12 | LA Confidential Part I

Prior to this trip, for 6 months i’ve been talking to the author of one of my favorite books. I started reading his novels in 2007. He is 17 years older than me. I love everything about that last sentence. When I finished his most recent novel, I took to Twitter to express my happiness and love for his mind. He started following me. 6 months after that he private messaged me on twitter. He wanted to let me know that he thought I was funny and that one of my tweets was a line from his next book. I almost fucking shit myself when I got this. Thanked him and of course being me got sexual with the conversation. We planned to meet the next time I was in Los Angeles. When he saw that i tweeted something pertaining to my whereabouts which was LA, he messaged me his number and asked if i would like to get dinner with him. We took it to text and made plans to see each other that coming Sunday for some good food, some good weed, and some good sex.

Wake up and its Sunday August 10th. HOLY SHIT ITS SUNDAY. I’ve been waiting for this day for 6 whole months. The day I finally get to meet this brilliant man of my dreams. I hadn’t responded to the last thing he said to me which was give me your address. In all honesty, I am fucking freaking out at this point my head is going to explode because I’m so damn nervous. my phone buzzes, and its still weird for me to see his full name come up on my phone as a text because for the last 8 years the only place I’d seen his name was on the front and back covers of all of the books he has written.

“Just checking in to make sure tonight is still good and to find out where i should pick you up.”

Fuck. he really wants to meet me and i really want to meet him too but me being my dumb self i ditch the fancy dinner he has planned for us make up some elaborate lie thats totally legit and suggest we meet up after, mine or his.

“Im so sorry, I’m going to have to reschedule. I got invited to The Eagles concert can we possibly move dinner to tomorrow? or you could come by after the show, since I’m eager.”

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?

he responds with a sense of eagerness, thank fuck. 

“The Eagles are pretty fucking awesome. How about this: Text me when the show ends and maybe you come to my place for some post Eagles smoking…etc.”

HE WANTS TO GET HIGH AND FUCK. I KNEW IT AND AM SO HAPPY. In my head I just knew that being in a public place with him meeting for the first time wasn’t going to be as real. I’m not even going to the concert and now have to mentally prep myself to lie to his face about being there because i was too big of a pussy to meet him at a 5 star steak house. Holy shit I’m tripping balls. He lets me know that he’s going to go for a few drinks with his friends and I let him know where he can pick me up when he and I are both done. He informs me he’ll be at me in twenty minutes. Such a gentleman letting me know in advance so I have some time to get ready, the qualities of an older man will continue to surprise me, forever.

HES HERE.

I head downstairs to the front of the building for the second night in a row. Only this time i know I’m not coming back from where I’m going until tomorrow morning, or at least I’m hoping so. A dark grey car pulls up stops and I immediately know its him. I hop in the car and give him a big hug, tell him that its nice to meet him and that I cant wait to get fucking high. At this moment in time I’m completely and totally flustered, managing to get out words but very obviously nervous and discombobulated in my train of thought. We arrive at this spanish style duplex. The front of his apartment has a flight of about 15 stairs and then your in his humble abode. We walk up the stairs, talking the whole time as he points to each room and explains whats what. The first room is his art, office, clutter space. He tells me its a fucking mess and not to look. He has this undeniable ability to make me laugh, and i love it already. We enter his living room where he has a big leather couch, a coffee table with a bong and a shitload of weed on it, an amazing TV, some fucking cool ass art. I sit on the couch and let it all sink in. The art is impressive. To my right are three framed covers of the book that made me fall in love with his mind. The conversation between us is so heavily flowing. Im getting to ask him all the question I ever wanted to. He even divulges things about the book and others that no one would ever know unless he told them. i feel so special in this moment, so connected and so on the same level of life that my mind is blown. He looks at me and says, “you want to smoke? How, pipe or bong?” and I’m sold. I haven’t blazed in 5 days, since i left my weed filled apartment that i blurt out, “ bong please, i love bongs.” Side note, I’m a stoner. So is he. He passes me the bong and he packs the pipe as we simultaneously smoke our weed together, cough it out and then embrace the glorious high. We are stoned as fuck at this point and conversation is getting whack, were talking about religion and god and marriage and children. Pretty much everything thats important to him as its what he writes about and I already know how he feels about all of it, maybe he’s trying to get a gage on how I feel, I don’t know but I’m so high and I don’t want to overthink any of it because it’s such a crazy situation in the first place. The conversation is too much for me, I start to lose track of what he’s saying because all I can think about is him pinning me up against the wall face first and fucking me senseless. I’m so sexually attracted to him at this point he’s making me squeeze my thighs together and squirm in my place. My panties are drenched. And I’m so ready to fuck.

…Too be continued, in the best possible way.

xo, you’ll never know.

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