I used to date your mom.

Zack Morris.

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 03:22:43 -0400

I used to date Zack Morris. I was an intern for Mike Huckabee, and if you tell my mother, I’ll have to cut you. Anyway, Zack and I were in charge of volunteer coordination and decided to do streetside visibility. I was standing on a street corner waving my I Heart Huckabee poster with all my might when suddenly, out of nowhere, seven masked ninjas dashed towards us from across the street! I threw myself in front of a small child standing nearby, only vaguely aware of the screaming panic surrounding me. By the time I looked up to search for an escape route, all seven ninjas were unconscious on the ground and Zack was standing in the middle, just coming out of a fighting stance and barely out of breath. It may have just been the adrenaline, but I found myself on my feet and flying into his arms in a second. I was kissing every part of his body I could find, his lips, his hands, his rugged beard, his—

Hold on— I didn’t date Zack Morris during the campaign. I meant Chuck Norris! Sorry, I get those two confused.

Carson Daly.

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 15:43:50 -0400

I used to date Carson Daly.

I don’t want to talk about it.

Please don’t judge me.

Darth Vader.

Sat, 05 Sep 2009 12:37:21 -0400

I used to date Darth Vader. He used the Force, but I didn’t press charges. I was wearing a short skirt, so really, I was asking for it.

Harry Potter.

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 00:06:00 -0400

I used to date Harry Potter. It was ten years after Voldemort fell. I was spending a year in London working at Flourish and Blott’s. I can’t remember how I wrangled an invitation— a friend of a friend, I think.

I saw him early in the evening. He smiled at me and I looked away. Even among American wizards, he’s famous, and I’m never one to fawn over celebrities. Perhaps that’s because I’ve had so many of them inside me. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Anyway.

I was standing innocently beside the refreshment table, trying to decide between a Chocolate Frog and a handful of Bertie Bott’s when I heard a whisper on my neck.

“Pumpkin pasty?”

I turned and there he was, scar and all.

“It seems the Boy Who Lived is no longer a boy at all,” I said.

He laughed and that pleased me.

“Good of you to notice. Not everybody does. Guess there’s no need for introductions, but I’m Harry, and you are delightful.”

He offered his hand. I bent mine into his and he kissed it.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” I replied. “I feel as if I should thank you.”

“I’ll take it, certainly. What for?”

I tried not to notice that the scar did not diminish his handsome features. It enhanced them, if anything.

“For saving the wizarding world, of course.”

There are things you never hear about legends. You never hear that they’re suave and clever and could get your back on a mattress in twenty minutes flat. The stories speak of adventure and duels and Great Plans thwarted or successful. They leave out the marital problems and the wandering eyes. His ginger wife was nowhere to be seen. There’s no name or face as famous as Harry’s in all the wizarding world and no story more familiar, yet he still somehow surprised me.

We spent the next three weeks nude in my flat, uttering spells filthier than any Unforgivable.

He made promises, as men do. Especially married men.

“I’ll leave her,” he’d say. “I’ll move us to America and I’ll ravish you six times a day. We’ll never be part of stories or legends again. We’ll leave it all behind and we’ll travel and experice anything and everything the world has to offer.”

“Promises, promises,” I’d say, brushing him off. Although secretly, I believed him.

Eventually, it all came crashing down, as it always does. I was sucking him off in my kitchen when he said, “Stop.”

I paused, my mouth full of cock.

“Ginny’s pregnant.”

I knew instantly he wasn’t stating a fact, he was ending it, breaking every promise he ever made me. I knew I would never see him again.

I bit his dick. Hard.

There was screaming, there was shouting, there were tears. Then he left. As for his dick, he had it Healed, of course.

Magic can be useful like that.

Kevin Bacon

Sun, 30 Aug 2009 22:32:50 -0400

I used to date Kevin Bacon.

Okay, you caught me, no, I didn’t technically date Kevin Bacon. But in the early eighties I did date Spyder Giraldo, who later married Pat Benatar. Bill Paxton then starred in Pat’s music video for “Shadows of the Night” as a Nazi radio officer. A few years after that, Bill was in Apollo 13 with Kev.

So yeah, I basically dated Kevin Bacon.

President Barack Obama.

Sat, 29 Aug 2009 15:34:15 -0400

I used to date President Barack Obama. It was the cold winter of 1979. The frigid temperatures were unusual for Honolulu, but I’ve always enjoyed winter fashion. Barry was on the cusp of manhood, only a few months away from his high school graduation. I’d ducked into a small cafe on the coast to catch my breath and artfully rearrange my scarf when a young man asked me for a light.

“Sure,” I said as I began to rummage through my purse.

I was so caught up in searching the insane depths of the bag that it wasn’t until I had retrieved the lighter and turned to hand it to him that I looked him full in the face. I tried not to tremble as I passed him the flame.

“Thanks,” he said, with a thousand-watt grin that should have melted the icy island into the rest of the Pacific.

“A clove?” I asked when I saw his cigarette was black and recognized the scent.

“Yeah, you want one?”

“I’ve got my own.”

I pulled one out of my purse and he lit it for me before returning my lighter.

Again, he smiled.

We spent that entire afternoon in a secluded corner of that cafe, smoking and trying every hot drink on the menu. Cappucinos, lattes, teas, I’ve no idea what all we drank. It was one of the more memorable days of my life. Young as he was, there was an innocent maturity behind his eyes, and a wisdom in his laugh.

The next two months were unforgettable. I have always treasured them. I’ll gladly tell anyone that I used to date Barack and the cigarette kinship that brought us together, but the rest of our story is one I’ll take to the grave.

I’d be lying if I said I knew then all he would come to accomplish, although I can’t say I’m surprised at all.

We don’t speak as often as either of us would like. He’ll call, somtimes, if he needs a lift or a laugh, and I do my best to have him crack that smile so bright I can nearly hear it through the phone.

Your mom.

Sat, 29 Aug 2009 02:16:00 -0400

I used to date your mom. It was right after we met. You left your iPod in my car. While you were at work, she called and asked if she could retrieve it.

“Of course,” I said. I offered to drop it off at your place.

It was late on a Tuesday afternoon that summer. I arrived, in a sweatshirt and tee, around four, and she let me in. I dropped your iPod on the coffee table in the living room, and the next thing I knew, she was upon me.

The following hours were a blur of childlike mischief and forbidden lust. The next few weeks were a haze of secret sexting and x-rated video iChats.

I didn’t know we’d become such close friends. I didn’t know she’d come to mean so much to me. About a month into our budding friendship, your mom said we couldn’t see each other any more.

“My child is the most important thing in my world.” she said. “As long as you two are friends, we can’t be together. It’s dirty and wrong.”

I went down on her for an hour.

“That can’t happen again,” she insisted.

And she was right. She left me that cold Friday night, and I haven’t seen her since. I wish I could say that it was worth it, sacrificing my relationship with her for my relationship with you, but you know what they say about comparing apples with fucking your mom.

It’s just no comparison, friend.