During the sixties,my friend Bill and I were co-administrators of a community self-help program. This program was staffed by volunteers, most of which were beautiful women.
Between the two of us, being both young and single, had most of these lovely ladies available for our pleasure. The one thing we never did, however, was cross swords, meaning, we did not sleep with each other's sex partners.
One day, Bill called me on the phone and explained that he had access to a rock star's home for the next twenty-four hours. The owner was going out of town and had invited Bill to use his place until the following evening as long as he didn't do any damage, cleaned up afterwards and was out of there by six pm the next evening.
This meant full access to a beautiful mansion overlooking the Pacific Ocean on a hill in Malibu, California. He could use the pool, Jacuzzi , and a wide assortment of recreational drugs and booze.
Bill suggested I round up a date and join him for the night. This did not give me much time. It was already four in the afternoon and even though LA is a "last minute town", I was sure most of the women I knew had made plans for the night.
I started calling my list of ladies but kept hearing, "Please leave a message" or "I'm sorry Kel, I wished you had called me sooner." and "I have already made plans for this evening." After the tenth call I was beginning to get discouraged.
About seven-thirty I called Bill and said, "Sorry man, but i'm scoring zero in the date department. Maybe you should just grab your honey and split. I will see you Monday.
"Don't feel like the Lone Ranger," he replied. I struck out too! Listen, fuck it! Let's just drive up there and get, high and enjoy the pool and Jacuzzi. We can still have free dope, food , booze and a beautiful pad with a knockout view!"
"Sounds good to me," I replied. "I'll pick you up in thirty minutes."
About three days before Bill's invitation, I was lighting a joint with a Zippo lighter and burned off half of my mustache. Not being able to repair the damage, I decided to just shave my beard off and start from scratch. I had worn a beard for five years and it was interesting to see the various reactions from my friends.
Because I worked at a Hippie Clinic, a lot of the guys thought I had gone straight or sold out. Most of the women liked it and seemed to enjoy kissing me more. Oh well, there's no accounting for taste. My friend Bill hadn't seen it yet.
A little after eight, I pulled up in front of Bill's apartment and honked my horn. He came out, hopped into the front seat and did a double take at my new appearance.
