Dancehall Desire

I have been trying to keep a low profile following the reappearance of my stalker a few weeks ago.  When my cousin, Pamela, asked me to join her in the Bahamas, I knew that I could not decline–”ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK!”, I thought.  Not only would she like me to accompany her to the Caribbean, but all expenses are paid, as Pamela’s manager is unable to attend the firm annual executive ”working holiday” (rare during these days of corporate crumble)…instead sending the Debutantes of Debauchery.  Hurricane season is upon us, though Dolly has nothing on Pamela and I; Grand Bahama will never be the same!

I sit here on our balcony overlooking the Atlantic, sipping a Bloody Mary basking in the morning sun, reflecting on last evening’s events.  It all began with a welcome dinner, where we quickly grew tired of the sad efforts of the older, married, corporate officers attempting to woo one or both of us into bed.  I am neither down with O.P.P nor sugar daddies, therefore we befriended the few members of the single (seemingly), younger set and headed from the grounds of beautiful Our Lucaya, into town…TO THE DANCEHALL. 

Standing approximately six feet tall with blonde hair and blue eyes Matt, is that rare combination of adorable and sexy, though does not fall under my typical preference.  He bought me a drink and we hit the dance floor.  Initially, he was about as comfortable as a Red Sox fan at Yankees Stadium, though after some…ahem…guidance, he settled into the rhythm of the reggae and the sensual atmosphere of the club.  This was truly a seductive scene; couples melting into one another to the beat of Tanto Metro and Devonte’s “Give it To Her“.  It wasn’t the tropical climate which made this atmosphere dreamlike, it was the mystical wave of Caribbean beats.  I felt intoxicated as he moved with me, front to back, his hand on my waist and my arm around his neck, reaching down to brush his lips against mine…

“Hey, Frankie!”, yells Pamela from the door of our suite, snapping me out of my lust induced trance, “ready to go down to the pool?”

“Sure”, I reply, “I definitely need a cool down.”

–Frankie

Fantasy Fun

It’s my birthday soon! AHHHHH! I’m almost 30! Double AHHHH! I think I’m severely  scared of turning into Bridget Jones.  I won’t scream again. No worries.

My problem. I really enjoy being single and independent. Plus, most of the guys I’ve  dated are more of a disaster than I am.

Perhaps I’m just trying to justify the most satisfying romp I’ve had in a while. It was non-committal and most certainly a one-night-stand. It was down at the NJ shore at Point Pleasant. I was out with friends at Jenkinson’s and the bunch of us decided it would be fun to crack out our bathing suits and go night swimming with some of the guys we had just met there. I had met this dreamy Italian, direct from Italy, who was staying with a friend of his.  We hit the shore and the water was chilly, but the Italian Stallion kept me warm as we were wading in.

Well the Italian stallion was too hard to resist and a lot of fun. Needless to say there was no sleeping that weekend. I’ve sent the Italian stallion back to his home country with a smile and a little more to talk about then the pizza. Plus, I’ve fulfilled a romp on the beach fantasy. Let’s face it, it’s a shame if you don’t fulfill some of your naughty little sexual fantasies. Now I’ve had my zipless fuck.

So Frankie and I are planning a birthday outing. We have been contemplating the best way to take on the city in style and perhaps meet a couple of nice guys while we are at it. If not no big deal. We are checking out New York Mag’s Best of 2008’s for ideas. Any suggestions? - Ruby

Pest from the Past

I was looking forward to an amazing birthday evening with friends, which I did manage to enjoy.  A bit hungover the next morning, I received a massive arrangement of flowers and huge box of Godiva chocolate accompanied by a note reading only,

                                     HAPPY BIRTHDAY

                                     THINKING OF YOU

                                     -ME

“Oh how sweet”, I thought, “Cooper sent flowers.”

Though we were no longer dating, the relationship between my ex, Cooper Bogues, and I remains civil, we still speak and do want only good things for each other.  Cooper lived on the other side of the world and such a long distance relationship was no longer something which I could bear.  Though we now had a successful platonic relationship, this birthday floral arrangement was a bit much; and though the Aussie dollar has made quite a gain against the US greenback, it still must have cost him quite a pretty penny…wait, the Aussies removed pennies from circulation; OK, FINE–a pretty ten cent piece!  I sent an email thanking him, though he never responded.  Did he send the arrangement?  Curiosity really was eating away at me, I just HAD to know. 

I rang the florist and much to my dismay, they could not reveal the sender’s identity, as they requested to remain anonymous.  Despite her legal obligation to her client, the florist wanted me to guess, as she thought the gesture was terribly sweet….little did either of us know how terrible. 

“Well, could you please tell me if the order was placed internationally or locally?”, I asked.

“It was local.  If you say a name, I can hint.”, she replied.  I responded by rattling off a few names of my most recent almost lovers, none of whom were the sender.  “Oh no, it couldn’t be”, I thought, as fear welled inside, memories of my other ex or the ex-boyfriend-turned-crazed psycho stalker and the story of Kitty Genovese replayed in my head.  Four years had passed, could it be???  “Ralph Puglia?” I ask, nervously.

Excitedly the florist responds, “I think you are HOT!”

Great–the stalker returns.

–Frankie

Pride Penis Party

I celebrated Gay pride with some dear friends yesterday. Gay men are officially the cutest. I love Gay Pride because its the only day we see the hottest men in the city take to the streets. OK so they aren’t interested in me, but they are fun to watch and to dance with.

We were at this fabulous bar yesterday called Gaybill or more widely known as Cowgirl Cafe. I was having a great time with some friends when I met this Cutie pie with dark hair, a gorgeous smile, and buff body. He seemed to be actually flirting with me. Was I mistaken? I figured I was.

I asked him where his boyfriend was, and he said he had just broken up with his girlfriend and was out with his roommate, who happened to be gay. Now that was intriguing. Gaybills turned into a dance floor so All of us hit it and me with Cutie Pie. But the place was packed and I wound up in the middle of a grind pit. Now I’m a fan of being pressed up against a sexy man, but not about 12.

I felt like the girl in Night at the Roxbury, being bounced between two guys.

Funny thing is Cutie Pie seemed to be enjoying bashing his pelvis into not only me, but into some other men dancing around us. After a while he seemed up close a personal with one particular fellow I myself wouldn’t have minded hooking up with. I figured the meat on meat market was probably his forte at that point. - Ruby