Hot Slut

How was a nice Canadian girl to know? In Los Angeles on business, I was distressed when the concierge flat out refused to let me travel on foot to the restaurant I’d targeted for my ‘last night in town’ dinner. “You just can’t walk through that neighbourhood” he insisted. Arriving at 7:30 by cab I felt lost and little in what now loomed as a dangerous town.

 A bottle of wine bolstered my courage. An attentive blonde waiter bolstered my libido. Surely this town wasn’t so dangerous that I couldn’t leave at closing time with this lovely lad. Half naked and mid cuddle with Larry the ‘actor’ (is everyone in L.A.an actor) the sense of danger returned. Why was this stranger in my room? You can’t even walk safely in L.A! Surely sex with strangers is out of the question. A true gentleman Larry dressed and left with little protest. No danger there.  On the plane home I settled in beside a handsome silver fox and before long was resting my hung-over head on his shoulder, accepting Drambuie and comfort, lulled by his French Canadian accent and his tempting invitation to ‘stop over’. Out of the frying pan into the fire? Pas de tout. Deplaning in Montreal he left graciously without me, or my number. No danger there. As I flew the last leg solo it struck me - but for the grace of these charming men I’d be ‘in the fire’ for sure. Danger, they name is woman.