Longterm Lover
It was just another Tuesday night at The Bowery Hotel. Usually I sat out back on the patio, but tonight I’d been seated in the front section. It was all so very long ago; I cannot tell you who I’d arrived with, but I can tell you that the man I left with that evening would become my lover for a decade and counting.
The year was 2010 and the hotel lobby was packed with the usual crew of glamorous guests and select local New Yorkers given access to this exclusive watering hole.
Music never plays in lobby, making it the ideal spot for an intimate business meeting, catching up with good friends or in this case, meeting the man who would rock my sex life for the foreseeable future. (If you’ve been you’ll know its also a great place to rub elbows with a celeb or two).
His hair was longish, you know, that perfect length and texture where it’s not quite falling in his eyes, but long enough that all you can think about is running your hands through it.
Hours of flirtatious banter ended with the two of us at my East Village studio, savagely making out and smoking pot. The way his tongue entered my mouth made me ache to feel it between my legs. Our chemistry was instant and growing stronger by the minute. He took his time with me, running his hands down my neck and shoulders, kissing my throat and breasts.
All that champagne coupled with 10 years of time passed leaves me hazy on the full details of what transpired, however I’m pretty sure we didn’t sleep together at my place; instead we ended up taking a taxi across Manhattan to his townhouse in the West Village. To say his place was a bit more lux than mine would be the understatement of the century. This was PRIME New York real estate.
His design taste was impeccable (it still is) and I could not wait for him to fuck me in front of the giant floor to ceiling 19th century mirrors that faced each other. The dark, open concept main floor became sexier as I took in all the details. “Damn,” I couldn’t help but think, “This man is hot, intelligent, with next level style… Yes please.”
We lit up a freshly rolled joint; as I inhaled the smoke he stood behind kissing the back of my neck. He lifted the straps of my dress from my shoulders and watched as it dropped to the floor exposing my fully naked body. “I love that you don’t wear underwear,” he whispered as he kissed my ear. Reaching between my legs he stroked me to feel how wet I was. Taking the joint from my lips he took a drag, placed it in the ashtray and led me to the sofa. We spent hours devouring each other every which way; getting higher and cumming over and over. I was 5 orgasms deep and we hadn’t left the living room.
As I sat in the taxi at 5:30 AM recounting all the blissful, passionate moments and I knew I’d be seeing him again soon. Back then it wasn’t clear exactly what I was getting myself into; how often and for how long we would play would become more clear as time passed.
It always seemed like there were at least 3 lovers on the go. Because of this, I used nicknames to keep my lovers straight when discussing them with friends. These are the very same nicknames I use in the blog. The only problem? He never had a nickname. Of all the people, in all the years, my friends only knew him by his first name… Let’s call him Edward.
