Another entry in my month-long celebration of all things Halloween

Previously, I blogged about how I dated a Korean American Nazi. If only my bizarrely pathetic dating history ended there, but it doesn’t. There’s so much more. In fact, the next woman I got involved with after the Nazi may have arguably been worse. It’s one thing to date someone who is a racist—more or less, I know how to deal with that. But what do you do when the woman you’re dating suddenly reveals herself as the bride of Satan?

It was a few months after my experience with the Nazi and I was starting a new playwriting workshop. There was this really hot woman in the class. She wasn’t a Goth chick exactly but she was the type who always wore black and talked about how beautiful decay and death could be. Believe it or not, at the time I thought that was a turn-on. For now, let’s call this woman “Dahlia.”

Dahlia was an actress. She had been a regular on a prime-time sitcom but when her show got cancelled, she decided to try her hand at playwriting. Her first play had been produced with her in the starring role and she had enjoyed the experience and wanted to continue writing.

It was clear from the start that Dahlia was very ambitious and as I would soon learn, she really knew how to use her sexuality to get what she wanted. When she submitted her scripts, she would include her headshot. No writer does this because most of us look like we haven’t left our parents’ basement in thirty years. But she did and it seemed to work for her (it helped that she looked real good in her pictures).

This was also during the time I was writing for TV and Dahlia also had an interest in writing for that medium. She made it to the finals of the Walt Disney Fellowship (I’m sure her headshot helped get her that far) and when she learned I had previously made it to the finals as well, she asked if she could take me out to lunch to pick my brain before her interview with the Disney executives. I said yes, of course. Even then I knew she was probably just using me to get information to help with her career prospects, but so what? No reason to turn down a free lunch with a beautiful woman.

So we have our lunch and I find that I really like her and the feeling seems to be mutual. But then she drops the bomb—she’s in a relationship with someone already and they are living together. Dahlia tells me her boyfriend is much older—in his 60s (she is in her mid-20s)—and that he is a successful architect who designed a lot of key structures in L.A. which shall remain nameless lest I give away everyone’s real identities. OK, I guess I’m not getting lucky, I thought to myself. But she seemed to genuinely want to hang out and we did click so when she invited me up to her place the following weekend to “discuss writing” when her “old man” was out of town on business, I thought it was just an innocent invitation. 

I show up at her place high up in the Hollywood Hills the following Saturday night and the house is spectacular with this magnificent view of the city. It was a clear and lovely night so we could see all the way to the Pacific Ocean. We’re admiring this view on her patio, sipping expensive red wine and I notice the hot tub in the corner is on and bubbling.

She says to me, “Do you want to get in the hot tub and we can talk about writing there?” Now, I am naïve and innocent in the ways of seduction. So when she said she wanted to climb into the hot tub and discuss writing, I thought she meant she wanted to climb into the hot tub and discuss writing. After all, she had a serious boyfriend so there’d be nothing sexual implied, right? In fact, my first thought was, how am I going to bring my notepad in there without getting it wet?

Even when she took off all her clothes and climbed buck naked into the tub, I thought she was just getting comfortable in anticipation of the deep, intense conversation we were going to have on the mechanics of writing. So I figured when in Rome—and removed my clothes and climbed in too, making sure to carefully position my notepad so as to avoid maximum splash-age.

Well, in about five seconds, I realized she wasn’t interested in discussing writing unless she planned to do it with her tongue halfway own my throat. Once I knew what was about to happen…again if I’m in Rome, hell, I may as well visit the vomitorium (sorry, not sure if that metaphor makes sense at all but it sounded cool). But as the passion was intensifying and we were about to do the deed, she suddenly said something that confused me:

“Santa approves of our union.”

I stopped. Did I hear that right? Santa approves of our union? Is she into some kinky Christmas shit ‘cause I could definitely be down with that. I smiled and said something stupid like “Maybe we can also bring some elves to videotape you decking my balls.”

Now, it was her turn to stop and stare at me inquisitively. “Satan approves of our union,” she repeated; clarifying what she originally said. What?! SATAN? Is she referring to the fucking Satan? The Prince of Darkness? “I’ll possess you and make you spew pea soup all over a priest” Satan?! Maybe it was the mood lighting or I imagined it, but when I looked into her eyes, I started to get chills down my spine. Her face seemed to change and she looked more like…oh, I don’t know—SATAN!

Needless to say, no consummation occurred and we soon ended up fully clothed in her living room where she shared with me literature about the Church of Satan, founded by Anton Levay, of which she was an active member. Dahlia explained to me that Satanism was misunderstood—that they did not sacrifice babies and animals or do any weird, evil shit. In fact they were as normal as any other religion. She somehow managed to convince me of this and since I like to think of myself as open-minded, I decided I wouldn’t negatively judge her or this experience.

Anton Levay, the late founder of the Church of Satan

Nothing else happened that night and I went home. Dahlia called the next day and asked if I’d like to go out to lunch. Like with the Nazi chick, I should’ve just ended it there but, well, she was smoking hot and the memory of her amazing “I clearly haven’t had a baby yet” nude body and her tongue in my throat was too powerful to resist. And I have to admit that I was curious if being a Satanist made her more of a freak in bed. Only one way to find out.

At lunch, Dahlia seemed her normal, cool self again. She said her “old man” was out of town again the following Friday and invited me over. But then, I noticed she had this habit which made me a bit uncomfortable–she’d occasionally preface her statements with the phrase “And Satan says..”

“And Satan says I should go to Europe next year.” “And Satan says for my next script, I should write a romantic comedy for Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks.” “And Satan says today feels like a decaf day.” OK, I’ll go through a lot to get laid, but this just ain’t right. I mean—is it just an expression like “Oh my God” or “I thought I was gonna die?” or was she actually on speaking terms with the Prince of Darkness? I didn’t ask and just nodded as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Again, this is where things should have ended, but I agreed to come by the following Friday night.

When I arrived at Dahlia’s place, no one was answering the front door, but I noticed the gate to the back patio open. Perhaps she was already in the hot tub waiting for me, I thought in the throes of full horniness, and proceeded to go around back. But before I even got there, I was hit by this rank smell. I have no idea what it was; and I don’t want to even imagine, but it was foul.

The whole patio was lit by torches and it created an eerie glow. Suddenly, I got very scared and one thought flashed through my mind: I AM ABOUT TO BECOME A HUMAN FUCKING SACRIFICE!

OK, time to leave. I turned to get the fuck out of there and that’s when I saw Dahlia. She was dressed in a black wedding dress and had this creepy smile on her face. “And Satan says it’s the right time for us.” Right time for what, you crazy Satanic bitch?! This time, I was smart and didn’t stick around to find out. I booked out of there.

Dahlia never tried to contact me after that, much to my relief, though I spent the next few weeks being more aware than usual of my environment; sleeping with one eye open. Our writing class had ended so luckily I didn’t have to see her there either. But that wasn’t the last of her.

A few years ago, I was watching TV and there she was. Dahlia was now a regular cast member on a new and soon-to-be popular prime-time series and is currently something of a TV star. The irony is that on this show, she plays an innocent, all-American girl. I guess she’s a better actor than a writer. Little do the millions of viewers all across America who tune in to her every week suspect her true identity as the bride of Satan.