Lucky No. 3
I’ve said before that my attraction to both men and women can leave me wanting more; so that Friday night in the East Village, three days before our official dinner date, I rolled the dice and I played to win.
ACME. 3:30 AM. Need I say more?
Between the moments spent entertaining my guests at the pool party he’d been flirting with me. He was a friend of a friend and one of the most handsome and charming people I’d met. The super sexy British accent that rolled off his tongue was music to a particular fetish of my ears. At 6’5”, even in my highest of heels, he towered over me. His killer smile and sense of humor had me wanting more.
Amidst the chaos that is hosting an event, he managed to ask for my number and I was glad that he did.
A few days after the infamous bash, it would be featured along side Jay-Z and Beyonce’s Magna Carta album party as a soiree that was not to be missed, he’d asked me to have dinner with him at a sexy little spot in Tribeca. I was excited and annoyed to have to wait an entire week to see him. Monday was so far away and in New York, an entire lifetime can pass by in a week.
I wanted to see his gorgeous face. I wanted to feel his lips on mine. I got wet just thinking about sitting across the table from him. Even though things with The Colombian were still ongoing, at night when I laid in bed to allow sleep to come to me, I would make myself cum fantasizing about him. Let’s call him The Big One.
I’ve said before that my attraction to both men and women can leave me wanting more; so that Friday night in the East Village, three days before our official dinner date, I rolled the dice and I played to win.
ACME. 3:30 AM. Need I say more? Anyone who has been to the underground club below this delicious restaurant knows it is a place for good drinks, great music and sexy people dancing the night away. Personally, it’s the place where I went to play and often left with more than one person. The Colombian and I had been drinking dancing and taking drugs. Even though I was enthralled with her every move, I couldn’t help but notice The Big One texting me.
She glanced over with her dark, devious eyes and told me I should invite him to join, so I did.
Because New York isn’t actually the city that never sleeps, ACME closed its doors at 4 AM and as we stood outside the front enterance taking drags of a shared cigarette, The Big One walked up. He was just as handsome and dynamic as I’d remembered. The three of us pilled into a taxi and headed up the west side to a friend’s party. The Colombian was eyeing us both on the ride and I could tell she approved of the pairing.
I didn’t know it then, but the next 48 hours were about to get very wild and very public. His hand was resting on my thigh and I wanted nothing more than for him to slide it upwards so he could feel just how badly I was aching for him, my pussy dripped wet. I wanted to feel his hands and her lips; I wanted to feel it all.
We arrived at the apartment, pilled into the elevator and they both began to kiss me… the game had begun and it seemed everyone wanted to play.
Longterm Lover
“Damn,” I couldn’t help but think, “This man is hot, intelligent, with next level style… Yes please.”
It was just another Tuesday night at The Bowery Hotel. Usually I sat out back on the patio, but tonight I’d been seated in the front section. It was all so very long ago; I cannot tell you who I’d arrived with, but I can tell you that the man I left with that evening would become my lover for a decade and counting.
The year was 2010 and the hotel lobby was packed with the usual crew of glamorous guests and select local New Yorkers given access to this exclusive watering hole.
Music never plays in lobby, making it the ideal spot for an intimate business meeting, catching up with good friends or in this case, meeting the man who would rock my sex life for the foreseeable future. (If you’ve been you’ll know its also a great place to rub elbows with a celeb or two).
His hair was longish, you know, that perfect length and texture where it’s not quite falling in his eyes, but long enough that all you can think about is running your hands through it.
Hours of flirtatious banter ended with the two of us at my East Village studio, savagely making out and smoking pot. The way his tongue entered my mouth made me ache to feel it between my legs. Our chemistry was instant and growing stronger by the minute. He took his time with me, running his hands down my neck and shoulders, kissing my throat and breasts.
All that champagne coupled with 10 years of time passed leaves me hazy on the full details of what transpired, however I’m pretty sure we didn’t sleep together at my place; instead we ended up taking a taxi across Manhattan to his townhouse in the West Village. To say his place was a bit more lux than mine would be the understatement of the century. This was PRIME New York real estate.
His design taste was impeccable (it still is) and I could not wait for him to fuck me in front of the giant floor to ceiling 19th century mirrors that faced each other. The dark, open concept main floor became sexier as I took in all the details. “Damn,” I couldn’t help but think, “This man is hot, intelligent, with next level style… Yes please.”
We lit up a freshly rolled joint; as I inhaled the smoke he stood behind kissing the back of my neck. He lifted the straps of my dress from my shoulders and watched as it dropped to the floor exposing my fully naked body. “I love that you don’t wear underwear,” he whispered as he kissed my ear. Reaching between my legs he stroked me to feel how wet I was. Taking the joint from my lips he took a drag, placed it in the ashtray and led me to the sofa. We spent hours devouring each other every which way; getting higher and cumming over and over. I was 5 orgasms deep and we hadn’t left the living room.
As I sat in the taxi at 5:30 AM recounting all the blissful, passionate moments and I knew I’d be seeing him again soon. Back then it wasn’t clear exactly what I was getting myself into; how often and for how long we would play would become more clear as time passed.
It always seemed like there were at least 3 lovers on the go. Because of this, I used nicknames to keep my lovers straight when discussing them with friends. These are the very same nicknames I use in the blog. The only problem? He never had a nickname. Of all the people, in all the years, my friends only knew him by his first name… Let’s call him Edward.
