Dinner and a Movie

Dinner and a Movie

In a conversation a few days ago a friend quipped, “I remember when if you said you were going out for dinner and movie, it meant you were going to fuck.

I had to stop and think a moment.  That’s not the case now, but I remember a time in my life when it could be said that was mostly true, at least, for me.

It was a time when low rise jeans were the lowest, crop tops were tiny, and a girl’s thong underwear, if she wore any, peeked out for all to see. I was 16 going on 21 and most of the bar tenders in Santa Monica, Ocean Beach and Venice Beach knew me for my precocious sexual behavior. They wouldn’t serve me anything but Coke, but they wouldn’t kick me out either.

Hollywood wannabe agents, writers, actors, techies – mostly male, but some female – cruised the beach bars on the weekends because they didn’t score invitations to the posh gatherings in Malibu. I didn’t tell any one I was genuine jail bait, under 18, but oddly, no one usually asked. And I got asked out – dinner and movie – a lot. And I went.

On a warm July night at a punk bar in Venice, I chatted up a cute bartender for a plate of super nachos and a Coke. He was sweet, got me the snacks and we talked, long into the night, past closing. He knew about my reputation, but didn’t hit on me. It came up that I slept with practically anyone who took me out, bought me a nice dinner, a movie, a play, a concert, whatever. Finally, he asked if I’d ever considered charging men money for my favors, instead of “dinner and a movie.” I think he expected shock or indignation. But the fact is, I had considered it. More than once. So, I said yes, I had considered it.

He then explained how he could hook me up with nicer guys, with money, who would happily pay $500 an hour for the sex without the dating game. We’d work out a percentage depending on the John. By the way, in all fairness, he thought I was 18. At least, I have to believe that.

Yes, I thought about it for days.

In the end, I said no. Further, I stopped doing “dinner and a movie” with just anyone and became much more selective. It seemed I could do better, so I moved my panhandling for free super nachos to Malibu. It worked out. I ended up with a full ride to the University of Southern California, on the strength of my high school grades, of course.