I thought I was through with her.
I thought it was over. I hadn't heard from her in three weeks and was beginning to settle back into my normal, vanilla life. Up in the morning at 5, to the gym, than shower and off to work. It was boring but it was comfortable.
Then she called again.
It was 1:00 AM Friday morning. I was back in my bedroom in my pajamas watching a movie. I recognized the number immediately and decided to let it go to voicemail. Feeling more than a little curious -- and anxious, I retrieved the transcript of the VM message from my i-phone.
"You know who this is, and I know you are there. Meet me at Danny's on 92nd and 3rd in 20 minutes. If you don't you will regret it. I am sitting at the bar, wearing a sleeveless shirt, black jeans, and my black hair is set back in a ponytail. I just need to talk. Please your ass here please."
Well at least she said "please."
It took me all of 30 seconds to figure out what to do. Remembering she had incriminating pictures and videos of me, and that she knew who I was, where I lived, and where I worked, I decided that discretion was the better part of valor (maybe I should have thought about that 3 weeks ago). In this case, discretion meant showing up and Danny's.
Danny's was a sort of goth style dive bar. It smelled of old beer and musk. The paneled walls were filled with crude art, amateur poems written with dark black markers, and haphazardly arranged speed-metal rock posters.
It was almost 1:30 when I arrived. She spotted me as soon as I walked in the door and waved me over to her. I was struck by how severe and stark she looked. Dark black hair tied back. Dark eye make-up and black lipstick. White cut-off tee-shirt showing off an arm full of tattoos. Black jeans fastened around her waist with a chain belt and motorcycle boots. Or boot I should say. One boot was on, the other off.
Very severe indeed.
I walked over to where she was sitting. There was an empty stool beside her where she beckoned me to sit. There were 3 shots of tequila on the bar in front of my seat.
"Shotgun these, and don't argue with me. I am not in a great mood."
Indeed, she was not.
I figured I could use a drink anyway, so I did the shots
She clearly had done some drinking herself and began to open to me. She began to explain to me just how shitty her day was as if I were some faithful confidant.
She got into a fight with her boss and was almost fired -- which would have been OK with her, because she was thinking of quitting that "shitty job" anyway. Her co-workers all sucked. No one understood her or appreciated her talent. They looked down on her because of her style of dress and her manner. And to top it off, she twisted her ankle walking off a curb on the way to the bar. That was why her boot was off. It hurt like hell and was beginning to swell.
She ordered two more shots for me. I started to object but she cut me off.
"Shut up and do the shots"
So, I did. I am a pretty good drinker, but I just slammed down 5 very generous pours of tequila in 10 minutes and was beginning to feel it.
"Let's go smoke a joint."
She stumbles as she went to get up, maybe because of the alcohol, or maybe because of the ankle. As she did she grabbed a hold of my leg just above my knee. In addition to all my other issues, I happen to be very ticklish. As she grabbed my leg I lurched a little and giggled in a much less than manly way.
" Well, I thought I knew everything about you," she said before adding, "but now I know you're ticklish too!" Then she said, " I am not going to be able to make it to my apartment. It is a 4-story walk-up. No way I can do that. I know you have an elevator building. Can I stay with you and sleep on your couch? It would be a big favor to me."
I began to feel sorry for her. She really did have a shitty day, and she really did seem like she was having a hard time walking. I agreed to let her stay.
We left the bar and did a few tokes on the joint before flagged down a cab. Arriving at my apartment at about 2:45, we got off the elevator and headed down the hallway to my apartment. I noticed her walking seemed to improve but I decided not to say anything.
I opened the door, and she let herself in and sat on the couch. I followed her in, my head still reeling from the tequila.
"Look," I said, "you don't have to sleep on the couch. I will sleep there. You can have the bed. Just let me change."
She looked at me and nodded.
I walked into the bedroom and began to change. I took my shoes off and was removing my jeans. They were down around my ankles when she silently made her move.
I suddenly felt her grab me by my waist and tickle me from behind. Dear reader, as you may now know I am extremely ticklish, and she had a killer grip on me. I frantically tried to grab her wrists and remove them from my body, but it was no use. The tickling made me weak, and the alcohol and weed added to my unsteadiness. I was weakened and completely helpless. I began to pant, desperate to catch my breath but it was no use. My pants were still around my ankles, I was dizzy from the substance abuse, and she was relentless. I finally found the strength to twist around and face her but that didn't really help. She continued to tickle me as she fell back on the bed with me on top of her as I tripped over my jeans.
