Massage Room Romp June 23, 2006

In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve made 8 sales, ended my weekend romance with the millionaire, hung out with Nate, and resumed having sex with Bossman. sex in the massage room during work, to be specific.

Every girl deserves a ‘promisucous’ phase, don’t you think? It’s hard for me to rationalize why I’m doing all that I’m doing these days, but maybe it’s that simple. I just need to get it out of my system.

Tim has a theory about men and marriage. Women don’t make men want to get married, men get to a point in their lives when they decide marriage is the next logical step, and they marry whoever they are with. It’s not particularly romantic, but I think it bears some merrit.

Today, Kyle and I snuck away from work to have a drink around 2:30PM. We called it ‘team outreach’ and escaped watchful eyes for an hour. I asked him to tell me the story of him and his fiance. How they met, why he loves her, all that good stuff. He said that the week before she accepted a date with him, he was sleeping with four different women, but one night he was sitting at a bar, having a beer, and it occured to him: he was all alone in the world. He could’ve called any of those girls for sex, but he couldn’t call any of them to just hang out.

The next week he went out with the girl, five months later they moved in together, and three weeks after that, they were engaged. Boom. He was ready, she was there, they lived happily ever after…

except for the fact that he’s still fucking me, of course. details.

since all of our co-workers called in sick today, we had the place to ourselves. i told the receptionist to call me if any clients came in, and we ran upstairs to get down. well…just when things started heating up, my cell phone began rining off the hook. damn it–a customer came in! I left kyle on the table, half covered in body lotion and more than half undressed, and ran downstairs to answer the misguided love attempts of a client who wanted to buy her full-corporate boyfriend a membership. silly girl. he gets it practically free through his company. back to business!

flash-forward a bit: me, half on the table and taking it from behind, when my phone rings again.

Receptionist: Amanda, a girl wants to buy a gift certificate. (when you read the lines of the receptionist, imagine a girl with michael jackson’s last seen nose job, and a high squeaky voice. did i mention her first language isn’t english?)

Me (searching for my underwear and wiping my legs with a towel): tell her to come back tomorrow! I’m busy.

Receptionist: Amanda, a gift certificate? How I sell that? You coming down?

Me: No…I’m busy…I can’t talk…tell her to go away.

Receptionist: you coming down now?

ME: NOOOO!!!! COME BACK TOMORROW!!! I AM BUSY!!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I HAVE TO GO!!!

Receptionist: OK, I tell her come back tomorrow?

Me: Click.

I asked Kyle a little later if he liked me when we first met–you know–before he was engaged. he said, i like you a lot more now. i thought you were really cute then, but now i know you as a person, and its a lot better. I tell him all the time that I don’t think they’ll get married. He doesn’t totally think so either. The date is set for next september, but a lot can happen before then. anyhow, it looks like tim’s theory might be right. In that case, I need to get my timing straight.

Scandlous May 18, 2006

I got back into bed yesturday morning, depressed. My job interview was horrible and my numbers at work are bad. The actor came out of the closet over myspace.com, meaning that I’d turned ANOTHER one gay. I picked up the phone and called into work depressed. Speaking to my boss did not seem like an option so instead, i left a message. He called back.

Me: Kyle, I’m not coming into work, I’m too depressed.
Kyle: Amanda, stop being so melo-dramatic and get your ass into work. we’re having a one day sale.
Me: i don’t care. i’m depressed and I’m never leaving this bed again.

click.

5 mins later…

Me: what’s the sale?
Kyle: no initiation, ten dollars off monthly dues.
Me: fuck. fine. i’ll be there in ten.

click.

Explaining that I turned another one gay was the only way to keep him off my back when I got to work, so I did. That sent the office into shrieks and histerics and for the rest of the day, I recieved pitying looks and reassurances of my feminine abilities. (Not the mention offers of straight sex–but that’s the norm at my job).

By the evening I couldn’t take it anymore. How could he come out of the closet over myspace.com and not have the decency to tell the girl he’s sleeping with? I texted him.

Me: So…r u gay now?
Him: my ex broke into my myspace and voicemail and changed the passwords so she could claim I’m gay…I’m dealing witht he authorities right now.

Oh. SO he’s not gay then? I’m unconvinced.

Aroung 8PM, Kyle offers to buy me a drink. it was a day that deserved a drink. well…one drink became two…two became three…the bartender started comping me mixed drinks…yadda yadda…i was drunk. I texted the actor again.

Me: i’m drunk have sex with me
Him: sorry, i’m at work. come by.

After much pleading, I get Kyle to agree to come with me to the bar to see him. I need some reinforcement and a shoulder to lean on while crossing the street. I realize: the actor is sweet, but he doesn’t care about me. Meanwhile, Kyle and I are flirting…we’re drunk…we leave.

On the walk uptown he kisses me. Whoa! He is my boss and he is engaged. He should not be kissing me. I kiss him back.

Then we’re in a taxi. Then we’re in the elevator going up to my apartment. Shit! Shit! SHIT!

Clothes come off, lights don’t turn on,,,we can’t do this, we can’t do this…

Finally, somewhere on the living room floor I stopped it. We didn’t have sex. I chased my boss out my apartment and back to his poor unsuspecting fiance. No no…even when I’m drunk, I am still a first choice girl! damnit!

Even if I turn men gay, I am still a first choice girl!

Fuck, I have to go to work now. Maybe I will take some time off and go to Jamaica…I need a break from all these fucking scandalous men.

Don’t Date Actors May 11, 2006

Remember the actor I was dealing with last weekend? The guy I intended to be my first hot and dirty NY one-night-stand? The same one that turned out to be a funny, smart, decent, potential boyfriend?

Well I think I ruined it. Of course, I ruin EVERYTHING!!!!

Yesturday, inspired by a fantastic 9AM meeting with a hot new magazine, and filled with an overwhelming disdain for my current job, I called in sick. (I was sick of work, damn it!). Then I texted the actor: taking the day off…laying in bed watching movies…want to join?

He was running late for an important audition and promised he’d call me afterwards. He couldn’t wait. I am very good sex, after all. tee hee. At least, ever since I got to NY I’ve been very good sex. (not the point, back to the story).

Two hours go by. I text again: hello…come fuck me!

He calls laughing and convinces me to go nine blocks down to his place. Fine. I’ve travelled further distances to get laid before. He meets me at the corner in his PJ’s and no underwear. He hasn’t shaved…something about needing to look scruffy for a part. Damn, life is good. He holds my hand and waltz’s me through the misty streets of Manhattan to pick up lunch and tell me about the audition.

Why have I been so hard on actors? Actors are hot. He is hot.

We get back to his apartment and its gorgeous–two views–better than my view, if that’s possible. After a red wine glass full of white, he tells me we’re going out for margarittas. But baby, I’m already drunk, i say. No no, that’s not possible. Don’t I want margarittas? Won’t it be fun to go drinking at 3 in the afternoon and have kinky drunk sex?

OK. I guess.

So we get margarittas and talk to the waitress at Baby Bo’s, my favoraite. Wow, he’s really great, I really like him. Shh. No I don’t. He’s an actor and an occaisional coke head–what am I doing?

Before I know it, he’s paid the bill and picked me out of my seat. Time for drunk sex. Here’s the problem…I am TOO drunk to have sex now. I try anyway.

At first it’s OK…he’s doing most of the work because I’m too loopy to try. I have a vague memory of saying, I love you, tell me you love me too…just pretend. So he said, I love you, and flipped me over. Two seconds later I announced: I’m going to sleep now and literally FELL ASLEEP MID-DOGGIE STYLE. duuudeeee……..what a wipe out.

Yes, I’ll wait for you to finish laughing…..

I remember opening my eyes for a bit and seeing him sitting at the bottom of the bed watching ‘Anchor Man’ and eating a sandwhich. “Will you wake me up when its time to go?” I ask. “Of course, will you give me head before you leave?” he questions. Maybe…

Half an hour goes by and he curls up beside me. I open my eyes again and my head is on his chest, my forehead touching his unshaved chin. “Wake up babe, it’s time to go”. Still drunk and not totally sure what to do or say, I blurted out: hey, do you like me?

of course I like you.

I kissed his face. Next question. Do you want to date me?

no answer.

no answer.

he kissed my forehead. It’s time to go. “Will you give me head?”

“No. I gave you head when I got here. You got off once, I got off zero, we’re even”. Then I got dressed. We walked down to the corner awkwardly, and not particularly as lovey-dovey as the day began. “Will you call me?” I ask. “Maybe” he says. I delete his number from my phone as I navigate traffic and head home to pass out for another hour.

Whatever. I don’t date actors anyways.

1 Night Stand May 7, 2006

It was my second drink and the bar was getting crowded.80’s music, New York-Italian men, same old scene. He was an actor–a blonde–one of Matt Damon’s body doubles. I was drunk. We had sex…in my apartment…with minimal conversation…

Life goes on….

He calls today. Leaves a message. Can we hang out later? What are you doing? Yada-ya.

My first orgasm happened about thirty seconds after he got my clothes off. That was the 30 seconds before my second. This went on for a little over an hour.

Wow

Wow

Wow

He’s an actor though….an LA actor…even though he called me gorgeous (they all say the same things)…even though he was the best sex I’ve ever had…(by far, no doubt)…he was supposed to be a one night stand.

A GOOD one night stand

But there he was on my voicemail…can I see you? let’s hang out…

I will never understand men. I’m SUCH an up-the-butt slut. (Who doesn’t do up-the-butt as chance may have it)…

Yuck May 6, 2006

We were kissing, it was dark. My clothes were coming off at a slower pace than his, but things were otherwise on track. It just didn’t feel right. Although for months I’ve been saying ‘i want sex’, ‘i need sex’, when sex was there in my face, i turned it down. WTF mate?

All of a sudden I’m incapable of casual sex? We’ve had sex before…I could do it then…why was tonight any different?

Now I feel sick. Fuck. This is why I stopped drinking in the first place.

In college I wasn’t a cuddler. I prefered men to leave after coitous, so I could stretch out on my bed and sleep comfortably, without a shoulder bone grinding against my jaw and creating acne problems. I was a wam-bam-thank-you-frat-boy type of gal…and it worked for me. Tonight, the bam wasn’t important, and all I wanted was to be hugged. What the heck is going on with me? I’m turning into a lifetime original picture!

The Thing About Spring May 2, 2006

The Thing About Spring…

1. Everyone wants to breed. More than ever me.

2. People look more attractive…and by people I mean men. wow. i love men.

3. Flirting is fun

4. Being ignored over IM is NOT fun

5. Thinking about emailing an ex in the name of ‘creating excitement’ is dangerous

6. Thinking about sleeping with an ex in the name of ‘just getting off’ is worse

7. I feel fat. arg. and i sell skinny. even worse. fat and broke just don’t cut it here in NYC.

8. Have I mentioned I want to have sex? RIGHT NOW??? Fuck!

9. Gay men are so beautiful and I wish I had a penis.

10. If I don’t get married by next week I will certainly get good and bedded!

11. Nobody wnats to breed a fatty-bo-batty. This is why I’m having sex dreams about my clients.

12. hmm….that reminds me….i have to get to sleep…..: )

No Head Here March 3, 2006

Just so you know, I don’t give head. Really, I don’t. Freshman year I burned out, giving my boyfriend head every single day for eight, long months. Why do you think my knees give me so much trouble now when I run? Not from dance classes, I’ll tell you that. Head was a new and exciting activity at the time, but after the novelty died down and my jaw started to hurt, I quit. (Especially after that AIDS class. I stopped doing everything after that!…for a few months anyways..)

Anyhoo, now I don’t.

Many boys have told me they’d take head over sex any day. Of course they would, selfish bastards. Not only do they NOT have to worry about pregnancy, which translates to ‘don’t have to use condoms’ (bullshit!), but, everyone knows it takes guys forever to get off on head, (not when I do it–I mean–when I did it, but in general), so they can maintain the illusion of being a worthwhile lay.

Self-serving pricks. Do you know that in all that time freshman year, over one hundred days spent kneeling on beer soaked carpet, unwashed boy-sheets and slippery bathroom tile, that Mer-Fer went down on me maybe twice! T-W-I-C-E. Two-fuck-dili-umptious times, for less than ten minutes each. Prick doesn’t begin to cover it.

I believe I’ve paid my dues in the head-giving department and have run a rather high debt, in terms of getting. Between Nate and Southside Chris I’m about half way paid off, but if I might be quite frank: Even when it’s equal, I still aint going downtown again!

Oh Yea… February 17, 2006

Did I tell you I had sex the other night? Yea. Valentine’s Day, how tacky. It wasn’t bad, or good. Just sex. He was a friend, we were out drinking. Nothing special occured, but for some reason somewhere around mid-town we started kissing, jumped on each other (and into a taxi), and went down to his new apartment in tri-beca. I could hear the simultaneous voices of my brother and Christian Sale: you’re a slut and an embarassment!

but hey, sometimes a girl just needs to get off!

I blame Delilah. You know her, the light 98 girl. My first night in boarding school I was alone, friendless, and without roommates. I turned on the radio. that was the first time i heard her sappy, familiar voice. Again in college. freshman year. Sophomore year. Junior year she was my best friend-both in my dorm room and in the costume shop, late at night, as I worked through every special garment I ever made.

Country Music Television had a hand in this too. Right now Dolly Parton is singing “Imagine” by John Lennon, but ordinarily I’m a huge fan of CMT. Love songs about cowboys and babies. The stuff my dreams are starting to be made of. Delilah lay the ground work, CMT pushed me over the edge.

And we fucked. twice.

The next morning I woke up thinking: that didn’t just happen. Wrong. Of course. So I slinked out his door and onto the 1/9 headed uptown. Oy. There goes number seven….and I hate to waste a number on a one night stand, but hey, sometimes it can’t be helped. Right, Delilah?

Keep Your Sex! I’m Weened… February 5, 2006

It’s crazy to say this, but I’m glad I haven’t had sex in a long time. Last year I had entirely too much sex — I mean, we’re talking three times a day for three months straight — that’s not healthy. At the time it seemed fine, normal even, but once the sex stopped, it made me crazy. Sex is kryptonite when it stops cold turkey (beware young virgins, sex hurts more after you start to like it!).

My misconception stemmed from thinking it was normal to be that in love. The timing was right for me: college was over, I just moved to a new place to start my new life, I got the internship I wanted, etc. Things were coming together. Then I met a guy I liked (really liked), and for a while I felt like I wasn’t waiting for my life to start anymore. It was amazing and I doubt I’ll ever fully recover. The sex was incredible — I mean incredible in the ‘I must fuck you in the bathroom stall cuz I can’t wait till we get home’ way. But it’s not normal. It felt easy to just let things happen, but that was a mistake. I am too young to be in love, and too vulnerable to be hurt like that again. (By the sex and the love).

However today — superbowl sunday — is a good day for me and sex. I’ve noticed with time I don’t miss it as much. That first month after the split was the hardest, especially since I felt my vibrator betrayed me by being at his house while the vicious break-up was underway. But now I’m OK with my celibacy. Really, I don’t miss it that much at all. I sit under my desk in my apartment on my head phones and listen to new music. (I don’t have speakers and my headphones have a short cord). I look for volunteer opportunities and go to the gym for 90mins every day. Life is going on without sex and now that I’m weened appropriately, I will have to seriously consider ever going back.

Sex is no longer a necessity in my life, and I’m much happier that way. Love I get from my friends, support I get from my family. Sex I get from myself, and even then, not that often at all. I can barely remember why I even liked it in the first place.

Single, 20something, NYC February 1, 2006

I’m all dolled up and date-less once again. Last night I took myself out for frozen margaritta’s and mexican. Kristin and Vanny kept my company via cell phone, in between polite chit-chat with my waitress. There wasn’t any room at the single tables and I didn’t ask to sit at the bar, so to my great dismay, I was put to eat at a four-person table (a mansion in manhattan restaurant world), right by the entrance. (Joy of joys). It didn’t matter once the margaritta kicked in. I trotted home, up second avenue, running through that flashing-hand-light (the one that says you might get run over if you keep going). I survived, so I’ll call it an adventure.

Tonight I’m ready for happy hour on my own. I showered to the tune of sexy girl power music (compliments of warlaur), got my face on and my boobs out, and I’m ready for some debaucherous happy hour casualties. (It’s not that I don’t have friends, it’s just that my friends have jobs/lives/significant others, so they don’t have time to meet for such frivolities as drinks).

The grand plan is: get a man to buy me a drink. This has yet to occur and I’m nervous if it doesn’t happen soon I’ll be too old and men won’t be interested anymore. That’s why the boobs are out, laughing in the face of a chilled wind. Not to degrade myself, but If I put them on the table, I might get a drink over some winter-clad blonde investment banker.

Wow. At the end of the day, this is what it always comes down to. Men and getting drunk. My early twenties rock!