Naughty Girls Need Love Too

This is where the blog gets complicated.

I want to be upfront and direct about the sensational pieces of my life in NY out of necessity to provide the most salacious details to my reading audience. All four of you.

I just hope the people I'm talking about never read this...

After partying late with Gil on Sunday night, then late again with Michelle both Monday and Tuesday, I figured the only logical thing for Wednesday: keep drinking. This time, however, by myself.

Wednesday nights at the Phoenix in the East Village (one of my two favorite bars here) is cheap beer night. If that wasn't reason enough for frequenting, it also attracts all the most attractive East Village boys and the place packs out by 11pm. In fact, when we left at 1am (notice the we...foreshadowing...) a line had formed.

The logic in going by myself was that it forced me to meet new people and hopefully make headway in making friends (not having someone with me also increased my chances of getting laid).

Like a cheap tamale, these things rarely unfold as planned.















I instantly met a couple great people, Bentley and Andrea, who were out getting trashed celebrating Bentley's 35th birthday. He was cute, and you know he wanted to get laid on his birthday, so the prospect presented itself quickly and the ringfinger was bare, which I learned from last week (another story) to check immediately.

Before commencing with my immoral motivations, though, I was interrupted by someone from San Francisco - they are everywhere here. He ended up being one of two that night, or three actually. This friend moved to NY about one week ago and while we had made plans earlier that day to hang out tonight, we both unexpectedly met up at this trashy east side bar a day early.

More interesting, he had a cute friend with him who is in NY for the summer for an internship. His friend thought I looked familiar. My internal dialogue recalled how we had met six months before at Moby Dick's through another friend, exchanged numbers before he left to South America for two weeks, and then proceeded to never call me after he got back to town.

"Yeah, you look familiar too," I said.

He was defintely cute though, and after two rounds of Pilsner-sized tequila shots, even cuter. The only impediment was the affections my friend was having with this boy. They were ex's, and in their drunken state of affairs had become quite nostalgic with their hands.

I didn't want to step on any toes, especially among friends, and especially because I don't have any, so I waited until my friend had to pee and made my move.

I knew I only had 3 minutes, maybe 4 tops.

I grinned. I blushed. I laughed at his bad joke. I looked demure. I grabbed him by the waist with both my hands and pulled his pelvis as close to mine as possible.

I looked into his eyes and smiled. I opened my mouth slightly and moved it seductively closer to his until the electricity was palpable. Only 2 and a half minutes to go.

He leaned in. He caressed my forearm nervously. He narrowed his eyes. He pulled a wry, mischevious smile and said, 'Let's make our goodnights and go our seperate ways. Then I'll meet you around the corner at the late-night Jewish deli where I'll be waiting with bagels and loxs for the most incredible and kosher breakfast I'll be making you after we spend tonight not sleeping.'

Sigh. Actually, no. Instead he tenderly kissed me on the cheek and said, 'I wish I met you when I first got here' (he's heading back to SF in one week).

Internal dialogue: Great, so close to getting laid and this guy wants a date, and perhaps then a snuggle on the couch after a romantic comedy starring a Cusack.

I saw my friend returning from the toilet. I grabbed cute boy's forearm and relocated my lips close to his again, squeezing his arm firmly with a passion, a dramatic intensity I probably gleaned from Demi Moore in Ghost (Molly, you in danger girl.), then backed away coyly and greeted my approaching friend.