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It’s nearly midnight by the time I get my makeup off, tip out the DJ, the makeup girls, Yasmine, the waitress, as well as the club.
I’m waiting on 6th Avenue for a taxicab but ton
ight, they’re hard to come by. Finally, I see one that stops and I go to get in.
Just as I get inside, the door opens from the other end. A man gets in.
This is my cab! What the fuck!
“59th and Fifth Avenue, please!” the man literally shouts at the driver. I can tell he just came in from the club.
“Hey buddy!” I yell at him and he turns to me. His eyes widen and he looks at me as if he knows me.
I can’t lie. He’s cute. More than cute. He’s gorgeous. He’s muscled and he’s got a smirk and if he wasn’t coming out of the club, I would totally be crushing on him right now.
“This is my cab,” I manage to finish.
It takes a moment, and finally the guy speaks.
“Listen, uhm, Miss,” he says. “My dad just died and the cab is already on its way…”
Whatever. This is the last time I’m going to have to deal with people from a strip club.
“Just make sure you give me the money before you get out,” I say and pull out my phone.
I put on my earbuds and turn on my music. I would have loved to just stare at the guy, but his stop comes by way too fast—in like 5 minutes—and he hands me a $100 note before rushing out.
“34th and 8th,” I tell the cabdriver, wondering what kind of people I’ll be dealing with on the phone sex line.
Regardless of what they’re like, at least I’ll be safe from people like this guy who just tossed me a C-note.
I’m okay if I never have to go inside a strip club again. Or deal with the people who frequent them.
Well, I mean, I wouldn’t mind if I run into the guy who got off at the Plaza again, though.
Just saying.
3
Ashley
The taxicab is taking me past the Plaza, where Gorgeous Jerk got off, and is heading onto 8th Avenue. I look at my watch as we approach Times Square.
It’s just barely midnight. I can see Peter’s apartment on 50th Street.
“Stop the cab!” I yell to the driver who stops with the characteristic lack of surprise based on having seen everything most likely in his tenure as a New York City cabdriver. I pay the fare and get out of the car, heading toward Peter’s building on the corner of 50th Street and 8th Avenue.
Peter lives by himself in a 4 story walk-up, and as someone who graduated from college a couple of years ahead of me, the fact that he has a job and an apartment to himself makes him a pretty big catch in the dating pool of New York City.
I reflect on this as I take the keys to his apartment out of my purse and open the front door.
That’s right. He’s given me a set of keys. I think he gave them to me last month – after we’d been dating for two months. I know what he sees in me. He thinks I’m hot, or whatever. I mean, I try to work out and look good. I save up for things like dresses or heels or yoga pants. I don’t spend obsessively going shopping all the time, and I’m not vain, or anything. But I try to look cute. And I guess he appreciates it. I mean, if you ask me, there are a thousand other prettier girls you can find at any given moment—I’m not anything that special, but Peter always likes showing me off for whatever reason.
But then again, aren’t I kind of doing the same thing? I know that's what you were thinking maybe, weren’t you? When I said the fact that Peter has a job and his own apartment makes him a catch, I did my own aspect of superficial judging there I think.
I mean, on paper, that’s great. But he’s not perfect. I don’t think there’s such a thing as a perfect guy. He’s okay to look at—he’s tall enough, and he’s not like super hot, but he’s not ugly. He’s just … average.
We have sex. I mean, it is what it is. It’s not like super-crazy sex or anything. Like I’m not yelling at the top of my lungs. Sometimes I don’t really cum. I mean, everyone knows that to be a girl means sometimes a guy’s cock isn’t going to do it for you, right? And Peter isn't a big fan of going down on me, so sometimes I just fake it to make sure everything is going well. I mean, a part of me is really turned on and gets really wet knowing what I can bring him to. What I can do to him.
