[Continued from "TT, Part 1."]

TT and I became good friends.  He introduced me to his group of friends, whom he picked up over the years at prep school, Yale, and beyond.  I was the youngest of the group, and the least educated.  I liked being the youngest because everyone seemed to treat me like a shiny new toy.  At the time I was going to junior college and had designs on college and beyond so I didn’t feel particularly inferior, even to the guy who was literally a rocket scientist.

I tagged along on various outings with TT and the group.  A few members of the group either had attended or were attending Caltech so we went to the Athenaeum for brunch and drinks on a few occasions.  We went to parties at houses with gorgeous views of downtown LA.  When TT’s parents were out of town he had a party at his childhood home, a gorgeous brick number in the old money section of Pasadena.

The parents of one of the group members had a beach house in La Fonda, Baja California, Mexico.  We drove down with supplies, stopped in Rosarito for fish tacos, fresh tortillas, and alcohol, and then ensconced ourselves in the house for a few days.  The house was more like a cabin.  It was small and rustic, but it had a working kitchen and electricity.  Our days consisted of hanging out on the patio that had a footprint as large as the house proper.  Sometimes we’d go down to the beach as well, but the patio was much more attractive for a number of reasons.

There was almost always someone in the kitchen making some sort of creative quesadilla to share with everyone.  Between snacks – and, to be fair, with the snacks – there were drinks.  Lots of drinks.  TT prided himself on making tasty cocktails that once we knew the ingredients we were loathe to drink.  But we always drank them because they really were good, and, you know, had lots of alcohol.  But he put in some nasty booze, like rompope.  Finally, the patio was surrounded by a low wall that provided us with a bit of privacy so we could spend most of our time at least partially undressed.

TT wanted to be naked all the time and wanted everyone else to be naked as well.  Actually, he didn’t much care if the other men got naked.  He wanted the ladies to lose their inhibitions and their clothes.  Alcohol helped, of course, but that wasn’t enough for TT.  He also created situations where clothing had to be removed.  We played strip hearts.  If you’ve ever played hearts then you know it’s not very conducive to stripping.  I suppose if someone successfully shoots the moon then everyone else could be made to strip, but otherwise it’s a little tricky.

However, TT was not to be dissuaded.  He instituted a set of rules that practically guaranteed that he’d see some tits, ass, and bush (because in the early 1990s people still had bush).  If the dealer accidentally dealt more than one card at a time?  Take something off.  If a player had a card of the suit that was in play but didn’t play it (which is cheating, by the way)?  Take something off.  If a player unsuccessfully shot the moon?  Take something off.  It was humid there at the beach in Baja California, Mexico, so the cards often stuck together, making dealing an extremely dangerous notion – if one wanted to keep her clothes on, that is.

Eventually, I became TT’s tenant.  He owned a duplex in Altadena.  Each unit had two bedrooms.  TT lived in his unit alone, and later with the girlfriend who first met me when TT was wooing me; I moved in with Chris, who, at the time, was getting a Ph.D. from Caltech.  The fun continued after I moved in.

[To be continued ….]

I swear.  True story.

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