Right On Time

New York is a busy place. A ‘New York minute’ is most definitely not just a saying; the question stands, is it a saying that you want applied to your sex life?

For me, that answer is NO.

I adore sex and I adore it with many men. Lately, I have been feeling like all the sex I have is ‘scheduled’. Perhaps this is a symptom of not having a boyfriend and not wanting to date the men I sleep with. However, it feels as though every time I have sex it is scheduled between meetings, lunches and drinks.

Don't get me wrong, the sex is still amazing; you know because you’re privy to all the dirty details, but I am desperately aching for some spontaneity. Perhaps this lack of spur-of-the-moment sex is due in large part to the lack of men that can hold my interest, or perhaps it’s because I have become fairly addicted to The Photographer of late. Either way it has been eating away at me and the thought of having scheduled sex with John Galliano Guy (as amazing as he was) or any of the others, makes me shudder.

My phone buzzed on the table, ‘Meet me in 20?’ John Galliano Guy’s name appeared in tiny letters at the bottom of my mobile screen. I had been anticipating him for what felt like weeks, but surely was only a few days. Out schedules were complete opposites and there never seemed to be enough hours in the day.

Taking a long sip of my soy late, I collected my belongings and headed down the block to his East Village digs. With each step I took I could feel heads turning to stare; what an empowering feeling knowing you can stop men dead in their tracks just from the way you walk.

I buzzed his door and held my breath that The Neighbor would not be home; the last thing I was in the mood for was to explain why I was hanging with John Galliano Guy. He opened the door to his apartment, half naked as usual. He had a black bandanna tied around his head and he looked smoking hot. John Galliano Guy looked me up down so expertly that one without a trained eye may not have even noticed. I loved that he didn’t ogle me like the men on the street.

It was one of those sweaty New York pre-summer days and the cold air in his place tickled my skin sending shivers down my spine.

I strolled into his bedroom and sat at the edge of his bed; he didn’t waste anytime. Following my lead he got down on his knees and pulled my lace panties down to my ankles. My smooth, tanned legs were on either side of his shoulders and I couldn’t wait to see if he was all talk, or as I had hoped all action.