Headhunters. Nearly naked savages with bones in their noses, shaking spears and proudly displaying their gruesome trophies, right? Nah, something ever weirder...and they were after your beloved Darklady mere months ago.

For those of you who don’t know, a headhunter is a slang term for a person (or group of people) who looks for talented people to fill job openings. I guess I’m a talented people because my head got hunted. Yippee.

When the Internet-related company in question contacted me (their name shall remain unuttered for a lot of freaky reasons) I had never heard of them. After a couple conversations with them, I wasn’t surprised. I was hearing the voices of youth, inexperience, poor social skills and lots of money coupled with exciting new technology. I was also hearing someone offering to fly me to Seattle for an interview. I’d never flown and they were offering to pay so, what the hell.

So I got my first airplane ride. I loved it. I hated it. I can’t wait to do it again. I had a religious experience flying over all those wonderful clouds and watching the shadow of the airplane soar above them. The clouds looked like ice floes and the sky looked like water. All this without the aid of drugs. And best of all, the plane didn’t crash.

When I got to the Emerald City I was picked up by a handsome young blond with a BMW. That young driver had more personality than the entire headhunting company combined. You’d think people in the sex industry would be ripe with personality. Once I reached the office I got to sit on my delectable ass for over an hour. Prompt and personable. I hate it when my bad first impressions are right.

The offices were fancy and featured that trendy, souless art bought from a catalog that I loathe. Another strike. The business owner (when he finally granted me an audience) had an incredibly noisy nasal ailment. Some would find it distracting at best, really gross at less than best. Worse, he’d apparently never done more than glance at Exotic. Attention to detail, another vital business trait this company lacked. But they offered me a fair amount of cash, so I had to give it some thought.

When I was turned loose, lunchless in a strange city, after a briskly surreal Q & A session, I decided to shop my beloved U District. Gotta go to Gargoyles, gotta go to that huge head shop with all the t-shirts, gotta learn how to use the Seattle bus system without flashcards or interpretive dances. Had a blast and even got back into downtown in time to have a sexual adventure involving a barely English speaking cab driver. Let’s just say that, after providing him with a requested educational speech on anal sex, I was assured that he would be going around the corner, parking and jacking off to my memory. He even offered me a free ride to the airport. Ungrateful bitch that I am, I declined.

To make a short story long, I decided to stay. There just aren’t that many chances for a writer to be part of an intelligent, sexy and creative magazine. (Can I have a raise now, boss?) So here I am, in the month of my birth, saying that flying was fun, but it’s nice to have Portland soil underneath my feet.

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This is reprinted from Exotic Magazine © 1996 X Publishing