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The History of the Honey Trap
The History of the Honey Trap

Five lessons for would-be James Bonds and Bond girls -- and the men and women who would resist them.


[Image: honeyrtap.jpg]
"Where is the intersection between the world's deep hunger and your deep gladness?"
The Washington Daily News, 28* June 1963, p.13

Now, Speaking of Spies

By Richard Starnes

Quote:New York – The only professional spy I ever knew for what he was looked as if he had barely enough intellect to match wits with a boll weevil and escape with a bale an acre.

Except for bushy eyebrows he was as ordinary a mortal as the chap who reads the electric meter at Crestfallen Manor. (Say, you don’t think…?) But, nondescript or not, this gent was an ordained spy in the pay of his government.

I have bumped into other mysterious chaps whom I assumed to be in the same dodge, but about them I was never sure. The guy with the awning eyebrows, about whom I knew. Sad to say, I have never run afoul of one of the toothsome girl spy types so much in the newspapers nowadays.

There was one occasion, on Waterloo Bridge in London, in time of war, when a fetching young creature of the female persuasion besought some information from me. What she wanted to know was whether I had a five-pound note on me.

I considered the question a bit cheeky, to be honest, and I doubted either the German Secret Service or the British MI-5 were patiently popping their knuckles while they waited for the answer to it.

Anyway, and quite unlike the things you read in books, this chance encounter never ripened into friendship. I asked her in turn if she could direct me to Westminster Abbey, and she slithered off into the blackout, muttering about how it was a “disgrice” how they were sending children off to war these days.

But in all my bashing about in the intrigue-ridden Middle East, the war-torn Far East, the tinderbox capitals of Europe, nary a time has any foreign power pointed some nubile lady of easy virtue at me in an attempt to wrest secrets from me. You’d think I had the pimples. I mean, everybody who had an hour to kill between planes in London seems to have found his way to Christine Roundheel’s flat, but not me.

And now the fabricants of newspaper sensations of questionable authenticity seem to be trying to tell us that various seedy lads in and around the United Nations have been maintaining a compendium of concubines trained in all manner of deviltry designed to elicit secrets from gents. Well, I hang about there a bit, but not once has any lavishly endowed lady skewered me on a false eyelash. Can it be my roll-on deoderant rolls off prematurely?

Sex has a great deal that might be said in its behalf, but as a preliminary to a seminar on performance data of nuclear submarines it has obvious shortcomings. The girl might ask the proper questions, but the answers she’s likely to get will go something like, “Atomic? Kid, you’re sensational!”

Frankly I’m sorry to sprag this lovely legend. It has kept many a young man’s morale viable under difficult circumstances. You’re stuck in some pestilential cesspool 200 miles from the nearest airstrip, see? And you’re drinking your solitary whiskey in a mean pub where ice is regarded as a typical lie coughed up by Hollywood. Then suddenly the beaded curtains part and there she is, a choice morsel in a Theda Bara haircut and not much else.

It never happens, but it’s wonderful to think about.

*Bit ropey on the precise date, as I can't read my own handwriting.
Hey Ed...

Is that false teeth at the bottom of the glass? Just curious....
David Healy Wrote:Hey Ed...

Is that false teeth at the bottom of the glass? Just curious....

Well, she was having Efferdent on the rocks and said she wanted a kiss later so ... being pragmatic, I couldn't resist. I wanted to get rid of the smoking stains.

She was looking for the "behind-the-scenes" buzz about what it is we talk about here at DPF and offered as to how she might have a lead to some sources on how they think at the deep political level.

But suddenly I found I was out there walking in a storm.
"Where is the intersection between the world's deep hunger and your deep gladness?"
Just last night two beautiful women tried to pick me up.

It's true. I heard them.

They watched me walk by. Then one said to the other, "Get him!"
Charles Drago Wrote:Just last night two beautiful women tried to pick me up.

It's true. I heard them.

They watched me walk by. Then one said to the other, "Get him!"

Charles...true story:

Last year I finished lunch one Tuesday at a popular eatery.
I walked back outside to my car. Two 20ish Hispanic ladies
were sitting in a nearby car. As I opened my car door, one
of them approached me and asked flirtatiously...


Of course everyone knows what "a John" is in that business.
Keep in mind that I am 82, but they took me for someone
much younger. I replied...

"NO, I'M A JACK. MY DAD WAS A JOHN"...playing straight.

She said...


By that time I was behind the wheel, closed the door, and
started the motor. As I drove away, she stood there with
her hands on hips.

First time I was ever "propositioned". Many years too late.
I guess I consider it a compliment that she thought a guy
of my age was a customer.

Jack Smile
Jack's story reminds me of one of my own, going in the different direction on the "age" issue... I was about 42, working in Boston near the southeast corner of the Common at the corner of Boylston and Tremont, and was rushing in and out of the office to pick something up on a Saturday. I parked in a nearby lot for quick ease of access, ordinarily preferring and usually required to travel by subway and train. This particular lot happened to be on the edge of what used to be known, when the city was more of a naval port, as "the Combat Zone". On this particular occasion, I had with me my 14-year old son, a strapping big athlete as handsome as I used to be and looking nearly identical. As we hopped out of the car, one of the "ladies" approached and asked if we wanted to take advantage of her two-for-one special. My son is now 32, about to be a father for the first time, and I don't think he's stopped laughing yet.

Now, on that point, lest we offend some of the real genuine and lovely women here, perhaps we should allow them some equal time.
"Where is the intersection between the world's deep hunger and your deep gladness?"

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