HAMILTON CONFIDENTIAL:Keeping History from Repeating Itself

HAMILTON, Ohio (ZP) -- For the last couple of months, I've been playing guitar a couple of times with these three guys I met this summer. Mostly, they call me up on lazy Saturday mornings to ask if I want to come down and jam, to drink some beer and socialize.

Aside from the occasional phone call and a grand total of maybe a 12 hours spent hanging out, I really have nothing in common with these guys. Sure, we like the same kinds of music and we all play instruments.

But two of the guys - who I'll call Dave and George - have criminal records, the third - who I'll call Pete - has a brother in prison. Not that I hold that against them. I grew up with a lot of guys who are now in the same boat, and in a lot of ways, its great to sit around and shoot the shit and pick at some old punk and rockabilly tunes - everything from Hank Williams to Social Distortion and the Cramps.

But I'm the only one there with a college education, actually, the only one there with a high school degree. Except for Pete's step-sister, who I'll call Chase - who lives in Kentucky but somehow always happens to be in Hamilton whenever I'm down there.

Chase is a rather attractive woman, with jet-black hair, gorgeous green eyes, and a million-dollar personality. She's looks and dresses a lot like Parker Posey. Chase has a lot of issues. Issues with a capital I. I'll skip over the details, but basically, she had a very rough childhood. The kind that requires a lot of healing and a lot of therapy to get over.

When I got down to Pete's house today, everybody's completely plastered. So I decide to take off and do some shopping - not my scene. Chase asks if she can come along for the ride.

We spent about two hours cruising around Hamilton. We hit up a bar or two. We hit up a music store. We had lunch. Somehow, we ended up stretched out in the bed of my truck by the Miami River, watching traffic.

While we're lying on our backs talking about the most random stuff, she asks me if she can do something. I say sure, like a dumbass. Before I can react, she kisses me. And, well, I kiss her right back without thinking. But then logic kicked back in, and luckily, I managed to reign in my libido before things reached that point-of-no-return.

The problem? I felt like I was being roped into something, like I was simply reacting to stimuli, running on the same auto pilot that caused me so much grief. There's another, less esoteric reason as well.

Chase has a boyfriend - and a child with said boyfriend.

She didn't take my sudden change-of-heart well, but better than I thought she would. She didn't say much after that - it was obvious that she was pissed. And I'm pretty sure she had indeed set me up a bit. (Note - while I've often been accused of being too flirtatious, I'm almost completely oblivious to any flirting directed at me.)

Needless to say, I probably won't be getting a call to jam with Pete, George, or Dave again. When I dropped Chase off, they were sitting on the porch. I'm pretty sure her slamming my truck door raised some questions. Not sure if I really want to know how she answered the questions.

But I did the right thing. I've been down that road before - no desire to go back.