My 22nd birthday party

 

Since its my birthday I was thinking back on some of my more memorable birthdays. One I’ll never forget is my 22nd birthday back in 1978, 40 years ago.

I was staying at a friend of mine’s studio apartment at the time. And his little sister happened to be in town for a visit. So she was there too. And she happened to be one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Then or now. She was 19, naturally blonde — short hair, sort of a modified Beatles moptop though more styled and sexy — big blue eyes and long, long legs. She told me she was making a good living putting herself through college by working as a “go-go dancer.”

Anyways we were all hanging out at my friend’s apartment that night celebrating my birthday. So I was getting a little more attention than usual. She bought me a big jug of California burgundy — which was my drink of choice back then — for a birthday present. And we were all just kicking back and loosening up. When my friend and his girlfriend said they were going out to see a movie for the evening. So suddenly it was just me and her alone in the apartment.

After a couple of tall glasses of wine (I was drinking fast, believe me) she said: “Would you like to see my go-go dancing routine?”

“Well sure,” I said.

“OK,” she said. “Put some music on that I can dance to while I put on my dancing clothes.”
She grabbed a little bundle of clothes and hustled off to the bathroom to change. I went into my friend’s bedroom where he had his stereo — and a great collection of rock albums — and sorted through the records for something suitable to play. For some reason I picked the second side of David Bowie’s “Low” album. 25 minutes of this moody avant-garde synthesizer space-out mood music.

She came out of the bathroom wearing this frilly white negligee that barely covered her butt, fishnet stockings, and shiny black spiked high-heels that made her wobble when she walked. She spent about two seconds trying to dance to Bowie’s space-out music and said: “I can’t dance to THAT!”

She went back into the bedroom and picked out a rock album that actually had a beat and a drummer to it. And as the music filled the room, she lowered the lights to this electric glow. And then she looked at me with a sly smile on her face and said — and I’ll never forget this because she really did — “I am going to blow your mind.”

She shuffled around the room for awhile on her high-heels dancing to the music. While I sat there rigid in my chair, clenching my glass of burgundy in my hand for dear life. And pretty soon she was out of her negligee and wearing nothing but a white half-bra and a tiny white g-string that left very little to the imagination. And then pretty soon there was nothing left to the imagination. As she swayed around the room dancing, she’d stop now and then to strike these very dramatic and erotic poses. All the while looking back at me with an amused and intense smile on her face (I probably had a look on my face like one of those stunned cartoon characters where their eyes are bulging out and their slobbering tongues are going straight down to the floor).

But the picture that is permanently imprinted in the mind’s-eye of my memory: At one point she sauntered over to me, turned around, bent over, and stuck her big round ass just inches away from my face, that tiny white g-string clinging up her crack. I can still see that image to this day clear as a bell. I’ll probably take that image with me to my grave. Ha ha.

After awhile the album side of music finally came to an end. And she stood there in front of me with her hands on her hips, looking straight at me like: “It’s your move now, boy!”

But I just sat there in my chair frozen stiff. I was stunned really. I think it was the first time a woman had ever aggressively sexually propositioned me. Let alone one of the most beautiful and sexy women on the planet. So I was at a complete loss as to how to proceed next. Actually, I always had the worst instincts when it came to navigating through the mating ritual between men and women. I would spend most of my adult life “making my move” at the exact wrong time when I shouldn’t make my move. And NOT “making my move” at the exact time when I should make my move. What can I say? I was hopelessly dim-witted, hopelessly mis-wired, in that regard. And would pay a bitter price for it over the years.

Finally when she realized I wasn’t going to jump on her bones she picked up her negligee from the floor, rolled it into a ball and playfully tossed it at my head. I think she was exasperated and confused that things hadn’t moved to the next logical step. I’m sure it didn’t happen to her very often.

She laughed and went back into the bathroom to change back into her street clothes. And we spent the rest of my birthday drinking burgundy and listening to rock music.

Later I typed up an account of the evening. And sent it off to this local porn paper that published reader’s sex fantasy. And to my surprise they printed it. I think it was the first piece of writing I ever got published. And I mailed her a copy. And ya know what? I wouldn’t be surprised if that blew HER mind a little bit. Because I had captured in words — just like a photographer — all the strange and magical moments of that evening.

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