Sex and the (NY) City

Jenn Invades the "Big (sex) Apple" 

(This CLASSIC SEX CRAP column first appeared @ E-Crap on 4/17/2002)

The time was right to get away for a long weekend. And last weekend was that weekend. I rounded up two girlfriends of mine, and we collectively took a three day weekend to the center of the universe - Manhattan for those not in the know. While I am not truly local to New York City, I am on the east coast, and remain a drivable distance away, or close enough where a train or plane is relatively cheap. Not to mention, of course, my favorite show being based there!

Why did I need to get away? I have been feeling a bit of burn-out. Definitely in the workplace, and perhaps even more so in the relationship circles. My dating the last few months leaves much to be desired, and as a result I have felt that my column material needed a recharging. What better place to recharge the sexual energy than New York City.

So on Friday morning, off we went. We booked a hotel room online in a decent midtown location, and since it was split among three (and the gas/tolls were quite low), we anticipated a cheap weekend getaway. I also made it clear to my partners in crime that I was going with one thing in mind - sex. And even if I did not partake in any sexual activity over the weekend, that I would do my best to experience Manhattan's sexual energy in some form. And fortunately for this column, I succeeded.

Had I known further in advance that I would be in Manhattan, I would have tried to hook up with a few of my newly found media contacts. Who knows, maybe I could have met with one of the written publications I have occasionally e-mailed with, and landed a job writing for a major organization. Then, I could move to NYC and truly live the 'Sex and the City' life. But instead, I settled for Friday afternoon shopping. Oh, the pleasures that one can derive from an afternoon shopping trip in Manhattan. We covered most of the stores on 5th Avenue, visited several designers (my friends are a bit more vocal than I, and I think I was introduced and accepted into some of these ritzy boutiques as a world famous and syndicated sex columnist), and I'm a bit ashamed to say that I spent nearly $300 on one pair of shoes! That was the moment that I truly felt I belonged in New York City.

As much fun as shopping was Friday, the night was better. We decided to spend the night in the Village (Greenwich Village), and experience as much as we could. We lucked out. At our second stop, a small underground bar on Bleeker Street, we met the most splendid gay couple. They asked not to be identified here, and I will respect their wishes. After leaving the first bar, we immediately made a beeline to another across the street. Outside, we saw a flashy transvestite, along with a bouncer wearing a blonde wig, and we knew we had to go there, not knowing it would turn out to be a gay bar. We were the loudest people in the bar, and the only true females though it was still early (10PM) by village standards. After about twenty minutes of watching men kiss men, a man finally approached us. He liked the heels that my friend was wearing. He also jokingly told her that she was wasting her short skirt in that particular bar, that nobody would be paying attention. We invited him to join us for a drink, and soon after, his friend accompanied him. About two hours of Sex Crap talk, and three margaritas later, we were following them to a secret underground club in the east village. Before entering, it seemed as though our new friends were negotiating with the security person about all of us entering. Something seemed to pass hands, we assumed cash but were unsure, and sometime after midnight we were inside. It was dark, and one of the guys started rattling off a list of some of the famous people that frequented the club. To everyone we met, I was introduced as the real Carrie Bradshaw. We drank, watched people simulate sex, saw nude men and women dancing in cages, then entered a room where people were indeed having sex. After my fifth drink of the night, we retired to a quieter room, and I was starting to feel very intoxicated by both the alcohol and the atmosphere. So much so that I hardly even realized I was being fondled by a beautiful young lady that could not have been more than 18 years old. She must have wandered in without our noticing. She began playing with my hair, and I did not want her to stop. Actually, I wanted her to fondle other parts of my body. It was after 2AM, I had finished my sixth, or eighth. drink, and was now engaging in a full fondle-fest. One of my friends was passed out, the other was making out with a guy wearing a leather jacket and leather pants. They never even noticed that I was now stretched out on some sort of mattress, groping and being groped by this young blonde. When she began kissing my neck and reaching her fingers under my blouse, I suddenly sobered up. It was late, and I politely told her I had to leave. She whispered that she was very wet, and could I stay a little longer. I told her I really needed to leave. I had not seen the two gay guys in several hours, and I stood up and straightened my clothes. For the first time in hours, I fully realized where I was, and what I had been doing. My one friend who had been making out was awake as well, and we woke our other friend. As we began to find our way through the rooms to an exit, I looked back and did not see the young girl. We managed to hail a cab, and $18 later, we were safely in the confines of our hotel room, just before 4AM.

At about 11AM Saturday morning, we finally realized we were still alive. As we took turns either vomiting or showering, we were able to make it outside by noon. The local Starbucks never felt better. After coffee, we walked for close to an hour, and decided we hadn't eaten in about sixteen hours, so we made our way to a restaurant. By 3PM, we were back in the hotel room, napping. We didn't wake until after 7, and after showering we all felt almost human again. We headed out to an Italian restaurant that was recommended to us by a member of the hotel's staff. It was over dinner that we tried to make sense of the previous night's activity. But the more we tried to talk about it, the more we just tried to ignore some of the specifics, instead opting to talk about how drunk we were and about some of the things we saw, not did. By 10PM, we decided we had enough sex for the weekend, and began making our way to Connelly's Pub on 45th Street, where a band we knew of, Black 47, plays every Saturday night. 

It was 11:30 before they finally took the stage. It was loud, raucous, and the late start gave us more excuse and opportunity to drink. Remembering how we felt that morning, we eased up a bit. Two or three drinks, and no sexual feelings, just good Irish rock 'n roll. And Black 47 was awesome. For the first hour, we were totally acting as though we said we would. We had met some financial guys just before they took the stage, and we even passed on their offers to buy us drinks. But they were good conversationalists, and very good looking. The one I ended up "with" (for lack of a better word) looked a bit like a more muscular Keanu Reeves. Needless to say, there was much attraction. Then, just as I was getting to know him, the band took the stage. Us gals went and danced on the floor, and about an hour after Black 47 started, the guys joined us on the floor. However, about fifteen minutes later, they left the dance floor and went back to the rear table they were sitting at in the far corner. I guessed they sensed we were more interested in the music, which was not entirely true. Soon after, it became very much untrue. A couple in front of me began dancing, but a very seductive dance. It seemed like some sort of Irish mating dance, and it was very much turning me on. This time, it wasn't the alcohol as it might have been the previous night. This time, it was just plain sex. The moves, the grinding, the slit in her skirt, and the way he was kissing her... while the music continued. I started thinking about the previous night, and between songs I told my friends I wanted to get to know Keanu a little better, and asked if they minded if I sent his two friends out to the floor to dance with them. I had to hurry as the music started up, and there was no hearing once that happened. They were totally cool, and I made my way back to the darkest corner of the bar. I looked at Keanu, and motioned to the other two to go dance with my friends. Since none of us could hear each other, I literally acted it out, pointing to my "two" friends (with two fingers), and simulated dancing. They quickly understood, and they headed to the dance floor. I moved a stool right next to Keanu, and moved my face right next to his. We began to kiss, and soon were oblivious that we were in a crowded bar with music blasting. I reached under the table and began stroking his penis. I felt him get hard through his pants, but I stayed on the outside of his pants. I was wearing tight, cotton black pants and he reciprocated by reaching between my legs and gently rubbing me, up and down. Each rub brought a more passionate kiss, and I felt like I was ready to explode. More than that, I needed to be f'd, but I felt it wasn't going to happen. After what felt like hours, but in reality was more like twenty minutes, the music stopped, and we were joined by our four friends. It was well after 2, and my friends wanted to leave. They needed to sleep. I wanted to get f'd, but I settled for his phone number. He wanted me to go to his place, but I did not want to leave my friends. We went back to the hotel, and once they fell asleep, I finished myself off, thinking about the two nights. To this date, I have not called him, but I probably will. Who knows when I might be back in Manhattan. And who knows, I might even make a return trip to that first underground club, if only I could remember where we were!