Dated several 9's but couldn't quite hold on to them for more than a few months. Had an LTR with a 9.5. She was French Creole, with long black Jane of the Jungle hair and skin like toffee, bright eyes and a 38D. Unbelievably, traffic-stopping gorgeous. It's been years and my heart still pounds when I think about her. She turned out to be a walking personality disorder and I bailed on her after about a year, when she had a pair of kittens I'd gotten her put to sleep because she "was tired of them."
How did I meet her? We had been working at the same place. My band was touring a lot, and I was working part-time when I was in town. She was dating a guy who was cheating on her with a married woman at the company, who in turn was banging at least two other guys in the firm. Really sordid. I knew from this that she had self-esteem problems, and that was her Achilles heel. Guys wouldn't talk to her -- EVER. So she was with this total loser, spoon-chested mama's boy who was also taking sloppy seconds on the office mattressback. But he was, as far as I could see, the only guy who'd had the sack to talk to her.
One weekend, I invited her out to a "party" for some "musician friends." She was half-African American ("Halfrican american," as she said), and identified very strongly with it. The "friends" were members of a prominent black artist's backing band (I had recorded with one of his backing vocalists, who was from this town, on a session some months before, and the band was in town that weekend.) I took her to a club, introduced her to this artist, then proceeded to jam with his band (not with him, though.) I took her home, gave her a peck on the cheek, and said good night. The next day she called and invited me over to her place for dinner. She answered the door in a pink teddy.
She was my date for the Billboard Awards in Vegas, the opening of the Experience Music Project in Seattle, industry parties here and in L.A., the launch party for our Japan tour. . . . she even rode with me in the tourbus / RV for a week down the West Coast and loved it. And you want to talk about improving my Social Standing? I made it a point to meet and chat up as many HB's as I could with her on my arm. After we broke up I made myself VERY visible to them. . . .
I think that if you want an HB9, you've got to offer her something that no one else can. It doesn't matter what it is -- I wasn't rich by a longshot; hell, I lived in a studio flat in a war zone and drove a beater flat-black Honda motorbike with no windshield. But I was a local celebrity, my band was always "on tour" or doing something exciting, I got into clubs for free. . . I was exciting to be around. And that's enough for a lot of girls.
(edited to remove names and places)