Intense Actress Chick

Samantha was a total whack job as most actresses are. I hated blind dates but I needed to get out there again and Samantha seemed desperate enough to end my dry spell. I sipped Jameson and Coke listening to her drone on about the latest part she nearly landed and the riveting extra work she'd done. How much can one man take? I thought.

She was 36 and still sexy. I was 27 and still clueless. I wondered if the younger girls at the bar were intrigued I was dating an older woman or knew I was a total loser in the midst of a dry spell.

I forced myself to believe the latter until Sexy Samantha leaned over, nearly falling off her bar stool, and stuck her tongue down my throat. I can't say I'm comfortable with public displays of affection but Samantha certainly was. She lapped at my face oblivious to my lack of participation.

Her bizarre straw hat poked me in the eye and I patted her on the shoulder to signal the make out session was over. She finally got the hint and broke away. Laughing hysterically she ordered another drink as I thought of excuses to get out of there.

"My roommate just got in a horrible car accident."

"I'm not feeling very well, I think it's food poisoning."

"I left the stove on and my apartment's on fire."

Then a horrible idea crossed my mind. "Hey, why don't we go back to your place and have sex?" I suggested, waiting for her to slap me. She stared at me for several seconds then burst out laughing. "Okay!" she replied, to my utter amazement. "I live just down the block anyway."

Wow, that wouldn't have worked on girls my age, I thought as Samantha downed a neat glass of Jameson like it was apple juice. "Let's get out of here," she said, as if it were a challenge. "Ah, okay," I replied, flinging the bartender cash as she dragged me out.

When we got to Samantha's apartment she could barely walk. She plopped down on a gaudy red velvet couch as I inspected the ancient relics of her place. From the decor of her living room I began to suspect she was 66 and not 36. The odor of antiquated perfume reminded me of my grandmother's car when she cranked up the AC and blasted pungent perfume in my face as a child. It was not a fond memory.

Samantha patted the couch, urging me to sit next to her. I walked over feeling as though I was about to be attacked by a wild cougar. Maybe she's a better kisser in her natural habitat, I reasoned. As she pounced on me and began frothing at the mouth, I knew I had to escape.

In less than a minute she rolled off the couch with a thud. I looked down, relieved she had passed out. I rushed for the door. Just as I was leaving it crossed my mind that she might be dead. I returned to check her pulse. She was alive, thank God. Without warning, her eyes flashed open like the final scene of a zombie movie. She smiled up at me. "I love you," she slurred. "I love you too sweetie, " I lied, "I'll call you."