Tenth Musee

Lou was a regular at the lounge I used to sing in. He was about 40 and I was around 21 or 22. He was sort of…rough. Fluffy REO Speedwagon-bordering-on-Richard-Marx-type mullet, leather Members-Only-looking jacket…you get the point. He came in all the time, for months, and one night invited me over to his place to watch movies with some other people after I finished my set. I said sure.

When I walked into his apartment, it was the Dirk Diggler Dojo, I swear. Shag carpeting, wood paneling, mirrored walls with that gold fleck in it, karate crap lying around, framed posters of naked women with an assortment of jungle animals. It was…skeezy, to say the least. It rapidly became obvious that no one else was coming over and when I realized this, I decided to hit the ladies to figure out a graceful exit.

In the bathroom, I pulled out my keys, kind of gave myself a pep talk and opened the door. Now, the bathroom was IN his bedroom, but it was dark when I walked through their the first time.

I was greeted with Elvis playing (bloody Elvis!) with candles everywhere illuminating the fine, fine Barbie Twins artwork that adorned the walls.  Lou was stretched out in style on a big round waterbed with a white tiger-print fur bedspread. Lou was naked. Lou was…cold. Lou was wielding a gigantic double-ended silver dildo over his head, purring, “Come here. You are such a dreamy puppy.”

Indeed, you read correctly, dreamy puppy. I was so shocked, I dropped my keys. However, I rapidly gained my composure, grabbed my crap and ran out of the room, out of the apartment and down the hall. Last I ever saw of Lou, he was running after me, apologizing, yelling “Dreamy Puppy, wait!” and pulling on his pants as the elevator doors shut.

And that was Lou.