Two days ago, I get this OkCupid message from a very attractive, very cut, half asian half polynesian guy. I have a thing for asian guys. His hair was also very, very cute, and that’s normally what gets me about asian guys.
Here’s the conversation for your viewing pleasure:
Hottie: You’re neat. I would go for sexy but you’re going to have to work for it. Anyway you seem like a pretty cool person, I’d love to get together sometime and let you kiss me.
Me: Don’t tell me you’re a pick up artist going for the whole “I’m a bad ass dousche and girls love my bod” type thing. Funny, I might be falling for it. P.S. I’m sexy and I know it. (see here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyx6JDQCslE)
Hottie: Don’t tell me you spend all day reading gawker and you really think there are guys out there that don’t know who the tall lanky magician with eye liner and black nails is.
Me: Nope. I’m a successful business woman, got no time for gawker 😉
Hottie: well, at least now i know you won’t spend the whole time trying to get me to read your palm just so you can tell all your friends about it. i think we could have fun together. what’s your number? let’s do something spontaneous.
Me:**********. I just squatted 135# and did a WOD. I’m tired. Tomorrow?
We ended meeting up the next day, again at Union Square (on my insistence – he kept telling me 42nd and 6th, but who goes to Times Square on a date?)
Anyways, knowing he was most likely a pick up artist (just based off the crass message he sent), I knew Times Square was also probably near his apartment. Which implied a lot, and should’ve been foreshadowing. Really I’ve had the worst luck in boys lately, but sometimes, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
I walk up the L train steps, and pause in front of Whole Foods. He told me he was eating in the cafe upstairs. I text him my whereabouts, and he said he had gone to Starbucks instead, on 17th and Union Sq West.
Despite being frustrated, I head over to Starbucks. I hate boys that play the chasing game, but I’m not gonna lie – the half naked pictures on his OKC kept replaying in my head.
He stands on the corner of 17th and Union Square West. Nike gym bag over one shoulder, hair tossled to one side ( reminiscent of anime character hair), jacket slightly unzipped. Nike high tops. He stands at a good 6’2”, smiles and gives me a hug.
“Let’s walk. I know a good bar on 25th.” Even though I suggest Park Bar, right on 17th.
The conversation flows from the get go. He is little bit distracted (Nervous? I doubt it. More like just-smoked-a-joint-distracted), but once we get on a topic he knows, we talk easily. Everything from bioengineering, to neuroscience (his past job), to his current start up. Damn, not only good looking but intelligent as well. My favorite combination.
We’re walking and I noticed we were passing 25th.
I stopped in the street. “Yo – where are we going??”
“Its a surprise. The coolest place on earth,” he smiles mysteriously.
We walk all the way to 37th. A part of me hated him, because I already knew where this was going. But, considering what just happened with Gorgeous Boy, and me swearing off dating forever, I decide to play along. Guys like to think they’re leading, and it makes them feel better about themselves.
We stopped at a burger place. He wants dinner, he’s hungry. He orders us two shots, despite my protests. I don’t want to drink because that makes me jabber away at everything.
His burger comes, bunless (his abs gotta come from somewhere, no?) along with the tequila. Smiling he just lifts the shot to his lips, expecting me to do the same. I follow suit, grimacing and scrambling for the lime.
At the edge of his green Tee I can see the beginnings of a tattoo forming on his collarbone. I want to take off the T shirt and see the rest of it.
“Unbutton your top button. You look like you work at Starbucks.” He says, distracting me from the tattoo.
Bossy. From the start. I like it. And yes, I had to agree with him I did look like I belonged at Starbucks – black button down, dark green skinny jeans and black leather boots. A typical work outfit.
I unbutton. Good thing I was wearing my new push up bra. Actually, the only one I own, and just recently purchased. I can see him eyeing its red edge through my now open top.
A second shot arrives. When did he order that?
“So, you never answered my question. Are you a pick up artist?”
He smirked, “Well, that depends. All boys are pick up artists of sorts.”
I pushed further, “Yea, but I’m talking about, The Game, Real Social Dynamics, Mystery, and so forth…”
“You seem to know a lot more about this than you’re letting on.”
“Of course, I know a lot about this. I know a lot about everything. If you tell me, I’ll tell you. Sharing is caring!” I stick my tongue out at him.
It turns out he used to “do” pick up like Pick Up Artist (more on him later on). For five years. Yuck. Internally I wonder how many girls he’s fucked.
Just my luck. Any other RSD guys out there?
The discussion turns to girls picking up guys.
“I know I’m pretty good at it. With guys though, you have to be subtle. They don’t like it when you’re too forward or aggressive…” I start explaining.
“Well yea,” he concedes “Most guys are intimidated easily.”
I smirk. I have him right where I want him.
The bartender brings another shot. I can’t believe this guy. He’s honestly trying to get me drunk, unabashedly so.
“Hey! No more shots,” I turn to him, smiling.
“No we’re drinking these.”
The bartender jumps in, “Who’s paying?”
“I am,” says Hottie.
The bartender laughs and says “Then you’re having shots,” and places them in front of us.
“You’re trying to get me drunk, right?” I tell him.
“Of course not. We’re just having fun.” Sure.
The conversation turns to him. Turns to what he did before he worked in my industry (oh what a small world it really is.) He built programs for a stem cell researcher before moving to NYC. Our backgrounds are amazingly similar, which makes him even more intriguing.
I watch him carefully. His face is very handsome. He has nice features.
We get up, actually splitting the bill (I insist. I know this isn’t a date anymore, eventually we are going to fuck. But I still have to put up a game of “Oh I’m so progressive.” Of course I do. Otherwise boys are shocked that you actually want it.)
He says, “I know a bar up the street.”
“As long as its not another 22 blocks,” I laugh at him.
We start walking and keep walking all the way to Times Square, where he lives. I felt this was going to happen.
We turn left toward Ave of Americas, and keep walking and chatting. I’m barely noticing the people around me, a combination of being tipsy and talking to this guy. The lights at Times Square seem swirly and loud. He is legitimately very interesting to talk to.
He stops me in my tracks, “Do you trust me?”
“I trust you enough.” I repeat.
“Well. We’re at my apartment. Its right here,” he says pointing to a door leading to a rise up.
“I’m not having sex with you tonight.”
He laughs, “Ok.”
“I’m serious. I’m not having sex with you tonight.” Even though I totally know I am, because he’s just that hot. And he has nice hair. And I want to see what the rest of the tattoo looks like.
“I believe you. Just come upstairs, and we’ll chat. I have a doorman. I’m normal.” He’s trying to convince me. But still, totally calm and cool.
I turn towards the door, waiting for him to open it. We walk inside, the hallway is covered in marble, the doorman sitting, smiling patiently.
I poke a joke at Hottie and say to the doorman, “Can I trust this guy? Is he cool?”
“Of course. Best guy I know!” The doorman laughs.
We go upstairs. Its a cute little studio, with three big windows. The furniture is Ikea (which is fine, but still. Secretly I judge. Even though I have all Ikea furniture. I just expected more.)
He takes off his shoes and I do the same. I plop on the bed, and he opens a bottle of Jack.
“Seriously?” I state. “I really don’t want anymore.”
He pours two double shots. Jesus, this guy is intense. If only he understood that at this point I am fucking him regardless of being drunk.
But its all a facade anyways.
We take the shots, sit down on the bed, and start chatting about start ups. I really, really, want my own.
He pours another shot. This time I pour half of it out while he’s not looking and take the rest.
I sit down on the rolly leather chair and he on the bed.
Now, I’m drunk. Its official. The room seems wobbly. I’m laughing at the stupid comments that are falling out of my mouth.
He pulls the rolly chair towards the bed and leans and starts kissing me.
He’s a good kisser.
“No sex. Its a New Years resolution, I am not having sex with you.”
“No sex,” he echoes, his hand trailing up to undo my bra.
He grabs me, stands me up, and sits me on the bed. I stand up again, bracing on the chair for balance, this time taking off his shirt.
His body is amazing, broad shoulders, narrow waist, 8-pack. His muscle is literally a canvas for some of the best tattoos I’ve seen. There’s a dragon coming down his left shoulder, roaring. One of the dragon’s spikes is what I saw tattooed on his collarbone earlier. The shading is immaculate.
The dragon is fighting a tiger, which is on its hind legs, starting at his V-line, its tail wrapping around to his lower back. The artwork is absolutely amazing. I can’t believe he stands in front of me, I am in awe. I run my hands carefully along the lines, his skin is smooth.
‘Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly’ stands written on his right pec. I take it to heart. It rings true with everything New York City is about.
“Do you actually believe that?” I ask.
“Yes! How could I not?”
At this point, we’re both topless, making out on the bed. So, sure the bra I was wearing was awesome. And normally, I match my bra and my underwear very carefully.
But this morning, I had grabbed a random pair of underwear from the drawer. Old, gray, granny panties that I reserve for emergency oh-shit-didn’t-do-laundry moments.
With the gray underwear floating in my mind, I say “Take off your boxers.”
“No, that’s not fair, then only I will be naked.”
I respond “Take them off, and I’ll take off everything.” This way he wouldn’t be exposed to my totally old undies. Crisis averted!
Before I knew it, he yanked my pants and undies off, and BAM! went down like power windows.
Sex was fantastic. I will avoid the details, but it was awesome seeing his really tight, tattooed body, all over mine.
Until next time, my friends.