Chicago's Jill Hopkins-Olewnik wears a number of different roles—radio host, musician, DJ—all quite successfully. Here, she shares what happened when a birthday party celebration lead to a (possible) celebrity encounter of the sexiest kind.
Back in the boogie-down aughts, I was young and thin with great tits. I had the tolerance of a man twice my age and size, and I developed an affection for ecstasy, and casual sex, in equal measures. I don't know if the stuff we were taking fifteen years ago is the same as the molly the kids are taking these days, but I liked those funny little pills. They were cheap and they got the job done.
I was working at a pizzeria at the time, and the staff was pretty varied in age, but everyone got along really well. We all hung out after work, and I still have best friends from that time in my life. A woman I worked with—let's call her Kathy—had a birthday coming up. I was 22 or so, and she would've been in her mid-40s (I think. She may have been 35. I can never tell with white people. It's the opposite of "black don't crack.").
A bunch of us decided to go to this night club to go out dancing to celebrate.
Now, this club was the kind that I, as a grown-ass adult, would never dream of setting foot in today. It was over by Weed Street and next to the strip club. It was super huge, way too loud, and the music was bass-heavy in a bad way, but at the time it was perfect. We just wanted to have a good collective night off and grind up on some strangers. And Kathy, for lack of a better word, was kind of a square. It was her birthday, and we wanted her to come out of her shell. She was from somewhere on the east coast and very WASPy.
So when we asked her if she wanted to take some pills with us, we were kind of joking. I can vividly remember the looks on the rest of my friend's faces when she said, "Sure! Why not?"
The next thing you know, Kathy and her handbag were in a cage, dancing with some go-go boy, and the rest of us were having our own little good time, too.
I said to another friend, "I'm gonna go pee." And off I went.
The bathroom line moved pretty quickly, and when I got out, I took a little break to sit down and enjoy a cigarette (God. I miss smoking). As I was smoking, I was approached by a tall, good looking, white guy with a big ol' sexy nose. To this day, I am a sucker for a white dude with a big nose. My brain was buzzing from the X, the smokes, and the booze, so I didn't give it a second thought when he took my hand and led me behind this thick black curtain with a man guarding it.
Without a word, we started making out. Like, MAKING OUT. Tonsil hockey. Mouth fucking.
Just as quickly, and just as silently, I found myself bent over at the waist with my skirt hiked up and he was wrapped up and inside of me—actual fucking. Even at my worst, I was always very careful. GO ME!
I turned and looked behind us, and through a slit in the curtain, I saw the guard actually guarding. Was this a secret sex cave I'd never known about? Was there a camera in here? Did I give a fuck?
Turns out, I didn't.
I was having the best sex of my life up until that point, ass-up over a non-working subwoofer in a terrible dance club, while a buff bald dude made sure that no one would interrupt us.
Wordlessly again, we both finished. We were breathing as though we'd just come up from a long underwater swim, but all you could hear was the bass from the fucking horrible song playing. I fixed myself up, and so did he. He kissed me long and hard (It wasn't the only thing that was long and … you know what, never mind), and led me out from The Secret Sex Cave.
I went back to my friends on the dance floor, and he, I presume, went back to his.
As we were leaving, at last call, his group and my group crossed paths. He grabbed my hand, kissed it, and mouthed, "Thank you, beautiful." My friends, of course, asked, "WHO IS THAT???"
"Oh yeah. I just fucked that dude," I said.
"Do you know him?"
"Never seen him before in my life."
I'd put it out of my mind until a few weeks later at the movies. I don't remember what we were seeing, but it was some art house thing. One of the previews was for a movie that would win a crap ton of Oscars and shit.
My companion for the evening was with me at the club on that earlier night and whisper-shouted, "JILL! Is that the dude from the other night???"
I could only say, "Maybe? I really have no idea, but I'm very much into that nose."
And I was telling the truth on all counts.