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“If I didn’t know you then I’d. . . No, wait. First, just to be absolutely clear, if you and I weren’t dating, then, if I were sitting next to a woman as beautiful as you in a dress as hot as that in a hotel lobby, then every word of my conversation would be aimed at getting you out of your panties and into my arms.”

Lo’s eyes lit up at the prospect.

“But,” I added, “since you are constantly trying to get down my pants, I am here with you talking about the weather.”

Her eyes squinted and darted an angry stare my way.

As I looked at her, I noticed something amiss. “Your ring is on the wrong finger. Put it on the correct finger.”

“It’s on the correct finger. I get so tired of having to say, ‘No, I’m not engaged, but I am in a committed relationship. . . blah, blah, blah,” she rolled her eyes.

“You mean, ‘I’m not engaged, but I am in a committed relationship, but I fool around with other guys and other gals,’ and they just don’t understand? It is a rather long tale to tell. That’s when you just pull out the Lola card and hand it to them.”

“It would be so much hotter if we really were married,” she remarked sardonically.

“So you want to get married for that — to have a hotter story to tell?”

“Isn’t that why people get married — to appear more interesting?”

“Then marry me,” I said as I took her hand. “Marry me!”

“Even if you got down on one knee for me, I’d wouldn’t marry you.”


“Not without any money.”

“Oh really?!”

“Yes, really. I’m a very practical girl. But I will get married sometime.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, just not to you!”

“You’re breaking my heart,” I said. “Look, look there,” I gestured to a woman at the bar. “Is that the rock you want?” She wore an engagement ring so big and bright that we could have used sunglasses when looking at it.

“Yeah, but not from you. I’ll wait till you’re dead and marry a rich man who’ll get me the real thing, not a fake Christmas ornament like that thing.”

“Oh, darling, you’re killing me with your words.”

“Then I hope you have a well-funded life insurance policy.”

“All for you,” I said. “So that’s it? You won’t marry me.”

“No, never.”

“May I inquire as to why?”

“Because I like livin’ in sin.”

“You’re a very naughty girl and my mother cautioned me about girls like you. I think I should leave this hotel this very instant!”

“I have your boarding pass.”

“Well, I’m sure one of those ladies at the bar wouldn’t mind taking me home.”

“You take one step in their direction and you’ll find yourself shot between your shoulder blades!”

“Would you really shoot a man in the back?”

“It’s more mercy than they deserve.”

“Now you’re just generalizing.”

“The generals I would shoot in the groin.”

“You’re heartless!”

Seeing she needed a refill, I got up.

“Where are you going?”

“To get you another French martini.”

“That’s good, because I didn’t want to pull out my revolver.”

When I returned I said, “Let’s go to the movies on this vacation. Let’s see The Great Gatsby. I’m in a Gatsby sort of mood.”

“No, no, no,” she said, “I have a very elaborate plan of how we’re going to see Gatsby. It’s going to be a total Art Deco night. I know what dress I’m going to wear, what restaurant we’re going to go to. I’ve even already picked out which drink I’m going to order. But it has to be in 2D. Those 3D flicks give me a headache.”

“What if I just go see it in 3D and you see it in 2D at the same time? It’s just like we were going on a date together.”

“Hrumph. If you try that, I’ll pick up a guy in the theater.”


“And I’ll go out with him after and take him home and have wild sex with him! And, and. . .” She was getting herself excited.

“All the better — sounds like a plan!”

“Ugh! You’re so boring!”

The next day was her presentation. She was to go on at 10:00, promptly. She was very nervous about it that morning and took out her computer to make last minute revisions. But, typical of Lo, her way of dealing with nervous energy is to jill it. Come to think of it, that’s how she deals with just about everything in life. But that morning she was particularly bad. As I lay on the bed watching the inane drivel of the so-called ‘news’ programs, she sat in the chair with her computer open, switching between her PowerPoint presentation and porn, cumming again and again.

“Lo, you’ll make yourself exhausted like that. You won’t even be able to stand.”

She paid me no mind.

When she was all dressed up and ready to go, I told her, “Just picture all the people in the audience in their underwear. No wait. Scratch that!”

She smiled and gave me a kiss.

“When will you be back?”

“This is an all-day thing. Probably not till about four, the earliest.”

“Well, have fun. If you need me, you can find me out by the pool. Just look for the tall, stick-skinny-blonde-chick, and I’ll be right next to her.”

That infuriated Lo, but she had it coming after her sharp wit the previous night.

Before I even had time to finish the breakfast that was sent to my room, Lo was back.

“What are you doing here?”

“This conference blows,” she said, “Let’s just fuck.”

[Excerpt from the story, “Let’s Just Fuck,” from the blog:]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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