Posts tagged sex
I was thrilled to contribute a short story of erotica to Vixely’s latest iBook. Download your copy here and enjoy the free excerpt below. I drew my inspiration from a sexy, grimy, skinny hipster DJ I once met on a hot night in Brooklyn. Bon voyage…
A One Night Stand in Brooklyn (excerpt)
In the hot end-days of summer, I went to a friend’s barbecue in Cobble Hill. She lived two blocks off the beaten Smith Street track of punk-chic clothing boutiques, trendy taco joints and charming old-school edifices, like the semi-dilapidated cinema I cried in once while watching UP.
I was feeling over life, and over myself. I’d been working late every night, attempting to set a new standard of diligence that would maybe inspire my boss to maybe fight for the raise I definitely, desperately needed. I wasn’t sleeping well, and I couldn’t drag myself to the gym. Ever.
This exhaustion and malaise was all my fault, but I couldn’t see any way out of it. It was only getting worse. I couldn’t stand in line at Starbucks without gripping my fists, almost losing my shit at every person standing between me and my morning latte. I needed a change of pace.
So, I had hauled myself out of bed on that Sunday afternoon. As I walked over to the barbecue, I cursed the missed opportunity to toss, turn and try to sleep the day away, but I was also pleased with myself for going out in sunlight. I was ready for any distraction from my day-to-day.
The grass in my friend’s backyard was tall and dry, itchy on my legs as I stood among her two dozen friends. Flies buzzed everywhere, but it was too humid to swat at them, except when they settled en masse on the picnic table of food. Still, the urban grassland ambiance beat the gray refrigerated cubicle where I spent most of my waking hours. I felt warm, slick with sweat, and it enlivened me a little. My sense of crushing lethargy was lifting.
I heard him before I saw him, focused as I was on downing scoopfuls of guacamole.
He was spouting commentary on Marx: “Communism has never truly failed, because it was never truly tried.”
I glanced sidelong his direction.
No one does “judgmental” like my Mom.
“Sweetheart, I don’t understand. If you were building a real relationship with this boy, then why would one text message destroy it all?”
She didn’t get it. George and I had been friends in college. We’d recently re-connected years later in New York and started having brunch, texting all the time, meeting up for drinks, swinging by our favorite burger joint, and making out. A lot. (We weren’t having sex, Mom, FYI.)
It thrilled me that maybe – maybe – we would have The Talk soon and he would become my boyfriend. How wild, hilarious, awesome and unexpected would that be, after all the years we had known each other!
Then came the text message.