I had big Thursday night exercise plans… until work ransacked them and I was left alone in the office at 8pm, polishing a slide deck.
As I finished up at my desk, deflated and blue, a welcome, perfectly timed message popped onto my phone: a girlfriend asking if I was free for an impromptu drink at my new East Village local, Goodnight Sonny.
40 minutes later I was at the bar, via a quick bag drop and makeup refresh at home. We ordered deliciously spiced, sunny orchard margaritas and a satisfying roast beef sandwich.
It’s a perfect bar: ambient lighting and soft, sanded wood decorate the warm space that’s neither too big nor too small. I was about to discover another, more hidden quality: it’s a great spot to pick up men.
As we finished round one, a tall, muscular, hard-to-miss guy swanned over in our direction. He wore a statement, multi-colored, short sleeved shirt. His features were cartoonesque: perfectly shaped black hair, glowing white teeth, square jaw, and arms so large that every time he reached for his drink, my friend’s face was entirely eclipsed.
Never one to mince her words, my friend opened the conversation:
“You look like a Hawaiian Ken Doll”.
He seemed to take it as a compliment, and we started chatting with him and his less attractive buddy. Shortly after, my friend had to scoot to catch a train to the Hamptons (where I was joining her the next day), but I was intrigued by the striking and sexy Ken doll, so stayed.
When he bought my next drink and lightly touched the small of my back, I sat up a little taller. By the next round, my legs were touching his, and I knew it was on. Yes yes yes.
His pal was drinking straight tequila, so I suggested we make the move to a nearby speakeasy tequila bar.
Before the tequila onslaught that was sure to ensue I headed downstairs to the bathroom. Emerging, I bumped right into Ken, who was on the same mission.
Noticing there wasn’t another soul in the basement, we immediately started kissing, intensely. In the same instance, we both registered the open door of the bathroom next to us, and gave each other the ‘are you thinking what I’m thinking’ look.
“But what about your friend?” I asked, half caring.
“Oh he’d definitely be in favor of this,” was his response.
It was all I needed to hear. Adrenaline and anticipation pumped through my veins as we slipped into the bathroom.
The obvious placement was me on the colorful mosaic sink, with him between my legs. I was wearing a short, flowy dress. Ideal. I always knew carrying a condom in my wallet would pay off.
5 minutes of awesome, hot as hell sex later, I got paranoid about his waiting friend, we both realized we weren’t going to finish, and the sink had started coming loose from the wall.
We made ourselves presentable and were relieved to discover that no one was waiting outside the door.
Upstairs we arrived back to a table of warm tortilla chips, chunky guac, and top-shelf tequila shots, courtesy of his friend (who didn’t bat an eyelid at our disappearing act). Best 30 minutes ever.
On our way to the third and final bar, Death and Company, I discovered my hunk of a man was a mere 23 years old, and 7 years my junior. Given his ridiculously large stature, I had wrongly assumed that he was closer to my age.
Seeing as I had already had sex with him, this seemed like no good reason not to invite him back to mine at the end of the night, where we were thankfully able to finish what we started.
I headed to the Hamptons the next day with a big hangover but an even bigger grin on my face. An unexpectedly unforgettable Thursday night in New York, to say the least.