The Boys of Summer - Part I

As summer wanes toward its end, I decided to reflect and recount one of my favorite summer phenomenons - the summer boy. These stories, in installments, are of those initial encounters on those steamy summer nights. I hope you enjoy! And of course. Names have been changed. :)

If love is in bloom in the springtime, than lust is in bloom for summer! Summer, especially in NYC, fuels the fires of desire. A result of the deadly combination of sweltering heat, frosty drinks, rooftop recreation, and of course, less clothes. So here is to my boys of summer. While they have only been brief blips on the radar of my life, they have all added a little fun, flavor, and festivity to my sassy summer nights before they fizzled in the fall.

Boy #1 - "Brady"

It was a steamy, sultry summer night when I met “Brady”. A friend of mine was saying goodbye to New York and bonjour to Paris so we were out in honor of her departure. On this night, every ringlet of my usually wild hair was perfectly coiffed into place. My skin was luminous as the gleaming moon hovering over the city that night. As I confidently strutted from the cab to the entrance of the bar, my signature scent floating behind me, my new dress hugged every curve. In other words, I emanated hot.

The first hour or so of the party was spent sipping martinis and making casual conversation. Being that I had been off of the horse for a while, I also began plotting my accidentally-on-purpose-setting-the-stage for finding a boy. By this point I was a little tipsy and lot bold. Across the room, I spotted three attractive guys that I needed to talk to.

“What should I say?” I inquired to my friend and her boyfriend. My clever opening statements were shot down by the boyfriend who told me to just say hello. Hmm.

“I could do that,” I thought. But I needed an in. Around this time, I was staring at melting ice cubes at the bottom of an empty glass, so I just had to put it down somewhere. That somewhere ended up being right between the guys and another crowded pack of people. As I gently placed my glass on the bar, I brushed against one of the three.

“I’m sorry,” I responded thoughtfully as I squirmed away from my spot at the bar and out into the free space next to him.

“No problem,” he responded. We continued to make small talk until that evolved into introductions. Introductions turned into the fascinating details and the fascinating details turned into flirting. As always, an initial group exchange develops into one-on-one banter as a spark or some other magnetic energy draws two together.

We continued to converse in between trips to the bar and back to our respective friends. He complimented my dress and the confidence with which I commanded the attention of the room. I complimented his smile And before long, we were at that crossroads.

“So why don’t I you call me some time,” he asked. He must not have know the girl he was talking to!

“I don’t call first,” I simply stated. We spent more than a few minutes debating before I finally gave in. His, “because I beat you to it first,” was all the convincing I needed. I would break my rule and call first. He slipped me his business card and dared me to break my rule.

“Now, you aren’t going to forget me when I call, are you?” I playfully inquired. And just to be certain my name would be burned into the forefront of his brain, I refreshed his memory by gently gliding my index finger down his chest slowly forming the K…R…and so on. If nothing else, he’d remember me when I called.

I said my goodbye and left him in the trail of my signature scent as I sauntered out onto the street. As I stood in the glow of the moon and the streetlights, I unzipped a compartment in my wallet. Pointy corners poked at my fingertips. “Still there,” I thought. So I hailed a cab and headed home.

Stay tuned for the next installment in the series...

An addendum

I know you are much smarter than this and would not want to insult your intelligence, my friend. However, there are some of your counterparts that missed the memo. Perhaps you can pass it on.

God is not a gateway.

Using a woman’s religion is never okay. God is not a gateway into her pants. Not only is this sacrilegious and disrespectful, it is just plain ridiculous. You cannot call me sugar pants on Saturday night and then expect to join me at church on Sunday morning.

And while we are on the topic of the most inappropriate behaviors, please leave a woman’s race, culture, or ethnicity out of it, too. While I hope you appreciate this about her and are interested to learn more, know the difference between that and making ignorant assumptions or exploitations. For instance, no one wants to be your “chocolate goddess.” And no, she does not necessarily cook in a wok and know kung fu because her ancestors are from Asia. Curiosity interest in culture is one thing, but the first question out of your mouth does not need to be, “What is your background?” Does it really matter? What I have to say should trump where my grandparents were born.

Just want to keep you in the loop. As always, thanks for listening. Hopefully I’ll find that these messages are making their way into the mainstream and that my experiences start to change for the better. If not, I’ll be back again!