Ariscestocrats! How is your summer going?! I hope everybody's boozy brunching it and attending grand poolside kiki's a-la rooftop (if not, do get on that, you're slackin' boo). But enough about leisure, let's talk about love. It's a sticky subject and can be a very scary concept to consider for most people. You can't just throw that word around loosely, it's a real feeling, and that's why people get hurt. I've dated many men, most proving to be just boys with body hair and a great line of credit, but none had ever let the "L" word leave his lips... until Ryan.
For discretion, names have actually been changed for this story - there's a first time for everything. He knows who he is, and he knows what he did. And I know he's reading this, so get ready to cringe "Ryan" (winks and cackles maniacally). Now, where were we?
It was the beginning of a super sexy summer and the first day of Gay Pride in New York City. I was out with some of my gays in Chelsea at one of my favorite haunts, Gym Bar, getting my day drink on with a frozen purple nurple. I remember that drink being my summer signature because the color clash went perfectly with my strawberry blonde 'Marcia Brady' weave I had been flossin' all season. I was werkin' a yellow shear tank and a pair of maroon short shorts strangers often mistaken for a belt (my boys call'em my "get it girl" shorts). I was puttin' it all out there for attention and man, did I get it. Ryan circled me and my friends, making occasional eye contact for well over an hour before he finally got up the gull to approach me. I was handing a new acquaintance a business card, dropped it, and without missing a beat Ryan swooped down to pick it up. "Can I get one of these as well?," he asked without an ounce of shame or sarcasm in his voice. He was smooth. I would have to use caution with this one. If I only knew then how much...
I learned the basics on him pretty quickly; Argentinian, Jewish, director/actor, here on business often, identifies as heterosexual, 6'2", thin frame, 35 years old, likes trans girls, and he's staying at a friends place on the Upper East Side. So far, nothing to object to, he'd earned himself an hour.
Ryan kidnapped me, with my consent of course, for the rest of the evening, separating me from my friends and the rest of the the Pride festivities. He stole me to a park bench where we started to go deeper with our real lives; siblings, jobs, hopes, dreams, past relationships. This guy wasted no time at all, I felt like I already knew home better than some of my friends. He grabbed us a cab and even guessed my favorite date spot, Pastis, on his first try. That had to be a good sign, right? We nibbled on seared scallops and a watermelon champagne concoction he ordered for me at the bar. We shared more of our stories and kissed for all to see without any sense of awkwardness. And it wasn't the sloppy "Those two are wasted strangers" kind of PDA, but the kind that looks and feels like you really see that person. I'd never been so comfortable with a guy so quickly, naturally I was down for whatever he wanted to do for the rest of our night out.
We skipped arm in arm over to the Standard Hotel to do some dancing, star gazing, and of course, more making out. Distracted by our little lust bubble, we completely forgot about Gay Pride; outside the hotel was the line from hell to get in. After our failed attempt to sneak in through the fire escape (don't laugh, the idea seemed foolproof and we'd been drinking damn it), we had the bright idea of pretending we were "somebodies" and confidently waltzed our asses to the front of the irritated, impatient crowd. The door boy looked us up and down, lifted his velvet rope, stamped our hands, and made our day. Everything was so easy, so effortless with Ryan thus far, all of the signs were pointing right at him that night. We danced jacuzzi side, made out in the moonlight via rooftop, we couldn't get enough of each other.
The night was coming to a close and I had a grown-up girl decision to make. Am I going to go home with this near complete stranger that I've been moving way too fast with all day? Or am I going home alone in the hopes that that will leave him wanting more? Shit. But wait! I could have my cake and eat it too! I went home with Ryan but took sex off of the table in our talk in the cab ride over. I claimed I was, "exhausted," which wasn't a complete lie. He respectfully bought it and we headed home. We sleep cuddled throughout what was left of the night and said our hard goodbyes in the morning. He called me a cab and I got in feeling as if I'd been in a romantic comedy for the past 24 hours. What the hell just happened? Where has this guy been all my life? These questions weren't helped when Sara Bareilles' hit "One Sweet Love" started to play when the car door shut.
That morning was like any other Pride weekend morning; Midtown rooftop, poolside, my boys in toe and mimosas. It was like the previous evening never happened and I liked it that way. But then a strange number popped up on my phone; it was definitely Ryan. "Don't you have a flight out in two hours?," I asked kind of shocked that he actually called so early. "I have to see you. I have to see you again, I might not be back for another month or two," he said with a sense of urgency I wasn't familiar with from boys I actually liked. I invited him to join us and he got there in a New York minute. We danced and kissed again, he met and got to know my friends, and just like that was off to catch his flight back to Argentina. Seriously, I could not figure out what the hell happened that weekend. Who was this guy? I was smitten, but more cautious than ever. I mean after all, he's just a tourist, where could this go?
To be continued Ariscestocrats*