George Harrison received head while not once putting down his ukulele.
George Harrison was sitting in the corner of the library at this particular party, playing a song on the ukulele. Though I was a child during the Beatlemania days, I can still remember watching their movie, A Hard Day's Night, on television with my older sister. I knew my mom would have been especially impressed with the fact that I had met someone as famous as he, from her era. What I didn't know was that George Harrison was married. Not that it would have mattered one bit to me at the time. But normally I would have recognized that got-to-have-it-now urgency and figured it out. Many married men attended these parties and they were easy to spot. Their body language seemed to be shouting, "It's now or never, so hurry up. I have only so much time before I have to pick up the kids from school, so let's get on with it."
George Harrison was not one for small talk. This living legend let his needs be known early into our introduction. His first words, cockney accent and all, went something like this, "Come upstairs with me, luv, and give me a blow job." I was surprised at his frankness. But I figured, probably like a thousand women before me, When will I have another chance to blow a Beatle? I decided to comply.
It didn't take long for him to direct my lips to his "British banger." He was definitely not the most romantic man in the world, but I guess a guy like George Harrison doesn't have to be. This superstar has probably had sex with hundreds, if not thousands, of young women all over the world during his stellar career.
What I found strange, however, was that the entire time I sucked him off, he kept playing that damned ukulele. My mind was racing. Should I interrupt his strum with small talk? He was acting very matter-of-fact, as if he were transfixed on a rugby match and couldn't be bothered by what I was doing. As he reached orgasm, he ended the song with a grand strum. I didn't know whether to applaud or swallow.
I did both.
I have been told that I give some of the best oral sex in Beverly Hills. It was something clients expected from a high-priced call girl. Technique separates the wheat from the chaff, and it separates the sixty-dollar blow jobs from an expensive ten-grand-a-night call girl like I was. Not that I was paid for my services that night, mind you. Money was never discussed.
But I wasn't prepared for what George did next. Without missing a lick (on his ukulele), he started in on another song! No "Thank you," no "That was great," nothing. I didn't have to watch him play for long, because he got up and started walking down the stairs, still fingering that ukulele. I wondered how many women he had done this to. He just took sex for granted. I was left standing there with the taste of him still in my mouth.
Naturally, George didn't even pretend he wanted to please me. I didn't care because I was on coke and wasn't feeling sexy. It says a lot, however, about George Harrison's arrogance— and the attitude toward women that he shares with many rock stars and other male celebrities-that during the whole experience, he never even asked my name.
