Go-Go Gone Boy
One night at a bar in West Hollywood, I spotted a handsome go-go boy I remembered from previous visits. He kept flashing me a flirtatious smile, and eventually, I wrangled up the nerve to ask him out.
Much to my delight, he accepted the invitiation.
A week later, we had a nice dinner, followed by drinks. As the liquid courage kicked in later in the night, I attempted to pull out some sharp wit to spice up the conversation. I was hoping some humor would soon lead to a naked slumber party back at my place.
After a joke or two about handcuffs in the bedroom, I playfully asked if he'd ever done jail time.
I nearly coughed up my beer when, without missing a beat, he began a monologue describing his multiple arrests on not two occasions, or three occasions, but four separate instances of domestic abuse. One such confrontation resulted in injuries so serious that hospitalization was necessary for his ex.
The go-go dancer failed to notice the horror on my face as I politely paid our bill and remembered an early-morning meeting.
There would be no slumber party in my near future. And thankfully, no domestic dispute, jail time, or hospital bills either!