One Hot Second
Work, friends, secret identities... and the men; the usual suspects created a barrier that I couldn't seem to break. Before I realized it, New York Fashion Week was over. The magazine editors, accompanied by far too many members of the blogosphere, threw back tiny glass-bottles of Russian vodka, while en route to London Town. Winter in the city seemed never-ending and yet somehow, felt like it had flown by.
May 26, 2011
Work, friends, secret identities... and the men; the usual suspects created a barrier that I couldn't seem to break. Before I realized it, New York Fashion Week was over. The magazine editors, accompanied by far too many members of the blogosphere, threw back tiny glass-bottles of Russian vodka, while en route to London Town. Winter in the city seemed never-ending and yet somehow, felt like it had flown by.
The 'modern woman' I am most certainly not. How anyone is able to successfully manage both their work and personal life boggles the mind. Busy with a hundred-million projects, my life seemed to slip through the cracks. With 18-hour days prepping for shoots, shows and whatever else, there was little desire or energy to make it out for a nightcap, let alone anything else I was desiring, including sex.
Working weeks without a break, I'd spend my one day off sleeping more consecutive hours than imaginable. This was not the life I was used to living and these were most certainly not the days of tanning poolside at the Thompson; laptop open with an iced coffee and/or cocktail in hand.
What's a 'Chloe' to do...?
Winning Is Everything. Always.
When I want something, I make it my mission to get it. I haven’t failed yet, even when minor road bumps stand in my way. The art of seduction is not one that can be well defined. It twists and turns and bends and unfortunately for you, I don’t have a formula to offer; although we both know you’re just aching for one.
When I want something, I make it my mission to get it. I haven’t failed yet, even when minor road bumps stand in my way. The art of seduction is not one that can be well defined. It twists and turns and bends and unfortunately for you, I don’t have a formula to offer; although we both know you’re just aching for one. It’s about being perceptive, reading situations and working them in your favor.
I had my eye on him for quite some time, before we even met. His work, genius with strong sexual undertones that only exist when the creator is a true sexual deviant. A New York playboy through and through, his face always turned up in the local gossip rags from the most exclusive parties. Let’s call him The Artist.
There was something about him and I had to find out what it was. Tracking him down was easy and innocent in appearance; I wanted an interview for a story I had in the works. After weeks of telephone tag and FaceBook messages it seemed as though the game would be over before it started.
Fast-forward 5 months to New York Fashion Week; I had been involved in planning the party for a chic local art and fashion publication. The hotel lounge at Tribeca Grand was packed with all the right people; you know the types, artists, designers, models, musicians and the usual wannabes (or as GAWKER so affectionately coined “FAUXHEMIANS”). I knew he would be there.
In good form The Artist showed his face close to 2 AM. I introduced myself; he was even sexier in person than in photographs, his hair slightly tousled and his chin with just the right amount of stubble. I was dying to pull him into one of the dark booths that surrounded us; craving his hands all over me, pulling at my Marc Jacobs backless chiffon dress. Instead we chatted over champagne while his date kept interjecting her dull opinion. I had him exactly where I wanted him, it was only a matter of time before I moved in for the kill.
We parted ways, him suggesting drinks later in the week. I could tell by the way his eyes focused in on my mouth that he had no intention of talking work. I was aching to find out just how deviant The Artist really was.
Iron Man
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.
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.
The Offseason
Although I was the captain of my high school cheerleading team, I do not date athletes. Okay, who am I kidding I don’t really DATE anyone.
This Past New York Fashion Week I worked on the production of a very important designer's show. We had a handsome Pro-athlete “helping out” as our intern. He was so not my type, tall, overly muscular, tattooed and of course a professional athlete. Although I was the captain of my high school cheerleading team, I do not date athletes. Okay, who am I kidding I don’t really DATE anyone.
I knew nothing about his sport and when we met I’d asked if he played offense or defense. After flirting at the show he invited me to have dinner with his crew at Buddakan and then out dancing, just the two of us, at Avenue. We spent the night drinking champagne at the back booth and kissing endlessly as onlookers stared enviously. I am pretty sure I heard him telling people I was his future wife, too bad I don’t plan to get married.
As we lay in his hotel room bed doing everything but fuck I knew that although he invited me to Miami for his offseason, I’d never see him again after that night. I had to respectfully decline.
As I’ve said before, I don’t date athletes. They put themselves first, their team second and YOU third. Cumming three times? Yes. Coming third? I am never interested in coming third.