Bobbie Barnett was quite possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had sex with but, other than that, we had very little to say.
I met Bobbie in a strange bar in Minneapolis years ago. Strange, meaning that I had not performed there nor did anyone there know I was a performer. Normally, I would never have the balls to approach a woman in a strange bar. I usually just sit at the far end of the bar and stare at the TV as though the only reason I’d come out to a crowded dance club on ladies’ night was to watch Sports Center with no volume. But that night, I was
Doug and Bobbie.
Drunk or inspired or, sometimes what’s the difference.
Bobbie was beautiful, the kind of beautiful that hurts to look at. She had short spiky brown hair, big brown eyes and a smile that made you feel like you were the only guy in the world, even after she smiles the same way at the waiter when he says he won’t charge her for the extra sour cream.
We talked for a while and, though I didn’t outright lie to the girl, I did tell her everything she wanted to hear. She hated long hair, I was thinking of cutting it. She hated cigarettes, I was trying to quit. And so it went through several cocktails.
We made plans to go see the Twins play the next day and she told me that I could stay at her place since she lived so close to the stadium. Not to have sex, she said, just out of convenience. Funny, that’s exactly what I’d tell a girl I was trying to have sex with.
We got back to her place and had that last cocktail which led to kissing, which led to groping, which led to some of the most viscious dry-humping I’d seen since junior high school. It was like porno with clothes on and it went on for an inordinate amount of time until I realized it wasn’t going any further. “I don’t want to be a slut.” “It’s not that hard I can walk you through it.” “I don’t even know you.” “I’ll have my agent fax you my bio.” It finally proved futile, so, like a gentleman, I rolled over and said goodnight, using my balls as a comfy pillow.
The next day we went to see the Twins play against my favorite team, the Boston Red Sox. I’m not a huge baseball fan but it’s always important to have a favorite. Bobbie, of course was rooting for the home town Twins so I made a big production out of rooting for the Red Sox, jumping up and down and screaming like an asshole, just to fuel the rivalry. I continued in this fashion until the sixth inning when it was obvious the Sox were going to get killed. They were down 5-1 and hadn’t done a thing right all day and now Bobbie is starting to talk a lot of shit. So I called her bluff. I said,” I’ll make a bet with you right now. If the Red Sox lose this game, I will cut my hair and quit smoking. If they come back and win, you turn loose some of that ole pussy!” I’m sure I phrased it more carefully than that but, regardless, she couldn’t say no. It was a sucker bet and Bobbie had been gloating too much to turn back now. She shook on it and, within seconds, Mo Vaughn came to the plate and SLAM!, right out of the park! The Red Sox went on to score 10 unanswered runs and won the game 11-6 while Bobbie just sat there turning grey.
She drove us home without saying a word. Finally I asked, “So would you think I was a prick if I took you up on the bet?”. She grudgingly said “No.” I said “Would you think I was a prick if I picked up a homeless guy and told you I wanted to donate my winnings to charity?”. She didn’t laugh. Bobbie made good on the bet and, although I even cut my hair out of a sense of fair play, she decided pretty quickly afterwards that she didn’t care much for the person I was turning out to be. But that was okay with me because, generally, beautiful things have always left me feeling empty. Like beautiful sunsets or a beautiful mountain view, because there is none of that you can take with you. You can take all the pictures in the world and it will never do it justice. You can use every word in you’re vocabulary and it will never describe it accurately. And there’s always someone next to you saying, “Doesn’t it make you feel so insignificant?”. “Yes, as a matter of fact it does. And I don’t need any more of that in my life, I don’t need to feel any more insignificant.” But a beautiful woman is different, because a beautiful woman just might want to fuck you. And when a beautiful woman fucks you it’s like she’s giving you part of that beauty, it’s like she’s giving you a piece of her soul and that will always be yours. No matter how much she may regret it, no matter how much she dislikes you down the road, that is yours forever. And your beautiful mountain may crumble into the sea and your beautiful sunset might never rise again... but you fucked me, Bobbie Barnett! You fucked me, and a thousand repo men with a thousand tow trucks can never take that back!