Pump Up D'Angelo

Rip It Up, Issue 171, 1 October 1991, Page 38

Pump Up D'Angelo

Like most subscribers I avidly ' read the Forum section each '. month, enjoying it immensely. But like most readers I always thought the letters were made up — that is until recently when certain events (which I'm about to unfold) happened. As a writer for a local music magazine most of my friends think I lead a pretty glamorous life — the truth is just the opposite, nothing much ever happens to me! Sure, I get to' interview major international rock stars every week but it's usually by phone and they've usually done a hundred other "phoners" before you. They're jaded and bored, which hardly rouses me to be excited in what they have to say. In fact recently I interviewed Axl Rose from GNR but he was such a wally I couldn't even be bothered writing it up. I suppose I'm just a regular guy, after

a hard day's yakka on the typewriter it's home for a bite to eat and then a quick workout on my home Nautilus before retiring to bed. Sure, other journos are still downing a dozen Miller's at their local boozer or being filmed with their seven darling children on TV but I'd much rather get a good night's sleep so as to recharge the old Energisers. Anyway, to cut a long story short our video reviewer was bailed up in hospital having his leg removed after a tattooing accident so the editor asked me to take over his assignments. Seems American actress Nina Hartley was in town to promote her new video. I'd never heard of her before but ever willing to take on new challenges I said yes and took off uptown for the interview. At first I thought I'd got the address wrong because I'd arrived at a Porno Video Shop in the backstreets of K Road, but I went in anyway. Well, you can imagine my surprise when I discovered the smiling face of Nina Hartley staring out at me from the

cover of one of those videos with the big redß] 8 stickers on it. I was shocked, but elected to follow this story through. In the corner of the shop was a large group of men and as I pushed my way through I discovered Nina Hartley posing butt naked for Polaroids. She was sitting on one man's lap with all the other men clamouring behind the photographer to get a look—in. There was lot to see. The photographer asked "Who's next?" and she must have misheard my burp as a "Me, me, pick me— I'm next!" because I suddenly found myself pushed by the other men into the now vacant chair only to be quickly straddled by Nina. I'd only just sat down when I was blinded by the popping flashgun, pulled from the chair, handed a Polaroid, and asked for sls. "F—F—Fifteen dollars??" I stammered. I tried to explain that I didn't have any money and had really only come for an interview, but this only angered the photographer more. Tell him to wait behind 1 said Nina, "I'll deal with him after I've finished with these boys". There was menace in her voice, but a twinkle in her eye, and I knew I was in for something most men only dream about. Something inside me said I was just kidding myself, but then again she did seem to be rushing through all those men — obviously wanting to get a moment alone with me. Sure enough, no sooner were they out the door when she sidled up to me and breathed softly. "So you've come here to interview me? Sorry but I've got to catch a plane to Christchurch for an interview down there this afternoon. Hey, don't look so sad - you can have the photo for free!" And with that she turned around and left the room. Looking down at my Polaroid I saw she had lovingly signed it 'NINA'. Quick to realise the babe was hot for me (I mean, she autographed my photo) I rushed out onto the street just as Nina was climbing into a taxicab. Our hands met as she tried to free my fingers from her half-opened window. It was as if we'd both been struck by lightning at the same time. There was a chemistry between us, we both knew it, nothing needed to be said. But she said it anyway: "Ow! let go!" she purred. As her taxi sped away I heard her call out: "If you want to see more come to the show tonite!" Wow, I couldn't believe my luck. A chance meeting with a blonde buxom beauty from the exciting world of Adult Entertainment and of all the men she'd met in her time she wanted me to join her at the strip club that night. I was giddy with anticipation all afternoon. Turning up around 10pm at the Firehouse I got the usual aggro from the doorstaff. It happens at every gig I try to review. I tried to explain that / was Nina's guest and that she had invited me to join her backstage but they insisted there was no guest list and I'd have to pay S2O like everyone else. Knowing full well that Nina had put my name on the door but the doorman was a moron, I grudgingly parted with my money and went inside.

Taking a seat in the front row (some sleazy pervert had already taken front row centre) I awaited the main event. The show began with some of the local strippers who were cute enough but weren't Nina. They gave me the wink and I gave it right back, figuring why break their hearts just because I was with Nina? They were like bitches on heat. I'd have to cut back on the Brut 33 next time I went out, it got embarrassing. Even the bargirls were asking me if I'd like a drink. Being a real man I couldn't accept them paying for me, but instead I asked if I could buy them a drink. Being typical kiwi girls they took my money and I never saw them again! In next to no time Nina Hartley burst on stage to thunderous applause and started her routine. Being the professional entertainer that she is, she pretended to ignore me as she worked the crowd. It was like foreplay— I'd hoot and holler and she'd move to the other side of the room! Pretty soon she was down to almost nothing. Waving a crispy fifty I soon had her plonked down on the cat walk in front of me. Taking my money she gestured for me to undo the ties on the sides of her red satin knickers. Pausing only to give a big knowing smile to all the other men in the audience I lent forward and attempted to remove the ties with my teeth. Giving me a playful smack in the head she told me I was a naughty boy and moved away. "I love it when you talk dirty" I roared back, the audience laughing (with me!) She certainly seemed to like the rough stuff, giving me a kick with her stiletto everytime I leaned overthe catwalk to touch her. Being a nineties sort of guy I was happy to do whatever got her off. Realising her routine was almost over and I'd seen all there was to see I left my seat and tried to go backstage. I was foiled by that moron from the door again. He must have been jealous because as soon as I showed him my Polaroid of Nina and I (proof positive that I was her man) he threw me down the steps, out the door, and told the bouncers not to let me back in. I waited till around 4am but there was no sign of Nina. That bastard probably told her I'd left and then snuck her out a back dood Calling it a night I caught a cab home and crawled into bed — alone. But I wasn't alone for long, nosirree. I was just dozing off when I was awakened by the unmistakeable figure of Nina Hartley creeping into my bed. Wow! It was hard to imagine she'd rung up every cab company in Auckland, giving them a description of me to find out where I lived. Hard to imagine too that she'd managed to find her way into my house without disturbing my flatmates or waking my Pit Bull Corgi. But she had and she was here, in my bed! Still half asleep it was like a dream, but it was beautiful. When I awoke she was gone, leaving nothing but the wet spot to remind me of her visit in the night. What happened that night I'll leave to your imagination — or until my next letter! NAME AND ADDRESS WITHHELD