Ten years ago I was just getting into the hobby. There was a smoking hot Asian gal who had good reviews working at an agency before going indy. I made a date and she had me meet her at her loft in a Bohemian part of town.

I'm originally an East Coast city boy who can dig on scruffy so I was OK with the surroundings until she let me into her place. There's scruffy and Bohemian and then there is just sloppy and dirty... she had seven spoiled Siamese cats and the whole apartment smelled like a cat box that needed to be changed last week. I caught a fleeting glance of the kitchen and looked elsewhere trying to not kill the buzz of anticipation.

She has a beautiful face and a tight, petite body, but we were not tuned to the same station. On the phone she asked me what to wear and I said use your imagination thinking in terms of garter belt and stockings or bikini or maybe a see-through negligee. Her full length evening gown and opera gloves threw me further off my game. We sat on the couch to chat, but it was hopeless. Her English was better than some other Asian providers I've seen, but we just were not connecting. I felt like I was trying to talk with Goldie Hawn while one of us was tripping on [moderated].

We got to her bedroom which had two queen mattresses side by side on the floor and the linens were not very fresh. My hopes picked up when she got that goddamned gown off because she has the kind of body I crave. And hey, the crazy ones are the hottest in bed, right? Not this time Beastie Boy.

We started making out but she was not very proactive so I tried to get things moving with some DATY which I'm usually pretty good at. We were getting settled in and she was starting to moan when she suddenly popped her head up yelling "Cat!"

Sure enough there was a cat on either side of me nuzzling my thighs. The fucking bedroom door only seemed to latch, but the cats had learned they could push their way in and another couple were coming in to check out the action. We shooed them off and closed the door again getting back to business. That lasted about three minutes before they were back with reinforcements.

This happened a couple more times until I sort of threw a few of them through the air careful to not bounce them off the opposite wall although I was ready to. I barricaded the door as best I could and went back to DATY. She got into it and we seemed to be finding a groove and I thought she got off. Then she suddenly half sat up yelling "Cat!" again. The little fuckers muscled their way through the door one more time.

So I pushed them out and set a night table and lamp against the fucking door.

I went down on her again and I'm pretty sure she got her rocks off that time so I asked her to return the favor. She told me to kneel on the bed and put on a ribbed condom that felt thick as a dishwashing glove and it sounded like the fucking cats were hitting the door with a battering ram.

She finally started giving me some French, but between the cat box smell, the thick condom and the felines storming the Bastille, I was not very responsive. She asked me what was wrong and I said I was having a hard time getting in the mood.

She looked at me all sorrowful and sad like a war orphan saying, "Oh, that hurt my ego."

What could I say? Mine wasn't doing very well either.

I actually don't remember much beyond that point. I know I made some lame excuse and left, but I don't remember details. Probably a PTSD dissociation thing.