It All Adds Up
“Scorpio,” I said lowering my voice, “I only sleep with scorpios; married scorpios.”
It was July 2011 and simmering hot on the city streets. My dove gray Reformation slip dress floated behind me as the air-conditioning cut through the thick air as I entered the only place to be on at night as hot as this. The attendant at Soho house was polished to perfection. Having spent all day in the cool lobby her hair was perfectly pressed, her make up immaculate.
My skin was sticky with sweat from the city streets and my dress clung to my breasts; I rode the elevator to the roof to meet my friend for ice cold wine, people watching and plotting world domination. As I stepped up to the bar to greet her she already had a crisp glass of Chablis in hand for me.
The men she was chatting up looked me up and down and I was keen to move on without them, but she was pushing hard to gain the attention of the taller, slimmer one. Much to my irritation the four of us ended up at a table near the swimming pool and while the men tried to entertain and impress me, I was cold, short and aloof, not having any of it. When the conversation turned to star signs I’d almost had enough until the more handsome of the two said he was a Scorpio.
“Scorpio,” I said lowering my voice, “I only sleep with scorpios, married scorpios.”
He shot me a knowing look from across the table, taken aback by my forwardness and even more intrigued by my seeming lack of interest in him and his career.
As the night wound down and we made our way to the streets of the meatpacking district. I kissed my friend goodbye and I was about to jump into a cab myself when the tall handsome Englishman asked if his driver could drop me at home. Who am I to turn down a lift? Let’s call him The Ad Man.
His driver pulled to a stop at my front door and got out to leave the two of us alone. We had been staring at each other, hungry to get a taste of what the other had on tap. He pulled me close and kissed me hard, the electricity was contagious. I felt a fire inside me and I wanted him to push his hands between my legs and feel how wet I was. But instead I told him goodnight and I made a swift exit.
Moments after I walked through the doorway of my East village apartment my phone buzzed.
“I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. When can I see you again?” It was The Ad Man. His car had barely pulled off the block and he already wanted more. His lips were firm but soft, just like his touch.
We were in the backseat of his town car parked in front of my apartment; his driver has stepped out of the car to give us some privacy. He slid one hand up my warm thigh as he pulled me closer with the other leaning in to kiss me. A shiver went down my spine and I was instantly wet. He was as hungry for my lips, as I was to feel his tongue deep inside me. I pulled away thanking him for the lift home and stepped out of the car.
I was still in the haze that comes from the sweltering heat off the concrete on a New York summer night, combine with several glasses of wine and a steamy make out session with a handsome stranger. At the time I didn’t know who I was dealing with, that would soon change.
I lit up a freshly rolled joint and inhaled the clouds of smoke as his messages kept rolling in. I lay back on my bed and slid my fingers inside myself imagining they were his tongue; as I push myself closer to the edge of orgasm I knew it was going to be a very fun summer. And a fun summer it was indeed.
