Bill, the Harvard-educated Bostonian, who adopted six Vietnamese refugee children. He was an infantryman during the war.
Many years later, his wife left him and the six children.
After that, I think he blamed all women and hated them.
His routine: Take a woman to a Japanese restaurant, give her a dozen white roses, take her to a Karaoke place with private rooms and maul her there, as though he were an out-of-control teenager with very bad manners.
“Touch me anywhere. Touch me anyway you want. Play with me. Hurt me.”
So much for Harvard gentlemen!
The dashing Iranian [born in the United States] who called himself Persian. He introduced me to champagne brunches. He lived with an airline stewardess [that’s what they were called long ago], who was very sloppy. She wanted to have a baby so that she would have an excuse for quitting the flying, but not the fucking.
He loved my apartment because it was always so neat.
Once, I drank too much and vomited in the taxi with him.
He was very gracious, said nothing, and gave the taxi driver a big tip for the carwash.
Afterward, I thought our relationship would be immediately over.
But he shocked me by taking me upstairs, putting me into the bathtub, pulling out my Tampax, and having sex with me, blood and all.
We dated a few years in the mid-1970s, before the Shah of Iran was overthrown and forced to leave his country in 1979.
A refined Southern WASP rolled over in my bed, stuck his legs up into the air like a dead cockroach, and requested, “Lick my asshole. It’s clean.”
Men and their insatiable urges and fetishes!