So I have no one at work to share my story with nor do my “Friends” inquire about last night’s events ( witht he exception of my best friend Jacqueline who is certainly my rock in life); therefore, I turn to you, like a flower to the sun, a wave to the shore.
So everytime I break up with a boyfriend I usually go through the “oooh mahh gawd, its me” phase SO as means of attacking this Daddy Complex reprecussion I join PlentyofFish which is a dating website to bring back some type of confidence in myself although, yes, I am well aware that confidence comes from within, yadah yadah yadah.
Well, I just let people inbox their desires for me, their passions, their interest, and their numbers. Who wouldn’t want to wake up in the morning with messages divulging the inner most lust of men and expressions of beauty. I am all in for that. I find myself objectifying men more and more quite frankly. Payback.
So one day while getting ready for the 9-5 job I apparently love soo much I received a notification on my way too expensive iPhone from POF about some guy who sen tme a message. It would have just been glanced at and deleted. But something was different, perhaps it had nothing to do with him and the change was all me OR it was him and not me at all. I can’t remember what the message said but I responded. From a response a week ago to kisses on the Brooklyn Bridge last night, I’ve got that “fuck, i thought all men were pigs. wow, maybe they aren’t. ah, butterflies” feeling.
So last nigth at 10:30 I sat on the steps on my university, Pace, across from City Hall and just anxiously spoke to my best friend on the phone waiting the arrival of my date, my
Turkish, Kurdish, tattoo artist, date. And then he appeared and I could do nothing…..BUT GIGGLE! Greeted with a hug and light kiss on the cheek the night that was soo quickly ending and becomming morning began.
We walked along the bridge walking through each others’ pasts, presents, and futures. Turkish lessons, quick but piercing glances, and the occasional sequinned heel stuck in the wooden planks of the bridge falling. It was hot. We were sticky but the sticky body of the man had not yet touched the stick body of the woman. To Brooklyn Heights Promenade we landed and conquered. Getting there was no easy task. A festival had take place earlier and we made our way through oceans of bodiees leaving the promenade. Clearing the scene for our crime to be made. (ah fuck, Pandor is now playing ” You could be happy” by Snow Patrol……way to force me into pensivity pandora!) So we reached the stairs overlooking Manhattan, there were no stars really just lights of the buildings. But they were certainly our stars last night.
We both wanted to kiss. It was undeniable. We sat there fiddling, speaking little speak that was irrevleant and probably forgotten in the midst of butterflies. I don’t remember how it happened, what was said, who looked at who first, but the kiss ignited this passion, trembling in my soul, that was in a deep slumber, somber and hibernating. And might I say, DAMN what a good kisser. But they were kisses that I didn’t want to open my eyes. They refused to stop their lust. As if our eyes are connected to our lips. Perhaps that is just it. They are connected. It is inherent, the eyes close, the lips meet, the hands grasp. For I know my eyes were diligent in not opening. Diligent in kissing him so hard. What a great night not to use hair products. He ran his hands through my hair with romance and ease. His beard brushed and tickeled my cheeks, hot and red as they were. Between kisses we spoke of life, politics, and without words but eyes we spoke of our want for each other.
As the passion-crushing cops approached us to inform us that the park was closed we stumbled our way through the park haltng every few footsteps to steal a kiss from the other. Heels were not the best option for tonight. I did not realize I’d be treding through terrane of all sorts. I apologize to my feet only briefly and lightly. Making our way back to the Brooklyn Bridge, making our way back to the end where we so didn’t want to be, the walk was one of holding hands, holding each other, and holding of hearts. I could be exagerating because of the whole daddy complex and I tend to fall soo easily at times, but perhaps not. We had reached the second half of the bridge where we just stopped and starred at one another. I’m not quite sure or remember really howit all happened but I found myself hoisted up again the walls of the bridge, defying gravity and death, making out. When the eyes did open it was a view of the whole city, a man starring back at me, and utter fear of falling over the bridge that claimed me. We sat, two hippies with shoes off, legs intwined, ingoring passerby. It was 3am when we decided it best to continue the journey into division. He at the train stop at City Hall and me to my apartment on Fulton. The kisses at the trainstation seemed to be kisses taken to remember. Long, passionate, surprisingly soft and sweet, yet hard and rough.
He went right and I went left. I just had the best date with a communist tattoo artist who would be leaving in September for Turkey. I was the first girl he kissed in New York. While he wasn’t my first boy to kiss in New York, he was certainly the first real kiss I had in New York. Shame on me for wasting soo many other kisses on nameless lips. My walk home was filled with smiles, giggles, and sore steps in heels that I wish were flipflops. I fell asleep texting him and woke up to him. Not sure if I would want it any other way.
And now….now I’m at work contemplating bringing a dress back to TJ MAXX so I can put more money on my metro card so I can see him…..but i loooovvveee that dress! zout alors
Might I just say— this is 100 times better than 50 Shades of Grey…..just sayin’ He also brought me a present— a hookah of my own! Now, that is a good man.
Alors, ses baisers étaient infinies. Je souhaite seulement que la nuit était sans fin, ainsi.