With his hand down my pants:
"You're glowing."
(incoherent noises from my part)
"You're a tiny bit flushed. (grins) You seem a little in heat. Could that be?"
(Which was the point at which I learned that I can shrug while lying down.)
Post-meeting phone call:
Me: "You know, when you left, I was a bit disappointed."
"Why that?"
"Because you left with scratch marks all over and that bruise on your arm and everything, and I had nothing.
(pouts) It's just - I want souvenirs, too."
"Ah, okay. Well, next time I'll file my nails sharp."
"Mmmmyes. Sounds good to me. [...] You know, that nail thing reminds me of Anthony Kiedis's dad. He was quite the party animal and he and his crowd used to take a lot of coke. And they let their pinky nails grow out and filed them into a perfect coke spoon shape."
"You'd have to take care then, though."
"Aw, no problem, he had a nail shorter than the others. And when little Anthony asked him why, he told him that was so he wouldn't hurt his girlfriends."
"You don't need to keep your nails, short, y'know, it's all about the technique."
"Sure, but think of it - what if you're really loaded? You won't want to care too much about your technique then."
Gems like these come from Anthony Kiedis's autobiography "Scar Tissue", btw.
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