Week 6: The Big Apple

October 28, 2016 — Rainy and cold. I navigate the subway and get to Penn Station too early. His train isn’t here yet. I go outside and walk through the shops near Herald Square. The original Macy’s is lit up, and the Empire State building looms nearby. I grab a puffer vest for him and some pajama pants with dogs on them — the dogs are wearing Santa hats. He’ll think they are funny. I’m nervous.

He’s texting that his train is pulling in. I quickly navigate the tunnels of Penn Station to where he should come out. Somehow he’s made it upstairs without running into me. We’re on the phone each describing part of Penn Station to try and find the other. Then I spot him: he’s tall and muscled and — oh, so sexy — standing under an arrivals sign. He’s even more handsome than I remember. “Hello?” he’s saying into my phone, but I’m running and then I jump into his arms. He’s surprised and catches me.

We wander hand-in-hand back through the city to the subway. Back in Queens, we get into my car. I turn to say something when he catches the back of my head and kisses me hard. His hands slide up my dress and I moan. His hands are so big and strong. We drive back to my house. Inside, he drops his bags and picks me up like I weigh nothing.

We’re semi-undressed and he holds me in the air against the wall. He’s inside me and his cock is huge and hard. Next, he puts me on the bed and flips me onto my stomach. My legs are straight and he straddles me, then slides his cock in deep. Suddenly I’m having orgasm after orgasm in waves that crash over me. I can barely breathe. We finish and collapse in a pile. The sex is amazing — even more so because it’s him.

The next day we explore Manhattan and that evening we hit the happy hour at a local pool-hall in my neighborhood. Jake and Mario hit it off. One of my associates talks to Erin about a criminal case that we’re handling (Erin is a prosecutor; she’s not on our case but gives her assessment: our client is screwed). Everyone seems to have a good time. Despite Emma’s gruesome prediction, the party is completely drama-free.

Jake keeps the kids, including my daughter, so that we have free time. The following afternoon we head to the Upper West Side to meet with my ex-boyfriend. We are standing next to him on the sidewalk, but he doesn’t see us. I say his name and he jumps. Mario is slightly taller than he is. They shake hands. “Well don’t you both look unique,” my ex- says. “I’ve had her for the last four years,” he says to Mario, “So have a good next four years with her.” We look at each other. I say a silent prayer that the worst is over. My ex- continues: “I guess you are both sort of, uh, nerdy.” They shake hands again and my ex- stalks off.

“We look ‘unique,'” I say, puzzled. Mario laughs. “That just means ‘I’m not white,'” he says. “You aren’t white?” I say with faux-surprise. He’s half-Korean and half-Cuban — and all gorgeous. We laugh about the “nerdy” comment and agree that it could have been much worse. “I was ready to let him have one punch,” Mario says. I’m stunned. “It’s a guy-thing,” he explains. “He has a free one, but that’s the limit. He didn’t take the shot.” He shrugs. I guess it really could have been much worse.

The rest of the time we spend seeing the sights of the city and making love. I try to take him to the Queens Art Museum but it’s closed. We walk around the World’s Fair. Back to my neighborhood, we get lucky and pull up to Queens Comfort in time for brunch. And there’s no line and instant table. “I know we are in a bubble right now, sheltered from reality,” he says. “No work, no kids. But I’m ready for this and all of the complications.”

I smile. Me too.



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