Iron Man
Helmut Newton
It was fashion week, the opening of a chic little bar in the East Village and I was there meeting a potential work client for the first time. The meeting was fantastic, the drinks were beyond amazing and there was an extremely dashing young man who kept eyeing me from across our group. He was there with the Boss Lady’s friends, but they did not know each other.
Boss Lady had to leave around midnight, but told me to stay and have fun with the group. As soon as she was out of sight the handsome man came over and took the now empty seat next to me. Let’s call him Iron Man.
Iron Man was impeccably dressed and extremely hansom. I asked where he hailed from and he informed me that where he was from was much too complicated a story for just one drink and that I should join him and his friends dancing.
We left the bar and piled into a giant black SUV. We arrived at Butter around 2AM on a Monday during fashion week and it was as packed as I’d ever seen. As we made our way down the stairs it became clear that not a table was even close to being open.
The manager rushed over to us, apologizing and promising us the world if we could just hold on for 2 minutes. I saw him head over to the back corner booth and within 30 seconds the table was ready for us, complete with bottles of Patron, Belvedere and Veuve. I remember thinking, “Who on earth am I with!?” I would later find out the group was part of Asia’s fashion and social elite.
As we danced the sexual tension became too much to handle. Our lips almost touching, but we kept trying to resist. His hands moving over my ass, squeezing my every curve, his breathe tickling the back of my neck as I pushed into him. He had grown up in London and his English charm would sneak through every now and again. By 4AM the group was getting ready to head to the next spot, I heard something about a strip-club but Iron Man and I were way too into each other to join them.
We hopped into a taxi and sped up-town to his hotel on Central Park South. Anyone that knows me will realizes that it takes a lot for me to go above 14th Street and this guy must have been well worth it. The taxi ride was full of kissing and touching as we began to give into temptation. He paid the driver and escorted me up the hall to the elevators. The concierge greeting us as “Mr. and Mrs. Iron Man” when we entered through the glass doors, I guess he stayed there a lot.
Once in his room he kissed me slowly, with one hand on the back of my neck. He used his other hand to gently flick the straps of my dress off my shoulders, causing it to fall to the floor. I stood there, 6” high-heeled black leather boots, neon green Agent Provocateur lace thong with matching bra, and a shiver ran down my back. I could tell this was just the beginning.