Thanks in part to a last-minute appearance by one G.D. Gearino, my inaugural High Pointe Chase - An Exclusive McClatchey Community - Clothing Optional Hot Tub Party was one for the books.

Despite the fact that my blanket invitation to the entire development spawned not one RSVP, a good time was had by all. And by “all” I mean some of my old buddies up from Atlanta and the six hookers (er, escorts) I hired off the internet for the evening’s festivities. Gearino, you really let me down on this one - that chick’s phone number you gave me had been re-assigned to pet sitting service.

And none of my buds could get dates either. Hell, I figured they’ed make a love connection on the bus ride up. Been my experience that you can meet a nice class of women on Greyhound. Not this time.

Ah what the hell, my Amex was up to the task and G.D. came through in the end like the champ he is.

The evening started out pretty good. Doffed our duds and hit the tub. The stated capacity is six, but we got eight in with no problem. A bit tight it was, which has its good points and bad: lotsa incidental contact with the ladies- which was good. But I got blamed for numerous occurrences of underwater flatulence that was for the most part, unwarranted.

Watched a little video porn on my betamax. “Eeewwwww!” the girls would scream. Feigning disgust over a skin flick is so disingenuous. Hell, all of them girls coulda served as technical advisors. “She’s doing that wrong! Everybody knows that when you do it with two guys and a goat…” You get the idea.

Apparently, a bunch of naked middle-aged guys, soused to the gills on Wild Turkey and Coke who take turns goin’ to the head every 20 minutes provide less than stimulating companionship. Even to remunerated companions. By twenty one thirty (that’s 9:30 pm to you) the ladies were ready to give us a refund for the last two hours and call it a night.

Here’s where Gearino comes through for us.

Hope to “see you” there.

I put that on all the invitations.

Can you get me a date? You being a writer, you must know a lotta chicks. She doesn’t have to be a real looker. Just open minded with a good sense of humor and a nice rack.

Thanks man.

I know you’re thinking “You forgot to give me the date, numbmuts!”. Didn’t forget; haven’t set one yet. The ‘tub needs a bit of maintenance - cleaning the filter and a general dousing with an industrial-strength disinfectant. The HOA again. Somebody complained about an obnoxious odor. So they blame me.

Remember that time I asked if you could let me hold a couple grand - interest free - for a year or two? I don’t recall if you lent it to me or not. If you did, thanks again, dude.

Welcome to the neighborhood G. Dan! That’s right, pal. I’m one street over; the culdesac next to the clubhouse - 17555 Cherry Pointe Drive. Two-story brick Tudor with the batting cage in the front yard. HOA’s not too pleased with me right about now. Cry me a river. The cage stays, dammit.

I can see into your kitchen window from my deck (if I use my binoculars).

Normally this neck ‘o the woods is a bit upscale for a piker such as myself. As it happens, I recently came into some money. A windfall, I believe it’s called. I won’t bore you with the details. Besides, I’m trying to mitigate my tax liability (if you know what I mean) so the less said about my good fortune, the better.

When do you want to get together? Croquet anyone? Horseshoes? Warm milk perhaps? How about some Ovaltine? Young Frankenstein again. You wanna borrow my DVD? Hey, maybe we can watch it together!

This is the beginning of a beautiful relationship. I can feel it. Can you feel it?