The night I spent with Prince still stands as one of the sexiest nights I’ve ever experienced in my life.

There were no milk baths. Thousands of candles were not flickering around the bathtub as we faced each other while he gave me that sexy smirk.

We were not at Paisley Park nor in a swanky hotel room.

But none of that matters.

Prince was there.

It was 1980something. I was crammed into a tiny dorm room bed with a boy who would become my first serious boyfriend (and by serious, I mean bow chicka wow wow). We were kissing so hard and so long, our lips were bruised. We were grinding like Darling Nikki against each other so hard, still in our jeans that our private parts started to feel like sandpaper. He tried to touch my boobs over my shirt. I let him for a second and then pushed his hand away. He tried again. And again. Eventually his hand made its way under my shirt.

None of this is very freaky. It’s just normal college relationship stuff. Except that Prince was there the entire time. And Prince is freakiness itself.

Phil and I had the bed, of course. Prince had the boom box. And Prince was relentless. He would not stop. He kept on playing the entire Purple Rain album hour after hour after hour until my soon-to-be boyfriend finally figured out that my “Little Red Corvette” wasn’t coming out of the garage that night.

It was a hot, steamy night – two young people hopped up on hormones and funky beats, feeling that night that – of all people, we were “The Beautiful Ones.”  And of all my memories of Prince (and there are so so so many), this is the one I remember the most. That amazing soundtrack playing on a loop. Making out so hard, so lost in each other, it was impossible to believe that “Purple Rain” was already playing yet again, and in just a few minutes Prince would once more be urging us to “Go Crazy.”

Without exaggeration, that cassette (yes, it was a long time ago) had to have played completely through at least 8 times before Phil and I gave up, feeling like purple crushed velvet from the intensity of our Princely journey – and fell asleep intertwined in that little single bed.

Prince, I thought I had so many more opportunities to see you perform. I wish I could go back in time and be at that last Atlanta show and see you sing “Purple Rain” one more time.

It looked like rain today and part of me was absolutely convinced it was going to pour purple. I wish it would. I want a sign you’re playing your funky beats and wearing your heels in heaven right now. If talent can get you there, then there you are, sitting on a purple throne long reserved just for you.

Thanks for the memories. Baby, you’re a star.