Holly Randall Welcomes In The New Year With A Man She Values
Amber (Suze.net webmistress), Holly Amber, Holly Holly, Hollywood director Zev Berman, Melissa from Pleasurechest.com Suze Randall with her youngest child Lucy Lucy, Suze Lucy, Suze Suze, Penthouse Pet Crystal Klein Suze, Crystal Holly with her ex-boyfriend Brian and his wife Rosie Holly, Rosie, Brian Crystal, Holly, Rosie, Brian Crystal, Holly Crystal, Holly, Rosie Crystal, Holly, Rosie Holly and Rich (Crystal Klein's fiancee) Holly, Rich Crystal Klein Crystal Crystal Crystal pic pic Holly gets a refill on champagne Holly hoists champagne Brooke Haven, Holly Brooke, Holly Brooke, Holly Holly and her dad Humphry Knipe Holly, Humphry pic pic pic Nick, Suze, Jackie Suze with her son Nick and his girlfriend Jackie Nick, Suze, Jackie Nick, Suze Nick, Suze
Thursday, Dec 29. 9am. A friend IMs me. "Are you coming to Holly's party Saturday? You guys are so right for each other. I can't wait to see you in action."
"That's the first I've heard about it," I reply. "So I guess not."
I email Holly the first sentence of the IM I received. Six hours later, she calls me back. "Of course you can come, darling. It's an annual party. We don't even bother to send out invites. I forgot to tell you."
Saturday it rains, sometimes hard. I figure I'll skip the party.
Saturday night, the rain ends. I call Holly for the zip code of her parents' home.
She's distracted. She obviously has one hundred things on her mind aside from talking to me. But she eventually gives me the zip code and I use Yahoo maps as a complement to her explicit directions from Friday.
I start my drive tailed by two police cars (I check my pocket and realize I've left my wallet at home). Then they drop away. The 45-minute drive is smooth and sweet. I arrive at the home of Holly's parents at 9pm.
I park on the road and walk the third-of-a-mile uphill. A fancy import in front of me spins its wheels madly as it tries to mount the final hill.
As I approach the house, a tractor comes down the hill and though I scrunch to the side into the bushes as much as I can, there's still only a foot between its blade and me. I feel like the driver is toying with me.
The tractor stops beside me.
"Are you Luke?" asks Suze.
"Yes."
"You're the smart one parking down on the road.
"Go upstairs and say hi to Holly. She's curling her hair. Go right in."
"Thank you."
"I'm going to grade the driveway one more time."
"Bye."
I walk in the house and introduce myself to Holly's father Humphry Knipe.
"Hi," he says.
"Where can I get a drink?" I ask.
"Around the corner."
I round the corner. The bartender tells me if I want water, it's around the corner.
I round that corner, see nothing, then round another corner outside.
Humphry
comes out.
"Where could I find some water?"
"What type of water?" he asks.
"Regular flat water."
"Just round the corner inside."
I retrace my footsteps and find the water cooler. I have a stiff drink of flat water and then sit down in a corner in the livingroom.
Ten minutes go by. I kick myself for not wearing a belt so that my jeans would be tight enough to hold Ask Albert Ellis? Straight Answers and Sound Advice from America's Best-Known Psychologist against my bum for easy access in times of boredom and crisis.
I look around the room and see no books.
Amber (Suze.net webmistress, she started the site in 1996) is the first person to really talk to me. The poor girl has taken a whipping on my site over the past couple of weeks (none of it directed by me at her, just my quoting webmasters annoyed and disgusted with the suze.net webmaster program).
"You're the one who told Holly that because I like the Dallas Cowboys, I must be a fag."
"That wasn't me," lies Amber.
She's sweet. She's kind. She's beautiful. She makes me feel at home.
Eventually Holly (holding a nearly-empty beer bottle) comes down and welcomes me. She's stoned (she began the day smoking marijuana resin, all that was left in her pipe, it's much stronger than regular grass, and the friend she shared it with is still knocked out twelve hours later with a ringing headache) and drunk and dressed like a hooker. I love that.
Luke: "Who did you give bad pot to?"
Holly: "Today? We smoked some resin. I told her this is all I've got. If you want some, you can smoke some."
What I love even more is to watch her spending the evening exchanging caresses with the dozen or so men at the party that she's fucked.
But this is not to say that she does not make distinctions. It's most important for her to be with her ex-boyfriend and coworker Chris. She needs to repeatedly hold on to him right in front of me. She needs to repeatedly break away from talking to me to drape herself over him and whisper in his ear. I love that because they were so wonderful when they were a couple. Nary an unkind word or thoughtless action.
If the only pictures I got to see of Holly locked in embrace with ex-boyfriends (ones I repeatedly asked her to take down) were the ones in Holly's house and on her website, that would not be enough. I need to see it repeatedly in my face. That way I get the full effect and I realize how much I mean to her and how clearly she wants to communicate that to me.
During my sum total of 15-minutes with Holly, her mind is elsewhere. There are a hundred things and people at the party more important to her than me. The legs to the fire grill rate about a nine on her 1-10 scale of importance (ten being of premium importance). Getting refills of champagne is a ten for her. I feel that I rate about a two (along with the starving in Africa). The only time I can sustain her attention is when I aim the camera at her (or when she's reviewing her pictures in my viewfinder).
I spend most of my night talking to Holly's parents. I give them a brief sketch of my first eleven years.
They're every bit as charming as Holly promised they would be.
Holly told me when I first met her that her mom had eternally repented for writing her 1977 174-page memoir Suze because it burned so many bridges, particularly to Hugh Hefner and Playboy. Suze tells me she has no regrets about the book. Humphry says he'll happily get me a copy of it (and of his first book Pecking Order). I've been asking Holly to come up with them since I met her. She never has.
Humphry seems ambivalent about the burned bridges the book Suze created. He misses the weekly visits to the Playboy mansion. But he's glad helped build a bridge to Larry Flynt.
If I were to accept everything Holly's parents tell me as 100% true, then much of what Holly's told me about them is not true. Someone somewhere has flawed perceptions.
Porn is like a family. When we have better information about each other, we can make better decisions. Author Stephen Fried argues that every family would benefit from having a skilled journalist come in, get everyone's stories, fact-check them, and then lay out the facts. People often hate each other and refuse to talk to each other over false stories.
Meeting Holly's parents has made all the difference in my understanding of them and of her.
Knipe is working on a fascinating and controversial new novel about porn.
Suze does not like to read Humphry's work in progress and is afraid to offer any critique of it.
I largely talk to Humphry about writing. I tell him about rereading my late mother's book Fireside Stories.
"That's why you're so fucked up," he says. "Religion and losing your mother."
Humphry says that in the age of nuclear weapons and terrorism, religion could kill us all. He praises the recent book by Sam Harris, The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, and the Future of Reason.
I heard Harris demolished on Dennis Prager's radio show (August 16, 2004). It wasn't fair. Prager already knew all of Harris's arguments but poor Sam hadn't thought about Prager's challenges. Sam thought it had done so poorly in the debate, he asked Prager to come back on the show when he was better prepared.
I ask Humphry what percentage of people can live happily without religion.
"That's a good question," he says. He admits that many, maybe most, would not be able to do without it.
"They will seek substitute religions," I say, thinking of communism and Nazism which replaced Christianity as leading ideologies in Europe in the 20th Century. Those ideologies, based on hatred of God and religion, slaughtered far more people (over 100 million within 40 years) than all religious wars and persecutions in all of history put together.
"Sam lays out a framework for a secular humanist approach to life," says Humphry, "but I only skimmed over it."
"That sort of stuff will only appeal to a tiny number of intellectuals," I reply. "It's not a rubric for ordinary people to lead a meaningful and happy life."
"I'm happy without religion," says Humphry.
He says that he was motivated to write his Nero novel because he wanted to show the stupidity of religion.
"You regard astrology as a religion?"
"Yes. It is based on faith. There is no evidence for it."
"Does astrology have a moral code?"
"No."
"I've always thought of astrology as a pagan nature religion. I was disappointed that your book didn't link Christianity to its roots in Gnosticism and the pagan mystery religions. While the Christians took the Jewish Bible, all their uniquely Christian beliefs such as a god coming to earth and becoming man who dies for our sins and we can have eternal life if we eat his flesh and drink his blood, these beliefs are all Hellenic paganism."
Humphry repeatedly introduces me as the "famous internet scourge of the Adult industry."
He describes the tone of my writing as "vitriolic."
Suze Randall gets 291 words, and Holly Randall 125 words.
People must care more about porn than ideas.
Brooke Haven is recovering from a nasty flu. She comes to the party with Derek of LADM.
I meet Holly's ex-boyfriend Zev Berman, the Hollywood director, who comes with busty blonde publicist Melissa (she does a show on KSEXRadio.com every Tuesday called Baadmasters’ Dungeon) from thePleasureChest.com.
"Did you come here to get blackmail pictures?" Holly asks Zev.
"I already have all blackmail pictures I need," he laughs.
"Tell me more," I say.
"No," says Holly, looking guilty. "Let's not go there."
I meet Holly's ex-boyfriend XXX, an author, with his beautiful young wife.
At 11:45pm, I walk around the party until I find Holly by the bar. She's got a full eight-ounce cup of vodka (with a little cranberry juice).
I want to give things one last chance. Why go away mad when you can go away glad?
"Aren't you violating the rule you told me about Friday [she was painfully hungover on a week during which she had resolved not to drink, we went to breakfast]?" I ask. "That you should never have more than two types of alcohol drinks in a night?"
"Since when do I follow the rules?" she says.
"Good point."
As the crowd counts down the seconds to the new year, Holly and I lean against each other. She pulls out her camera.
She must want a picture of us bringing in the new year. She wants me. She wants to treasure me as I treasure her. She wants a picture of us to place in frames around her home instead of those of the 40 or so men who proceeded me into her.
But I'm wrong. She has no interest in me. She's not taken a picture of me all night. She wants a picture with Chris.
As we enter 2006, I turn to Holly to kiss her for the first time in three weeks, but I only see her back leaping in the air.
She wants to spend this precious time with someone she values.
Jumping from her seat, Holly hurls herself into Chris's arms and gives him a passionate kiss on the lips.
I turn away and leave her in the arms of people who want to fuck her.
If you are curious why Holly acts the way she does, you might want to research the term "love addict."
It's a cold and lonely 15-minute walk through the mud to my car. Midway down, I open up my zipper and take a long leak good-bye.
I arrive home at 1am and get on my computer.
Then I look down. I've tracked Holly's mud into my hovel. I vacuum and scrub but I can't get rid of the filth.
Her mud is all over my hovel, all over my shoes and jeans, and all over my life. It's time for a massive housecleaning. A New Year means a new beginning. I never make New Year's resolution, but this year I make one to clean the mud out of my life.
With the wisdom of hindsight, I now realize I should've stuck around so that I could've gotten in line and tasted Chris (and her other lovers) on Holly's lips. She did call my home at 12:24pm to say that she wanted to kiss me (along with about 20 other guys I'm sure).
What a glorious sensation it would've been to have tasted those drunken men on her mouth and breathe in their smell on her body.
With a few more drinks, I bet Chris, Holly and I could've smoothed our differences with a double-anal scene videotaped by her parents and lit by her siblings.
Just by hanging with Holly, I can feel what it's like to be banged by 40 guys.
Until Saturday night, I mainly saw Holly's previous lovers laid out on her refrigerator (and in frames in almost every room of her house, including the bedroom), on her website, and sometimes at parties (or those who just unexpectedly walk into her home when I'm with her, I guess they've been granted that right).
Now I've met a dozen of them in one night and gotten to see her do everything with them short of opening up an orifice and bringing them inside. I love that. I love how it makes me feel. I love dating and sleeping around. It's such a wonderful preparation for a lasting marriage.
Thanks to the miracle of the Internet, we can all enjoy the handsome visages of Holly's ex-boyfriends. It makes a man feel so special when he sees daily reminders of his girl's ex-lovers and gets to constantly hear about how much they mean to her (how she's canceling a snowboarding trip to host a birthday party for a boyfriend from seven years ago).
Though many people break up in anger, that is not true with Holly and I. Though twelve years my junior, she has taught me to not look back in anger, but in love.
Thus, it is with love in my heart that I lay out the following photo gallery that I've been forced to constantly confront since I met Holly, and visited her home and website. She's a special girl to be able to maintain such an intimate connection with so many men. (When I contemplate the wonder that even I rate a couple of pictures and a link, my heart swells with pride that I was such a special notch on her belt.)
Some people might read sarcasm into my commentary. They should not. Holly is the sweetest girl. She never did anything bad to me. That I was not more important to her is my problem, not her's. That I have had no appetite since DEC 11 is my problem, not her's. That I am a basketcase right now is my fault, not her's. Holly was only good to me. My problem was that I wanted more than she could give. I was not content with sloppy seconds, with tasting Chris's kiss on her lips. If only I wasn't so homophobic, I could've joined the gangbang fun.
Holly and Chris
Holly and her ex-boyfriend Zev.
Thomas Rifter (Chris) and Holly.
Holly with best-friend Angie and Thomas Rifter (Chris)
For too long, I have been afraid that I am the only person who truly appreciates these photos. Now it gives me great joy to share them with the world.
Holly had a heart -- how shall I say? -- too soon made glad, too easily impressed; she liked whatever she looked on, and her looks went everywhere. It was all one! My favor at her breast, the dropping of the daylight in the West, a bar tender, a movie director, a journalist, a professor, a dom. Each drew from her alike the approving speech, the blush, the blowjob.
She thanked men, -- good! but thanked somehow -- I know not how -- as if she ranked me with any other man. Who'd stoop to blame this sort of trifling? Even had you skill in speech -- (which I have not) -- to make your will quite clear to such a one, and say, "Just this or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, or there exceed the mark" -- and if she let herself be reproved, there would be some stooping, and I choose never to stoop.
She smiled, no doubt, whenever I with her; but who was with her without much the same smile?
Vilnii writes:
Amalek was wrong! In hindsight, Holly did not invite you over to her party to introduce you to her parents. You were invited because she wanted to make a point, and it appears she made sure you got the message. The good news is that what you feel now (well-written by the way) is as bad as it gets. In men, the emotions and hurt typically wear off quickly from here on.
You are getting suggestions from all over. It is amazing how everybody is trying to help you make it with Holly...but dude, the fact that you did not get an advance invitation to her New Year's Party is not a promising sign - even though you both seem perfectly matched. You may have to surrender and retreat here. It's been interesting to watch your intense withdrawal symptoms though. If Holly actually reads your site she must realize what effect she has had on you. I think she knows she has turned your head. Women can sense stuff like that.
Fred emails me questions and Amalek answers them for me:
1. Luke, do you think that the ex-boyfriends still have feelings (beyond mere friendship) for Holly?
1. Yes, they enjoyed having sex with her and likely would have sex with her again were the opportunity to present itself. In time, that will go for Luke, too.
2. Do you think Holly still has feelings (beyond mere friendship) for the ex-boyfriends?
2. Yes, she both liked having sex with them and she likes them as friends.
3. Do you think Holly derives any pleasure from putting all the ex-boyfriends in one room and watch as she gives attention to this one or that, with the possibility/likelihood of leaving at least a few of them in a state of angst?
3. Yes, as would we all.
4. Is the problem here that you are possessive of something you don't possess? Or that she is callous?
4. The problem was that Luke had far more emotional committment to Holly than she ever had to him, a dismal state of affairs that he telegraphed by being the first to issue a declaration of love in this affair. The problem was compounded by Holly's intoxication, the presence of numerous stimuli, and Luke's sensitive nature.
Luke Crushed
Smiling Arab writes in the Monkey Cage: (The Break-Up Song)
I'd just like to open a neutral and open thread to discuss general impressions of Holly's savage destruction of Luke's gentle Jewish spirit.
My thoughts: while I am not a hadith scholar myself, like the scions of all prominent Gulf families we keep a few on the payroll to protect us from winding up a smeared bloodstain on the wall when things get rough, so if you want to work out a fatwa for this vile display, hit me with a PM.
Also, while I could see how a chica could get creeped out by Luke's posting psychosis of every painful detail of his relationship, we're somewhat in the dark about the ins and outs (um... pun intended). Luke exposes all of the cringeworthy parts of a relationship but leaves everything beautiful out of it. It's a disturbing habit, comrade.
Is Joanna still around?
Willie D writes:
Unless your marital life is preordained by your caste or familial status or religious convictions, you will eventually be dumped by the one you believe is "the one." The one with that unmistakable ability to finish your sentences for your, and vice versa. As Luke has already written, this starts with a sense of disbelief and some token act of rebellion, followed by a strong desire to rid himself of any and all references to the woman in question, followed by a gut-wrenching acknowledgment that, for a brief moment, you let down your guard which has kept you relatively safe on this planet heretofore, only to get stabbed in the testicles by the anti-Cupid. It hardens the psyche.
Luke, my advice to you: keep taking pictures. Throw yourself back into your work. Just keep showing up and snapping the photos which are the lymphatic system of this here Cage. Sit back and let us caption those photos in a manner which will bring a smile to your face.
Some music a little stronger than Air Supply will also help to vent some anger and frustration. I'd personally suggest The Phunk Junkeez, Helmet, and Agnostic Front. And for G-d's sake, stay away from anything by Peter Gabriel.
Ivor Biggun writes:
I'm inclined to suspect wrong-headed game-play over deliberate malice. Holly isn't stupid. She must have had some idea of how her behavior would inflame Luke's possessive instincts, but (maybe I'm wrong) I don't read her as a bitch who would deliberately rub it in for no purpose.
Smiling Arab writes:
Holly isn't stupid, Ivor, you're quite correct, but there is an element of cultivated frivolity about her. Break those two words down and juxtapose them, as I can't express it any better. And those are the most dangerous to the sensitive Jewish soul, which craves transcendence, as the Other constantly reminds herself that nothing matters.
Ivor writes: "I can't do that without the word "conniving" entering my head. And my more tolerant (naive?) part prefers not to believe that. (just yet)."
Willie D writes: "The anger is seeping more into his writing. This was much more plaintive when I woke from my New Year's coma at 7:17 a.m. and first read it."
Smiling Arab writes: "I'm genuinely frightened by the changes I've noted. I only pulled this up a few hours ago, but from the time I offered my services as a fatwa pimp until now it's been altered in the most peculiar manner, with decidedly more bitterness coming through, you're correct."
Random writes:
“Jesus, only Luke could feel threatened by those champs.”
That was my first thought when I finished Luke’s recap. Most of Holly’s ex-boyfriends look like card-carrying members of the Nerd Brigade.
The Randall Party was destined to be a soul-crushing experience for Luke. Being an intelligent person, he should have seen this coming. Drugs, alcohol, ex-boyfriends, New Years -- he‘s lucky a Violation of Holly Randall wasn’t already in full swing by the time he arrived.
But let’s take this back to the beginning.
Even if you disregard that Holly forgot to invite him (and that would be a very difficult thing to disregard), he should have known going to that party would be like walking through a landmine zone with magnets in his boots -- he was bound to get hit in every direction by the one thing he’s been trying to avoid. His concern about her former lovers should have been addressed before the party. If Holly’s response was anything short of accommodating, he should never have gone.
But that's not what happened. Luke went, and now he’s going to suffer for some time.
Luke, If I have anything positive to offer you it's this: You have every right to be upset. I don't know what "stage" your relationship with Holly was at, but her behavior was immature and classless, regardless. Playing grab-ass with men who at one time had their penises in her, in view of you, is just a s----move from any perspective.
As your self-appointed spiritual counselor, I demand you binge on prescription pills and hard alcohol (that would be a lite beer for you) and nail random floozies up till and during AVN. Aggressive, inebriated sex is the only way to fill the void left by Holly.
I reply on XPT:
Holly did not do anything bad to me. She was just Holly. She was always nice and well-meaning and sounded apologetic if I was ever upset. She was often there for me when I was sick. She has a lot of things/people/ex-BFs/guys in her life that are more important to her than I am, and in the end, I could not accept that. I could not accept her for who she is (as much as I've tried over the past month). In the end, she's a burning house I must run from.
My desire was that when we were together, I would be the most important thing to her in the universe during those times (unless there was some pressing matter which I hoped she'd explain to me). I haven't gotten this wound up over a relationship in about a decade. Somehow certain people just get to you and your rational thinking is overwhelmed by other desires.
Holly did not do anything bad to me Saturday night. There was no moral imperative for her to hang out with me and exclude other guys from her affections. There was no moral imperative for her to kiss me as the New Year began.
She's always had other priorities above being with me. I've been someone she fit in at the times she felt like it and I went along with this like a good little whipped puppy dog. I accepted that I served at her convenience. As she paid for all our dates, as she paid for the piper, she selected the tune and I danced to it until five seconds into Jan 1.
Holly Randall posts:
I'm sorry. I have this horrible thing called a conscience, and it's bothering me right now. Luke, you know I never meant to hurt you. I don't like to hurt anyone. Yes, I have a lot of ex-boyfriends. And I am friends with them all. Did you not notice they brought their girlfriends? Chris and I broke up 7 years ago. He knows me better than anyone, and we still work together. You will see me with him in Vegas. He is one of my best friends. I don't know what else to say; I won't rehash my personal issues on a chatboard, but many things you said about me were true. I am very selfish, and I should have behaved better. Again, I apologize. I think that's all I can do at this point.
Khunrum writes: "I'll wager Luke wasn't as hurt as he claims after being romantically shunted aside at Holly's holiday gathering. After all, there was good food, plenty of bottled water, copy for the site and lively dialogue with her father who flattered our boy."
How Do You Handle a Girl Like Holly?
Chaim Amalek writes:
This was a big win for all concerned - you AND Holly, as well as Humphry. I mean, prior to your involvement with her, I had never heard of Holly or her mother, and how many books had old Humphry been selling over the last thirty years?
[Khunrum writes: "I believe his efforts must be languishing in the basement along with Luke's Producer and Jewish output. Perhaps they could team up -- Buy-One-Get-One-Free. Purchase one of Hump's and we'll toss in a free Producer's libro."]
You need to put yourself into similar situations far more frequently than you have to unleash the old, pre-medication Luke who made porners tremble with fear.
Next step: You date Holly's sister, and get her to clean up her act and fly straight. She looks like she is in need of some Torah in her life.
Bob writes:
Cool the wounded Romeo bit and keep pimpin' her site. You stay in her good graces. You stay on her Rolodex. You'll be joining Holly and Chris in a DP soon enough.
BTW I noticed a shocking resemblence between Holly and the late Dana Plato.
She doesn't know a dreydel froma butt-plug. She paid for dinner. You...her. You got some good copy. That's what I call a Hat Trick. Move on.
Chaim writes: "Robert speaks wisdom. You are coming off as too needy in all this Luke, so now is the time to cool it and maybe even start praising Holly's work on your web site. But not too much - just here and there, in dribs and drabs. Make her jump for the occasional biscuit. She is to be cultivated.
"Confucian women are better adapted to marry, have kids than are the average secular LA caucasoidal woman. Years of eating kittens and rats during days of famine have taught them the value of a good man. Just don't take this woman to a pet shop or the pound."
At 1am Sunday, just after arriving home, I emailed Holly, in part: "I'm so glad that you got to begin the new year in the embrace of someone you care about. It's obviously not me."
She replied:
I realize that you are furious with me. If it matters at all, I felt terrible when you left, and I didn't really have a good time after that. Call me what you want. Call me a slut, call me a bitch, go ahead and hate me. But know I do care for you. And I feel awful.
Sorry I'm not perfect. Exactly what did you expect from me, by the way? I am NOT the perfect Jewish wife you have been looking for, but I do have a heart. And it hurts. In the end, you do have my respect. No matter what you think of me, I will be there for you if you ask. Hate me if that makes you feel better. But I don't hate you.
After I got up later Sunday morning and huffily told Holly that I never wanted to see her again, I later sent her a two-page 15-point bulletin on how she must change if she is to have the privilege of my company.
She replied:
Luke, I never asked you to change. I accepted you for who you are. I will also never change. If you cannot accept me for who I am, well then we hit a dead end. But I don't want to fight, I really, really don't. I don't have enough hate in my heart to do so.
I'm a nice girl as long as you don't fall in love with me. Then I'm a monster. I'm sorry you hurt so much. But remember, I never wanted a boyfriend... and there is a reason for that.
You are right, I do need to grow up, but not now. Not on New Years Eve. This year, yes. But it was my party, and I will dress and act as I like.
Damn, that was clear. Why hadn't I seen her point of view?
