Eddie Murphy‘s story about having been obliquely propositioned by Yul Brynner arrives at the 6:20 mark. It happened in ’80 at Studio 54, and that was during the celebrated nightclub’s heyday.

I know this is getting redundant but Murphy’s anecdote allows me to recount another story about my randy Manhattan history (i.e., “getting tail” in the ’70s and ’80s).

My episode also happened in ’80. I was at an invitational Manhattan soiree of some kind, and it was ’round midnight. A moderately foxy blonde (an 8.5) invited me to a wee hours party in Grennwich, CT. I was immediately intrigued until I realized she and her husband were inviting me to a swinging party. I took one look at the husband, who was eyeballing me with a certain subdued interest, and said to myself “no fucking way…I’m not going to exchange fluids with this guy’s wife as he watches or, God forbid, decides to take part.”

I thanked them for the invitation but politely declined. Partly because hubby was a bit creepy looking (balding, moustache), but I would have begged off even if he’d resembled American Gigolo‘s Richard Gere. I had a strict “no dicks” policy back then. The idea of even glancing at some other guy’s gross animal member filled me with profound discomfort.

Okay, that’s not entirely true as I went three or four times to the Hellfire Club in ’80 and ’81 and and I certainly caught sight of a few dangling schlongs, but I didn’t like it. I was there for the babes and the babes alone.

HE to Sean McNulty: It’s spelled “Yul Brynner.”