The Offseason
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.