Eclipse: New Beginnings

Deborah Turbeville

August 1, 2011

And after that night, nothing would ever be the same. 

I wish we'd recorded our conversation so I could replay every single moment of it. What we said was a testament of how deep our love was, how connected we truly were. It was a true example of what it means to fully understand and respect another human being.

I'm not sure anyone could ever understand how we can walk away from this, when it’s clear there is something beyond our conscious level of understanding that bonds us together.

But, I don't see this as walking away.

The last 2 hours were some of the most honest, incredible and powerful moments that I've been privileged to experience. What exists between us runs deeper than I think either of us will ever truly be able to understand in this lifetime.

I’m at peace, and it's not just because I've met HIM. I'm at peace because what we just shared is something that no matter whom we are with, we will always have.

These past few months you and I discovered things about ourselves; things we were only able to understand because of each other. And that is something so powerful and beautiful, that no one will ever be able to take away.

I don't view our conversation as a conclusion, but as a pivotal moment. One where time stood still and nothing else existed except what we share.

There is nothing to be sad about, nothing at all to mourn the loss of... Although what we had together was deeply moving and passionate, what we will have moving forward will be life-altering.

It’s my belief that we cannot get everything we truly need from just one person. And even though I cannot pinpoint what ‘it’ is we give each other, I have no intentions of letting our incredible connection and deep fundamental understanding of one another vanish.

No longer confined to this wrinkle, I am excited about where our new path will lead.

Come with me my dear friend; let us embark on this journey they call life. Let us be still in this beautiful moment with the knowledge that when we move beyond the confinement of our wrinkle, we will discover it can unfold into our lifeline.

Love Reincarnate

Agnes Thor Shop

July 13, 2011

And in an instant, everything changed.

Unsure of why, I turned away; fighting the urge to stare deep into his eyes. 

How can this connection exist between strangers?

The room spun around us. Time stood still.

Exchanging glances throughout the night, we sipped cocktails in one of New York’s most glamorous and exclusive places, gazing out over all of Manhattan's glory. Spectacular.

Relief swept over my entire being; like I’d found this puzzle piece, I hadn't known was missing.

Making our exit and conveniently 86’ing Crazy Pants (insert long-story HERE), we hailed a cab to The Greenwich Hotel.

Sinking slowly into the stiff leather of the taxi, I envisioned us back at the Boom Boom Room. Leading him to the bathrooms of glass and granite, I'd press my lips to his, parting them with my tongue; lost in every kiss, our long lost souls together again.

The Poet was about to go far beyond just a page in my book. I was both terrified and excited. I wonder what his fiancee would have to say about this…

Truth Time

June 15, 2011

Falling down the rabbit hole is a rush. Walls zoomed past as I saw him; I couldn't think or speak... and I most certainly could not look him in the eye.

From that moment when we'd met, it was something I'd never felt; as if I'd known him my entire life. He could see through the bull shit, into my very core. Undeniable was the electricity and energy that flowed between us.

He put me in a taxi at the end of the night; I knew it would not be the last time I saw him. 

Next time, I wouldn't be going home alone. And I didn't.

The problem with the rabbit hole? It's easy to get in and nearly impossible to make it back out. 

Let’s call him The Poet.

One Hot Second

Wendy Bevan

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...?

Reality Check

October 6, 2010

Everyone wants to know, ‘Who is the real Chloe?’ Sit back and listen because I am about to tell you.

There is nothing more real than having your crush die of a heart attack a few months after cheating on your boyfriend with him, while you are still in high school. There is nothing more real than losing your role model in a car accident and having two friends murdered by the time you are half way through your first year of university. There is nothing more real than your family losing their fortune and being told, ‘you should have had more.’

There is nothing more real, than real life.

I never understood why I had to go through so many traumatizing things. I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason. I do know that everything in my past has made me exactly who I am at this moment, and as much as it nearly killed me to get here, I am happy with the person I have become.

We sat on the black leather stools at the bar. The Editor was high, the drugs racing through his veins.  My hands were shaking as I attempted a sip of vodka. I had never seen him like this; he was stumbling, stuttering and slurring coming down off a heroin high.

He looked at me and I finally asked the question we both knew was coming, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Looking downward he shrugged, for the first time since we’d met he seemed at a loss for words. “I didn’t want you to be mad.” I was in shock. Mad!? Was he serious? How on earth do you get mad at someone for having an addiction? I kissed his lips, feeling his hands tighten around my waist. We stood at the bar, arms around each other. The room was full of the usual Monday night bar crowd but it felt like it was just the two of us there.

It broke my heart to hear his response. Why are people so consumed with others judging their actions? There was obviously something he could not cope with if he turned to drugs in such a way. We stood with our bodies pressed together and I knew it would be the last time I saw him. All I could do was be there for him, but first he needed to be there for himself.

Good Vibrations

October 4, 2010

"Your ass is not a cul-de-sac, things can get lost up there!" My girlfriend was laughing as she recounted her disaster of a morning. Still half asleep, my eyes flickered open as she continued; a horrifying story about a mini  pocket-rocket lodged (and then lost) you know where...

I absolutely adore that my friends call me with their madness, fully knowing I will never make them feel embarrassed or ashamed. People spend too much time worrying about how others will perceive them; they forget to focus on how something makes them feel.

Everyday, everything I do is for me. I do not worry about pleasing others, or meeting any expectations other than my own. Let go of what people told you to think and start thinking for yourself. Know that if you want to make something happen you can and don't let anything or anyone stand in your way. 

May The Best (wo)Man Win

Helmut Newton

July 20, 2010

Vindication, the combined feeling of relief and success; a long exhale after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath. It was simple and no one could say it better than she did. “You win.”

The past two months have been torturous, not knowing if things were up or down and not knowing if I would ever have an answer. The last thing he said to me was I love you; the words echo in my head and my heart. There is only one rule and I had broke it with ease… Then, it all came crashing down.

I have fantasies about seeing him again, what it would be like. I imagine seeing him, just like I did the first time, at the park outside the coffee shop. His denim jeans and grey t-shirt hugging his incredible body; me running my hands over every inch of him; tearing his clothes off and having all of him.

It had been a year since I saw one of my best girlfriends. We sat at Balthazar drinking wine and catching up. My phone vibrated against the wood of the bar, an email from The Editor. He wasn’t making any sense and would not answer my questions when I enquired further.

Hours later I finally rang his mobile then heard a click. “Chloe, this is The Wife. I know you are fucking my husband, stay the fuck out of our lives; he is in the hospital and the only person he wants to see is YOU.”

Saying nothing I hit the end button on my phone and placed it back on the bar. My girlfriend looked at me quizzically. We agreed it best to do nothing, after all what was there to do?

It was over, yet it had barely started. We had spent so many hours in bed, experiencing each other fully. He would kiss my lips and my neck, sending shivers down my back, running his hands over my body. The Editor always knew what to say to make me smile. I wanted to spend days in bed with him; he knew exactly how to touch me to bring me over the edge of pleasure.

For days there were threatening emails, text messages and pure harassment from The Wife and her girlfriends. As I said to her then, “You have every right to hate me and call me whatever names you want; I deserve whatever it is you are doing, but please I just want to know that he is ok.”

The Editor called me on a Wednesday when he came home from the hospital. I knew he wasn’t well and when we hung up I had a feeling I wouldn’t be speaking to him for a while. There were months of no communication, even after sending words of support.  Then one day I got a response; I had sent him a posting from the blog.

The response was not normal and I was suspicious. After a few back and forth messages I was sure. “Nice show ‘Wife’ but we both know The Editor doesn’t speak like that. To the unassuming eye you may fool people, but I know better.” I couldn’t believe she had been impersonating him for this long with out others catching on. Not only was she replying to me as him, she had been writing his content for the magazine while he was in rehab. well played madame.

That is when those two little words floated up on my screen, “You win” which were followed by, “He said you were clever.”

As hard as it is to lose him, knowing that a person like that exists is a beautiful thing. Knowing that someone can care for you so deeply and appreciate you for exactly who you are is fulfilling. Now, if I could only find that with someone who isn’t already taken, I’d be in business….

All In Favour?

July 8, 2010

There are two types of extramarital adventures; ones that are about sex and ones are more like affairs. The difference? Sex.

Monogamy has been the unintentional subject of most of my conversations lately; these conversations have taken place with women and surprisingly they do not seem to be in favor of it.

What has changed to make it acceptable for women to be open about not wanting to be with one man? Are women truly open, or is it something they disclose only in secret to their close and trusted friends?

If women and men both secretly crave physical and sexual encounters outside their committed relationship, why does society still look down on it; why are we shaming these people who know what they want and are not afraid to go get it?

The Photographer and I have quite the ideal situation. When I first began to see him my friends would ask, “don’t you feel bad for his wife?” My response was clear. No, I do not feel badly for her. If The Photographer actually ‘liked’ me he would call me to chat, he would want to go for dinner; he would want to go away with me. He doesn’t, he just wants to have sex.

Well, okay. Not JUST sex, amazing sex; mind-blowing sex. The kind the makes your toes curl, gets you instantly turned on, tingling, aching for more. For me, The Photographer is NOT cheating on his wife; he is NOT having an affair. He is just having sex and that does not make him a bad person. He is careful (minus those steamy videos he cannot bring himself to delete) that The Wife will never know. 

There is something about the camera that gets me turned on. Maybe it takes me back to the days before I moved back to New York where we would both lay in bed naked, on I Chat and watch each other get off. I loved knowing that he would watch them later and get off on us. I loved watching them later myself.

The Photographer won’t get caught because he doesn’t want to. The Editor on the other hand, now that is a different story… 

Boys Beware

The incredible Diane Pernet invited me to contribute to her site, A Shaded View On Fashion Fiction. Although this story is more fact than fiction, it was included none the less.

June 8, 2010

There is no such thing as a total wash. Even the most obviously pathetic night can take a sudden turn for the best if you have the right attitude. Luckily, attitude is something I’m never short on. 

It’s a general rule of mine to steer clear of little boys. But every now and then, someone catches my fancy and I get blindsided. I met Hot 20-Something Guy poolside at Soho House. It must have been his tortoise-shell Persol sunglasses that made me give him my number so willingly. After a week of his cryptic Hot 20-Something Guy texts, he finally figured out how to properly invite me for a drink.

Soho House was packed. As the elevator door slid open, the heat and the music hit me hard. I made my way through the throng of beautiful people out onto the roof deck, where Hot 20-Something Guy was waiting. We stood near the edge of the pool, the Manhattan skyline glistening in the background. Hot 20-Something Guy was getting less hot by the second; making small talk, taking long sips of his drink without offering to buy me one.

Taking the evening into my own hands, I headed for the bar. As I passed through the thickening crowd, I bumped into my former boss – the CEO of a prominent high fashion label. Immaculately dressed in his signature dark denim, white button-down and blazer, he kissed my cheek (proper Brit that he was) and insisted on buying my drink.

I returned to find Hot 20-Something Guy surrounded by a group of friends. After making cursory introductions, he charmingly announced that he was going in search of beer. I chatted up his very unstylish girlfriends (apparently some people still wear giant hoop earrings in earnest) in between deep drags on my Marlboro Light. A camera flashed as someone snapped my photo; I could not believe I’d donned my vintage Chanel navy matte sequined dress for this.

Just as I was about to call it a night, another attractive 20-something guy approached. A friend of Hot 20-Something Guy, this specimen was actually far cuter. Let’s call him Media Guy.

We sat on the plush couches and I couldn’t help but notice our knees gently touching as we talked. Hot 20-Something Guy was nowhere in sight – much to my relief. I placed my hand on Media Guy’s thigh while smiling and gently biting my lower lip. The conversation turned heated; I could tell he was aching to get me home, aching to slide the silk straps of my dress off my shoulders. He invited me back to his place for a nightcap; I couldn’t wait to see what he had in mind.

The Blog Formerly Known As 'So I Met This Guy'

So I Met This Guy…

March 14, 2010 

One of my first interviews was for an online magazine featuring an extremely talented fashion and art photographer. As we were in different countries at the time of the interview we never met in person. Four months later I moved to New York and invited him for drinks to say thank you and introduce myself. My friend warned me about photographers and I remember telling her, "Don't worry he is 40 and married, I don't think we have anything to worry about".

That statement was the beginning of the end. Let's call him "The Photographer".

We bonded over our love of exotic food, or perhaps it was our love of wild sex. Either way we had way too much fun sneaking around the city ripping each others clothes off. It was such a cliche going to his studio, driving around in his beautiful sports-car. I thought it would all end when I left New York in the Fall, but it didn't.

It became more intense... he'd fly to come see me, say he was going on a "shoot" and then it was a "re-shoot". I would try to break it off, but was so wildly attracted to him and we'd have so much fun I couldn't help myself. Did I mentioned I have a thing for the English? His accent made everything even hotter (and more cliche).

Now, I don't want you to get the wrong impression, this is not a porn site, but it must be said, The Photographer was some of the hottest sex I'd ever had. He was wild, made me insane in all the best ways. His love of thigh-high stockings gave me an Agent Provocateur addiction; one I never managed to break. He had me completely wrapped around his finger and when I invited a friend to join us, I had him wrapped around mine. He was and most likely still is, a complete pervert and the idea of fucking someone half his age was a massive turn on.

I am not one of those dumb girls that thought he would leave his wife for me. That would have been terrible as who could trust a man that was cheating on his wife. I just saw myself as his mistress, the one he wanted to be with physically. It was a turn on knowing he had someone else and would rather be with me.

Then one day everything got totally fucked.