs and a “special event” room behind the main bar. There’d be comedians, male & female “dancers” and such back there. This particular week the bar had female dancers in that room. We were playing our regular, routine show on a pretty dead Wednesday night. Big difference that night was most if not all the girls from that back room were sitting there watching us. Nothing better to do, I guess. I could always pull talent from that willing pool of women.

Like a lot of bars, this one also held drawings for various door prizes. This night was no different.

We’d played a couple sets, and our singer (Later left the band. Too much into nose candy) announced that anybody holding a ticket should get ready for the drawing. He’s standing there, holding the glass jar with the tickets in one hand, and his mic in the other, when the bass player, Frank nonchalantly walked behind him. Frank suddenly turned, grabbed the singer’s spandex pants and yanked them down to his knees. No undies. The singer, standing there with his junk hanging out, looked down, slowly turned, and kind of shuffled off stage, behind the mains, where he put down the glass jar and his mic, then pulled his pants back up. The girls out front were dying. Indeed, the entire room was laughing so hard even the bartender had tears in his eyes.

The singer came back on stage with his mic, and said “okay, that was different…” He looked at Frank, the bass player and told him “…I’ll kill you later…” and we proceeded to finish the set, and the rest of the night. The singer was a really funny guy (I say “was” because he’s dead now) and an incredibly good sport. Interestingly, he slept with most of those girls as a direct, or indirect, result of that “incident”. (Well done, sir!)

This one’s for you, buddy. 40 years on, and we still talk about, laugh at, and miss you.

 

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California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Sarah – That Girl With The Idea

As I awoke with piercing pain in my head became apparent, I was wearing nothing but a sombrero and some short shorts I owned.

Why was this happening to me?

Where was I?

And what had happened last night?

My buddy Frank was lying down right next to me passed out. I shook him to wake him up. He woke up slowly and sluggishly not without putting up a fight.

So I slapped him.

He woke up with a drugged and tired look. He asked why he woke him up. I told him all my concerns and what had happened to me.

He first told me we were at Sarah’s house in Venice for a little kickback with her and her friend. He had been a few places that night but ended up there at the end of the night.

He then asked if I remembered about the dare Sarah gave me.

I said no, so he filled me in.

We had all been daring each other to do stupid stuff and Sarah with her great ideas had decided to make me take 7 shots of putrid tequila consecutively; and then do a strip tease for her.

By this time I was already pretty buzzed and by that seventh shot I was having trouble thinking or staying up straight.

I started to take off my clothes and they cheered me on.

By the time I was only in my briefs I grabbed a nearby random sombrero. I guess my inner Mexican was screaming for the sombrero even after all the alcohol I took.

Then he proceeded to tell me they all took shots and were all around the same state as me. We all started to dance and I guess I tried to climb an imaginary stripper pole I thought was there and I fell and knocked myself out.

They laughed and proceeded to take shots and dance till they all passed out on top of me. We both laughed at the story and then went on to try to find some aspirin, water, and most of all, where everyone else was.

 

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California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – The Night We Opened For Y & T

Clothes start coming off, and it is a glorious tangle of sex and desire.

Warning! This post is not safe for work! NSFW!

This hot waitress Melanie comes up to me at the kitchen at Merlin McFlys in Santa Monica. I’m working as a cook, while trying to make it as a metal god in L.A. I’m a total loser and struggling, but loving life because I’m surrounded by moist women and nothing else but California sunshine.

Merlin McFly’s was a cool place to work. The people who owned them had a chain of them and each one had a different theme. The great part about this one is it was all about magic. (See: California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Merlin McFly’s)

It was a crazy time but when I look back on it an incredibly eye-opening and exhilarating.

This cute waifish blonde waitress Melanie approached me one night. I was balls deep in chicken fingers and zucchini sticks .

“Hey, I like your band and you like my band Glider, right?”

“Oh course. You guys are so good.” ( A bold faced lie) I fucking hated her Blondie rip off piece of shit band. I love her, because she is a buttery sweet blonde, and I hate her boyfriend because I made $500 putting a floor into a furniture store in Hollywood with this prick and he’s a beat up call.

But it was extra money so I did it but he’s an asshole and I’m sure he’s a bully to this sweetie.

“We have a chance to open for Y&T at the Troubadour on Friday but we need a little harder band to go on after us to open for them.

“Mel… is that my band? Because if that’s true I’m rock hard right mow.”

“Yea. That’s the gig despite your hard on.”

“Stop it. we’re in.”

I go home that night and tell the band. They’re ecstatic. It seems like the rest of the week takes forever but Friday finally arrives and we’re ready to do load in.

The band gets there and I’m a little nervous.

Frank: “How are you feeling there, Chaz?”

Me: “I’m a little scared.”

Frank: “I’d rather be scared, than bored…. Let’s go.”

And off we went. We played the Troubadour. Glyder came out and they did their sweet Blondie set. Who cares. We came out and killed it in a club that John Lennon was thrown out of for heckling the Smothers Brothers.

We crushed our set and Y&T comes out and is so much louder and more powerful than our little band. I feel that. I feel that what we did was solid and the audience liked it but we’re no one. They’re here to see Y&T. I don’t even give a shit who these fuckers are other that my friend Melanie got us here and we’re nobody.

The people are here to see Y&T play Lipstick and Leather.

I’m hanging at the bar getting free 151 and cokes with Frank and the boys and this girl walks up to me.

She’s wearing a beautiful white dress. She looks like Christie Brinkley with a voice like Marilyn Monroe. WTF?

This is a mixed crowd but mostly hair metal. It’s 1983 and we are in full swing. This little girl seems out of place. She comes up to me and immediately starts hitting on me. That was a luxury back then. It was easy when you were a musician in L.A. and pretty.

“Hey. I’m Chaz what’s your deal?”

“I’m Patty. I just wanted to meet you. I work at a restaurant and I came with some co-workers. One of the busboys likes me and I’m not into him. I’m into you.”

I’m taken by this pure beauty. Oh, the ease of the power of rock back then…

“You’re a lovely girl, Patty.”

“Come home with me, Chaz.”

It was that easy. I had gone from a pimple faced loser in middle school with braces and glasses to a guy that just had to show up and the ladies flocked. I still didn’t know who the hell I was or what I was doing but loved the attention.

I talked to my buddy Tim who came with us to the show without his wife Donna. (See: California Dreamin’ – Tim’s Wife Donna) He said we should pull a train on her but I told her it wasn’t like that this time and I wanted to be with this sweet baby alone.

We got back to her apartment in West Hollywood and we fall to the floor through the transom. Her record collection comes out and it’s scattered across the floor. We’re on the floor amidst her records rolling around and making out.

Clothes start coming off, and it’s a glorious tangle of sex and desire.

We end up in her bedroom, and she starts asking me about a girlfriend and/or a wife. I tell her I have neither. In this moment I’m telling the truth.

She lets it go. We’re getting into it and we’re both pretty drunk. I don’t know why I used to drink 151 and cokes back then. But like any stupid kid I guess you just want what’s strong and fast.

I almost don’t know how to describe what happens next with out being too graphic. It was over 35 years ago so just know that it was a one time thing. Even as jaded as I had become being in a band and living in L.A., this blew my mind.

She asks me to get her started with my digits. Okay, seems a little juvenile but I’ll do whatever she wants at this point. One, two, then three… then four. That seems a bit much and I’m surprised about this. I ask her if she’s okay and she says she loves it. She tell me to keep going.

Okay at this point I remember removing my fingers from her and then and taking off my  LED watch and dropping it into my shoe so I wouldn’t lose it or forget it.

Patty tells me to go in with my whole hand. I’m super turned on at this point because I’ve never experienced anything like this and didn’t know a woman could accommodate this sort of thing.

But she did. I was wrist deep in this girl. She was in her twenties. How was she able to do this? She liked it. I’m a little freaked out but in my drunken mind I can handle it.

This is called fisting. I never thought I’d ever be engaged in this sort of situation. As crazy as our adventures have been out here this seems over the top. I actually thought child birth for this woman may not even hurt. But it was still bizarre.

If someone told me my night after opening for Y&T would end like this. I would have just looked at them in mute protest.

Then she asks me to open the top drawer of her dresser. I do as I’m told and that’s when I see the biggest dildo I’ve ever seen on Earth. I’m still a little wet behind the ears and it’s all a new world to me.

She asks me to give it to her with this monster dildo. At this point I’m having a little fuselage envy. How can my little band go on after Fist and Hammer of the Gods? If I have intercourse with her after this episode, it’ll be like throwing a hotdog down a hallway, right?

But Patty’s loving it and is happy she’s opened toyland to me. I never expected this.

After the crazy monster insertion play she wants me to go on stage. Surprisingly it went well. I always carried condoms with me in those days because I was deathly afraid of catching an STD. Like… terrified. Scared of drugs and venereal disease.

We get it on and it’s fire. She was so beautiful I would never have known she was such a sexual dynamo when I met this waitress.

I tell her I’m going home and she gets back on the, “You’ve got a girlfriend or a wife.” I tell her no but she doesn’t believe me.

I walk out onto Hollywood Boulevard. I don’t even know what time it is. I hail a taxi and he takes me back to Santa Monica. At the time I think it was expensive. Funny how it was only $11 and a tip.

I’m happy to be back to the apartment and in my own bed.

She calls me the next day and tells me she wants to have a threesome with me and her girlfriend.

I tell her I’ll think about it.

 

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California Dreaming – 1982 to 1984 – Alika – Hot Girl, Heroin, Beverly Hills, and Reggie the Cat Converge

This is one of my all time favorite stories!

I met an incredibly hot Armenian airhead named Alika. She came into the bar where my band was playing with some of her other hot girlfriends, and we chatted after our set. There were warning signs that she was a tad bit shallow, not going to lie. This girl’s credit card was platinum, and she drove a convertible Maserati and lived in her parent’s Beverly Hills mansion.

She was completely vapid but oh, so hot. We dated for a few months and everything’s fine. I just did my best to ignore/overlook when she did things I didn’t like… specifically talking.

The holidays came and went. We had a few very fun sleepover parties while her parents were out of town. I’d never met them. Alika was like a tiger in the sack. I felt like a burnt matchstick after a few of our sessions together.

Alika gets the bright idea to invite me over and meet her parents who were hosting a New Years party. Normally I’d skip that but I was curious about trying to see what kind of parents produce a vapidly oblivious, self obsessed, airhead with the common sense of a squirrel crossing a highway. Besides I’d drunk enough of their booze and eaten enough of their caviar and I’d banged their daughter for 3 months or so at this point, so I thought why not? I was a nineteen year old guitarist from Philly. So have at it!

From the moment I met them I got a very distinctly “chilly” reception. I usually gel pretty well with parents of girls I’ve dated. The mother who looked like a grown up version of her daughter and the father looked like he couldn’t remember his own kids names. Polite but certainly chilly.

They kept making pointed comments. Pointing out to me where the bathrooms were without being prompted. Pointing out that the floors were hardwood and that they had “many, many bathrooms.” I was confused by the fact that 1 out of 4 conversations all somehow led to me being directed to the nearest bathroom.

At the end of the night I wished them both goodnight and her mother said she was glad to see “I was still on the wagon.” I smiled through it. As soon as the door closed I had a big “WTF was that all about?!” conversation with Alika.

Long story short Alika has a 100 year old cat named Reggie. And her parents have a 100+ year old Persian rug that Reggie soiled on one of the nights I slept over. Apparently vapid girl was afraid of Reggie getting put to sleep by angry vengeful parents for ruining the rug. So Alika helpfully made up a story that I she had been helping me detox from heroin and that in a fit of withdrawal I’d soiled their prized antique Persian rug!

Mind you this was a few months back and her parents have been under the impression that I was fresh out of rehab after a horrific addiction to pills and heroin. She also told them that she had helped me through the worst of it and that I’m deep in a drug withdrawal stupor and had lost all bladder control and that I had no memory of destroying the rug.

So…rich parents…spawned a spoiled habitually lying rich girl…owned a fat tabby cat with serious digestive tract problems…the guy who’s in a band and has only smoked weed and drank beer is suddenly a horrific heroin addict who in a drug induced haze soiled an $80,000 prized family heirloom antique rug.

 

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California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – She Didn’t Just Say That, Right?

We were playing a gig at Gazzari’s on the strip, I got friendly with one of the cutest girls who worked there. I was always on good terms with her, but she was one of the top ones that every guy knew of and most of us just dreamt of what it would be like to date her.

I got the courage to ask her to grab coffee one night. I went to pick her up from her house and she invited me in while she grabbed something. It was near Christmas time so I was looking around at the house that was in full holiday mode. She asked if I liked the decorations and I casually said, “Yeah! Only thing that’s missing is a mistletoe!” …Which only now as I type this out realize was way more suave than I ever realized (self reminiscing five!)

Her immediate response to this was, “Oh, do you want a kiss?!” and then kissed me right on the lips. Then asked, “ready to go?” like it’s no big deal.

Hell yeah!

We went to a local coffee shop and the conversation was already starting to get weird, but what the fuck do I care?

We grab our coffee and the conversation starts to get weirder – she goes, “What if none of this is real? What if nothing we did ever mattered?”

OK, I’m in a pretty well read guy, I can hang with this I think to myself.

Her: “You know this night is going to end eventually right? I could die right now and it wouldn’t matter. Or kill those people over there”

o_O

I make small talk like well, the people we matter to most will remember us so it matters blah blah blah I can’t even remember what came out of my mouth, because I was afraid something might set her off. We walk back to the van.

I run into a friend. He tells me he’s in Hollywood with another one of our friends and I should come out.

We start driving and she tells me stories about random guys she’s been dating and one of them who she hated, so she slept with him purposely while she was on her period and bled all over his sheets, but also hasn’t been tested for STDs in a while, but isn’t worried about it. The she starts screaming out the window at random cars while we’re on the freeway going 75mph (everyone speeds in LA, don’t judge!)

I’m gripping the steering wheel trying to remain focused and figure out wtf is going on.

She notices my biceps (Not that big) and goes, “whoa! Look at those guns! Want to see my guns?” Proceeds to lift her dress up to flash me.

She pulls her dress down, lifts it up from her knees, so she’s half naked in my car, and I’m staring in shock, while also trying not to crash.

If you’ve lost count, I’ve now just made out and seen this fantasy girl nearly naked.

We get to Hollywood and park, and she randomly yells at this truck that drives by, telling them to fuck off. I ask her wtf she did that for and she says “They were talking shit!”

…No…no one said anything. Keep walking and she’s looking behind her at nothing.

Since we weren’t 21 yet, we met up with my friends and went to this 18+ place. Except she doesn’t have anything with her. Bouncer says he won’t let her in without ID.

She flips and yells “DO THESE TITS NOT LOOK 18!?” and proceed to flash him and half the Hollywood strip.

I’ll never forget the look on my friend’s faces nor will I forget what the bouncer said: “Go home, apologize to your mother and your father for being so embarrassing, and don’t ever come back.”

This story keeps going, but I know phicklephilly fans aren’t ones for long ones, so I’ll conclude by saying I spoke to her sister a few months later and she informed me her sister was diagnosed with schizophrenia and been put on various medication, which she hasn’t been taking.

Another weird night.

 

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California Dreamin’ – Donna – 1982 to 1984 – This Worked Out For Everyone

I was hanging with my then girlfriend Kelly for the weekend up at my friend Tim’s place up in Topanga Canyon. He’s the one with the hot wife, Donna. (See: California Dreamin’ Tim’s Wife Donna)

 

We got up on Saturday morning and started partying early. The girls fixed up some food, blankets etc. while we iced down the beer and chilled by the pool.

It was great and secluded spot. The closest property was at least 300 yards away. About noon we got set up and in our suits and were all frolicking in the pool started partying heavy. The girls had on almost nothing for suits and looked sweet. (Kelly was a cute 20 year old blonde and we already know how Tim’s wife Donna is.) We kept saying they were almost naked and they may as well take them off and tan.

We kept on drinking and smoking and by 3:30 THE TOPS CAME OFF. We dared them if we all get naked for the rest of the day, we would do any dare they wanted the next day.

They agreed and we all stripped down. We were really getting ripped now and the girls were loving the freedom out here. They decided to walk towards the trees to take a leak. We were really proud of ourselves for getting them to loosen up.

When they got back they told us they wanted to make us do our dare tonight. We thought what the heck, let’s do it. They went over to the van and came back with some scarves. (from my mike stand) They told us we needed to lay on our backs on the blankets and allow them to tie our hands and blindfold us.

I tried to find out why, but was told its part of the dare and do it. Tim and I were now hand tied on our backs. I then felt a hand slowly running up and down my body and then a tongue. I asked what was up and was told it could be either one of them doing so but if we looked the 2 of them would both play with the other guy.

I can’t say in detail what went on for the next couple of hours.  It was so exciting not knowing who was doing what to me. After we were all exhausted we lay back still naked and enjoyed a few more beers and then headed back. I begged my girlfriend for 2 weeks to tell me if they swapped with us and she finally admitted they did.

I never told Tim or Donna that I knew.

 

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California Dreamin’ – 1982 to 1984 – Love Notes

My band was playing a gig at a local bar in Santa Monica. When you do some regular shows at a place you get to know the staff. This one waitress, I don’t know how old she was but she didn’t even look 18. She would always come and chat with me between sets. I think her name was Faye.

This went on whenever we got to play there. It went on for a few months. But one night she hands me a note after her shift and tells me not to read it until she was gone.

Well, I thought a note was a bit weird since that was grade school stuff but whatever. I open the note and it says things like:

“I love you. I want to be with you. You’re beautiful. We need to have children together even though I’m only 16, and it just prattled on and on. An overly attached girlfriend has nothing on this chick.

I used to get lots of phone numbers scrawled on napkins, notes and letters occasionally, but it was nothing like this. The next night, she asks sheepishly if I’ve read her note and I said yes but I wasn’t really looking for a relationship at the time. Her face lost all expression for a second and then she smiled and said something to the effect of ‘No worries, I thought I’d try’ and we continued playing there without incident.

That night, when I left the venue there were about 10 notes taped to my VW mini bus. Long notes too! I have no clue how she wrote this much in a day. The notes said things like ‘I hate you, you’re a fucking asshole, I hope you die’ and other notes said things like ‘I’m sorry for writing that note that called you an asshole. I really like you and want to be with you <3 <3 <3’

She would then try luring me with innuendos. When she was on her break she would do things like bring these long cucumbers out from the kitchen, come up and say things like ‘Do you think this pickle is for lunch or personal pleasure?’

She would also still put notes all over my van.

Eventually, after a few months she completely lost interest in me and started chasing a guitarist in another band that would play there on occasion.

Oh, my broken heart!

 

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