Lucky No. 3
I’ve said before that my attraction to both men and women can leave me wanting more; so that Friday night in the East Village, three days before our official dinner date, I rolled the dice and I played to win.
ACME. 3:30 AM. Need I say more?
Between the moments spent entertaining my guests at the pool party he’d been flirting with me. He was a friend of a friend and one of the most handsome and charming people I’d met. The super sexy British accent that rolled off his tongue was music to a particular fetish of my ears. At 6’5”, even in my highest of heels, he towered over me. His killer smile and sense of humor had me wanting more.
Amidst the chaos that is hosting an event, he managed to ask for my number and I was glad that he did.
A few days after the infamous bash, it would be featured along side Jay-Z and Beyonce’s Magna Carta album party as a soiree that was not to be missed, he’d asked me to have dinner with him at a sexy little spot in Tribeca. I was excited and annoyed to have to wait an entire week to see him. Monday was so far away and in New York, an entire lifetime can pass by in a week.
I wanted to see his gorgeous face. I wanted to feel his lips on mine. I got wet just thinking about sitting across the table from him. Even though things with The Colombian were still ongoing, at night when I laid in bed to allow sleep to come to me, I would make myself cum fantasizing about him. Let’s call him The Big One.
I’ve said before that my attraction to both men and women can leave me wanting more; so that Friday night in the East Village, three days before our official dinner date, I rolled the dice and I played to win.
ACME. 3:30 AM. Need I say more? Anyone who has been to the underground club below this delicious restaurant knows it is a place for good drinks, great music and sexy people dancing the night away. Personally, it’s the place where I went to play and often left with more than one person. The Colombian and I had been drinking dancing and taking drugs. Even though I was enthralled with her every move, I couldn’t help but notice The Big One texting me.
She glanced over with her dark, devious eyes and told me I should invite him to join, so I did.
Because New York isn’t actually the city that never sleeps, ACME closed its doors at 4 AM and as we stood outside the front enterance taking drags of a shared cigarette, The Big One walked up. He was just as handsome and dynamic as I’d remembered. The three of us pilled into a taxi and headed up the west side to a friend’s party. The Colombian was eyeing us both on the ride and I could tell she approved of the pairing.
I didn’t know it then, but the next 48 hours were about to get very wild and very public. His hand was resting on my thigh and I wanted nothing more than for him to slide it upwards so he could feel just how badly I was aching for him, my pussy dripped wet. I wanted to feel his hands and her lips; I wanted to feel it all.
We arrived at the apartment, pilled into the elevator and they both began to kiss me… the game had begun and it seemed everyone wanted to play.
Bi-Bi-Bi
She stood tall at 5’ 8” with hair so dark it was almost black and it fell just below her slender shoulders. She was dynamic, fiery and wild. We spent many nights causing trouble in Manhattan; dancing, drinking champagne, and mercilessly teasing the men who watched us kiss, but we always left together.
Oil on Linen By Gideon Rubin
“It’s okay not to be gay,” she said and we both cracked up in laughter.
“Lesbians never go for bisexuals,” I said, feeling a tinge of resentment as I sat in the cold metal chair, gazing at the smile of my beautiful neighbor. The air was fresh and crisp and her backyard was overrun with luscious greenery.
“It’s because we think they are curious not committed,” my neighbor concluded.
I’ve never been one for labels, unless of course we are talking about beautifully crafted luxury goods that last the test of time. That said… I’ve always been attracted to men and to women. Growing up I didn’t see bisexual representation on screen or around me. I was raised to respect all people regardless of their sexual orientations, but was not exposed to people who were anything but heteronormative in their approach to life.
As a young person, I pursued relationships with men, as that was constantly being projected onto me. No one asked, “who do you like?” They asked, “which boys do you think are cute?” Because of this projection, it just seemed easier to explore relationships with boys, even though my first kiss was with a girl.
Oil on Linen By Gideon Rubin
Even in 2020, bisexual people tend to be underrepresented on screen and in life. We are often seen as gay, when with a same-sex partner and hetero when with a partner of the opposite sex.
I sleep with men and women. I date men and women. I want to be in a relationship and I don’t see why I have to choose between a man and a woman.
As much as I’m in it for the human being, part of me feels like when I’m with a man, I’m missing out on being with a woman and the reverse is also true. The solution?
Well, long term I have not a fucking clue, but my ex boyfriend and I had a very fun solution for the short term.
But before I had an ex boyfriend, there was The Colombian and she was my first real connection with a woman that was more than just sex; she said she wanted me to be her woman and I was exactly that.
She stood tall at 5’ 8” with hair so dark it was almost black and it fell just below her slender shoulders. She was dynamic, fiery and wild. We spent many nights causing trouble in Manhattan; dancing, drinking champagne, and mercilessly teasing the men who watched us kiss. Her lips, soft and light, her kiss deep and passionate. Even when countless men tried get in on the action, we always left together.
Until one night, a few days after my July 4th pool party years earlier; that is when everything changed.
Oil on Linen By Gideon Rubin
In Conversation: Elizabeth Waterman Part 2
It’s fun that we have movies like Hustler and that we have celebs like Cardi B and Amber Rose and that is all great because it creates awareness and celebration of strippers, but you have to remember to give credit where credit is due.
Elizabeth Waterman (c) Reflection in mirror, 2017.
A dancer does her makeup for the night at a nude club in Long Island City, Queens.
After years of photographing backstage and behind the scenes, portrait photographer Elizabeth Waterman has thousands of images accumulating for her Dark Angels project. I wanted to know, how has Dark Angels evolved from its conception?
“A couple years into the project I started photographing the strippers in their homes. I focused on that for 6 or 8 months and that was an eye-opener and really interesting,” Elizabeth tells me. “As a portrait photographer, I feel like when you are comfortable and you have a rapport, that's when you have moments where you get a great photo. As much as it’s about them feeling comfortable, it is also about getting me comfortable being there. Sometimes I am the uncomfortable one!"
Elizabeth’s shift to shooting their personal spaces allowed her to open up communication; sharing with them, talking with them, seeing their homes and even becoming friends with the girls.
“It is these moments where you get more interesting pictures. All of my photoshoots are about building relationships to get the picture. You don’t just take a picture of someone, at least that’s not how I take pictures,” she confesses.
Given the length and complexity of the project, it’s safe to assume there were surprises along the journey. For Elizabeth, the biggest shock was discovering the common creative threads that were so closely intertwined amongst those who crossed her path. “I really had no idea that so many strippers are different kinds of creatives,” she exclaims and continues. “There was a girl, Charlie is the Bronx, she was also an actress; Mona Marie, who danced for Snoop Dog’s videos; Danielle was a script writer. There was a dancer in Long Island City who was supporting herself while being in a pretty successful band. There was a wide range of creatives; burlesque dancers at Jumbo’s the infamous LA strip club, and many of the Miami girls were influencers producing creative content for themselves as a brand.” Elizabeth was pleasantly surprised by this as she is drawn to shooting artists and wound up photographing more of them without realizing it at first. “A lot of them really do enjoy their job. A lot of them are there because they like to party and they have fun; that is their lifestyle and they are into it. I didn't expect that and it is really cool,” she shares.
Spending so much time around sexual entertainers must be educational on a few different levels. I wanted to know, did she herself learn any seduction techniques to take home to her own bedroom (or wherever she likes to have sex)? “Yes. Fucking totally. Are you kidding me!?” We have a laugh and she continues, “One of the reasons I got into this project was because I wanted to get more in touch with my own sexuality. I am drawn to how expressed they are sexually. I wanted to be more like that.”
So what was the biggest takeaway? “One thing you learn is that you have to have fun. The girls have fun; they are providing entertainment. There is a dancer called Jalapeno and she would hold a beer bottle between her ass cheeks and have guys try to throw stuff in it. Other girls would do handstands and land with their crotches onto people's faces. You realize, stop taking yourself so seriously and have fun with it! I laugh more now when having sex than I ever have. Laugh and have fun. It’s just sex,” says Elizabeth.
Elizabeth also really discovered the power of flirting and femininity. She tells me, “Your feminine power is like a fucking rocket and it’s your birthright. You’ve got it forever; it’s yours and you can use it or not and it can be fun to use. There is no harm in that.”
Some of you are experienced veterans when it comes to a night out at a strip club. For those of you who think you know, and those looking to discover the scene, Elizabeth breaks down strip club etiquette.
Rule No. 1: “Ultimately the main thing is to tip; you need to factor in bringing money to tip the girls. If you want to go and you don’t want to spend a lot of money, and you want to sit and watch the girls on stage, you still need to bring money to tip them on stage,” she says very seriously. “In your brain when you’re going to the strip club you need to add on at least $50-100 dollars in tip money as part of the cost of the experience,” she breaks it down bluntly. The takeaway? Bring that cash money. “It’s fine if you want to tip the girls on stage and be more modest, but you need to tip. If you want to do lap dances and you want to get into a VIP you need to tip more significantly and you need to think about it as part of going out for the night.”
Rule No. 2: “Respect the girls; everyone, be it a stripper or not, wants respect. They don’t want you to touch them when you are not supposed to. They want you to listen to the rules and enjoy yourself and have fun,” she says and then adds, “Ask permission when you are getting a lap dance, ‘can I touch your boobs, can I touch your butt?’ Every club has different rules, every state has different rules. They’ll fucking tell you.” Remember party people, you’re buying a service, you are buying sexual entertainment. They are there to serve. According to Elizabeth, “Ask for their opinion! It’s okay to ask, ‘what should I do, what do you recommend? Which dance tricks are you really good at?’” Bottom line, they are experts so treat them as such. Let them be the sexual entertainers that they are!
Elizabeth Waterman (c) In your face, 2017.
An experienced Bronx dancer gives a club goer the dance of a lifetime.
What is Elizabeth’s ultimate goal in creating the Dark Angels project? “I personally got such a kick out of when the girls saw the images of themselves from the week before. The girls were blown away by how beautiful and amazing they looked. It changed their perception of themselves. Any good portrait should do that; any good portrait should show that person in a beautiful way that leaves them with a different experience of who they are,” says Elizabeth.
“I’ve had dancers say, ‘wow you’ve really captured our world.’ If I can have dancers look at this book and feel more beautiful, more recognized and more elevated, that would thrill me. I feel like I’m indebted to the dancers more than anything else and I would want them to have that experience,” she says proudly.
If this work can contribute even a subtle shift in other people’s perceptions of strippers, Elizabeth will be pleased with her contribution to the shift in the cultural understanding of something. “There are movies that shift the way people see strippers. There are also articles and there is a shift happening to the perspective and I want to contribute to that,” she says. Her goal is to have people be accepting and respecting strippers, while dismantling negative stereotypes. The hope for Elizabeth is that her work will allow people to come to further appreciate strippers and put a higher value on female sexuality in general.
For Elizabeth, this work is centered around creating more value around feminine sexuality instead of deteriorating it. “This is a beautiful thing, this is an asset, this is monetizable, this is valuable; don’t fuck with it,” she says with confidence.
Elizabeth started out wanting to capture something special. She wanted to see this world of strippers and learn to be more sexually self-expressed. She tells me, “I wanted a new adventure. I was so curious and I wanted the thrill of being out late at night and I wanted to push myself. In another life I would be a stripper. I think that world is so cool and I saw some part of myself in it that I had to go explore.” We are so grateful that she did as the images are beautiful, thoughtful, fun and sexy. They are sexual without sexualizing, they are glossy while still being raw.
The work is targeted toward people who like art, and each image stands alone on its artistic merit. Anyone who wants to celebrate women’s sexuality and nightlife will be drawn in by this body of work.
In general, but also especially because of the Covid-19 pandemic, there is a lot of movement right now to get workers’ rights for strippers. “Historically strippers have been discriminated against by the clubs in terms of their employment status, and oftentimes there are celebrities that will capitalize on strip club culture but not really credit the strippers or kick back to the strippers,” Elizabeth recounts. “It’s fun that we have movies like Hustler and that we have celebs like Cardi B and Amber Rose and that is all great because it creates awareness and celebration of strippers, but you have to remember to give credit where credit is due.”
The fact is that actual strippers need some help in terms of getting status as employees rather than contractors. “There is stupid shit that goes down, like with Covid the federal loans for small businesses excluded sex workers. It excluded business that present live performances of a prurient sexual nature, like what the fuck is that!?” she exclaims.
“It is not okay for us as a culture to think strippers are cool and great and say we want to be like Cardi B and watch J Lo dance in the movies and listen to Lil Jon rap songs about ‘dancing like a stripper’, but the actual strippers need to be taken care of as well,” Elizabeth is as passionate about workers’ rights as she is about her art. “There are some organizations out there that are doing great work to change laws and provide support for strippers during the shut down.”
Check out and support organizations like Soldiers of Pole. It is run by two women Elizabeth knows personally and a trusted source for creating change and doing work on the ground.
Elizabeth Waterman (c) Laughing, 2018.
A dancer laughs in the VIP section of a Las Vegas gentlemen's club.
How are celebs stepping up? “FKA Twigs, a British pop artist was getting a lot of flack for using the stripper culture in her music videos and she responded well and put together a fundraiser on her Instagram to benefit British strippers and that is really great. It’s important to champion that kind of activity where influencers are helping the communities that they are capitalizing on. That should be celebrated and given more attention,” says Elizabeth.
In the post-Covid world, how have things changed in the industry? Elizabeth was just in Vegas and popped into Sapphire, one of the largest strip clubs in the world. They have been able to reopen by doing daytime pool parties. “They were offering cabana services and opening up to a limited degree,” she tells me. “Normally, on a busy night there could be 400 girls working there and there are definitely not 400 girls there now! Maybe 20 or 30 in the pool area. I talked to one girl who works as a stripper and does porn, so she has shifted strictly to porn for now.”
So how does the business side actually work? “In a majority of clubs these girls are contractors and their money is made when a client is there,” Elizabeth explains. “They are there to provide a service in exchange for money, however they often pay a fee to work at the club to cover management costs; they start the night in a deficit.”
If you are mediocre how do you fare? “You’re still going to be making more than minimum wage. If you want to make a career out of it and you’re good at sales and you are strategic, you can do quite well, you can do 6 figures absolutely,” says Elizabeth, “But that's not easy to do. You don't just walk in and make 6 figures.”
After all, this is a business and like all business, hard work and determination are key!
Have fun, play hard and remember, things will be opening up again soon and we want you to be prepared.
Elizabeth’s 6 favorite places to visit as soon as the doors open:
New York
Long Island City, right across the bridge from Manhattan, is one of the classiest clubs around (think chandeliers). It’s all-nude and open till 6 am. It’s going full-blast between 2 and 4 am, when the other clubs are winding down. No booze, but hey, if you want to stay up late enough, they’ll serve you breakfast (they have a full kitchen!).
Los Angeles
You simply must go! It features some of the city’s most accomplished burlesque dancers and contortionists.
On LaBrea, the steamy performances there are on the wild side; the girls even hang from the ceiling! You’ll also see quite a few two-dancer tag-team shows. There’s nothing else like it in LA.
Miami
The stunning, fully naked dancers will leave you more than a little breathless. Many are practically celebrities - some have millions of followers on Instagram. I’ve never seen so many $200 manicures in one place!
New Orleans
Located on Bourbon Street, this place is a kick with its refreshingly wide variety of dancers and performance styles. And yeah, a really, really tall pole. So you can throw dollars from the second story. Who doesn’t want to do that?
Las Vegas
The biggest club in the world. On some nights you’ll witness hundreds of dancers. And if you’re rolling in cash, get a Skybox and you can see the whole club scene from above, (with a sexy lady on your lap!). Nothing else compares.
LIMITED EDITION COLLABORATIVE POSTER
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Limited Edition. Collaborative poster with sex blogger CHLOE IS MY ALIAS.
Sized 18x18 inches.
Features photograph from Elizabeth Waterman Dark Angels project on strippers.
In Conversation: Elizabeth Waterman Part 1
Here is what makes a really good stripper. When you are sitting and watching a stripper on stage doing her show and you’re 20 or 50 feet away, and just from watching them you feel like you’re having sex with them.
Elizabeth Waterman (c) End of the night, 2017.
A dancer in the Bronx celebrates a successful night of lapdances.
I’ve known and worked with portrait photographer Elizabeth Waterman since our early days in New York. Over the past 10 years I’ve watched her develop as an artist, and posed twice for her various projects. We spent a Saturday afternoon a few weeks back getting caught up on her latest series and soon-to-be book. She was at her home in Santa Monica, I was at my townhouse in Montreal; the hot topic was all things Dark Angels. Her latest is a collection of photographs spanning the last 4 years and going behind the scenes and onto the stages of America’s most notable strip clubs. Elizabeth did not hold back about the joys and the stress of gaining access to and documenting this subculture, and let me in on the sexy takeaways that result from spending so much time in a sex-fueled environment.
Her goal with this project is to create something that peers inside a world people haven't seen before and she knew getting access to the strip clubs and photographing these girls was going to be difficult. “It’s not a common thing to do. I started to learn it’s a really political atmosphere,” she tells me. “You are not just dealing with strippers, you’re in an environment with the men and women paying to be there; you have the staff and the management, you have the hosts and DJ and the owner, the house mom and the girls,” she pauses, “there are so many people involved in this pseudo ecosystem.”
The biggest thing to overcome? Navigating the ecosystem in a graceful and respectful way, without being a pushover and making sure you get what you came for in terms of the body of work. From what she tells me, it’s a delicate balance like no other project she’s taken on before.
Elizabeth Waterman (c) Charlie in VIP, 2017.
Charlie gives a private dance in the VIP section of a Bronx party club.
“You really have to be cognizant of everybody; they all have different considerations, they all have different concerns. The owner doesn't want you interfering with any of the money being made. The clients usually don't want their photo being taken, the house moms want the girls to be happy, the girls want to make money, and you have to make sure you’re not stepping on any of those interests and everyone is happy that you are there,” she tells me in a very serious tone. “You have to make sure strippers are getting photos for their own use too. I would bring donuts and coffee to the management, because none of them owe you a thing. I would give them little video clips and special content for their social media platforms.”
Her biggest challenge? “In the clubs I had to find a way to make it cool and sexy that I was there, while being totally non-threatening,” she recounts, and again it’s clear that she took this very seriously. “I’ve never had a project before with such a complex environment. I definitely fucked up sometimes. Once I was at a club and the owner thought I was an exposé journalist; she had decided that I was there writing some kind of terrible thing about strippers and I was there to expose them or something. She kicked me out.”
After 4 years in and out of strip clubs I had to ask, what makes a good stripper?
“Here is what makes a really good stripper: when you are sitting and watching a stripper on stage doing her show and you’re 20 or 50 feet away, and just from watching them you feel like you’re having sex with them. Because of how they are moving and acting and how they are positioning their bodies you literally have this experience of having sex with them. It’s like you’re having sex with them visually and when that happens it’s amazing,” she sounds in awe, “It is an amazing performance; a really good stripper can really evoke something.”
We started talking about the tricks and let me say, these tricks are not for kids. “These pole girls doing tricks will do things that will take your breath away. In Miami there are 30 foot poles and these girls will drop 20 feet, like bam! There is a pole in Vegas that is 100 feet and I saw a girl drop 50 feet (drop meaning like she lets go of the pole and then grabs it with her thighs 2 or 3 seconds later). It makes your heart jump. The girls in Miami, they are solid muscles. Mona Marie, one of my favorite girls in the Bronx is a slim little woman, but solid muscle. They are doing splits on the ceiling; they hang off of the pole with an elbow,” she explains.
Elizabeth Waterman (c) Into the blue, 2017.
A dancer does pole tricks at an all nude club on Hollywood Blvd in Los Angeles.
We have a laugh at the thought of naked Cirque du Soleil, but I can tell by her tone that it’s not really a laughing matter, these girls are true athletes. “Imagine doing that, no clothes, no protection, just heels. It’s incredible. You see them in the locker room sometimes scarfing down food because they are working, burning crazy calories. They get bruises, it’s no joke, it’s a full contact sport.”
There is no need to go into the negative stereotypes that have been cast upon the world of stripping and strippers; it’s needless to say, we’ve all heard one or two less-than-savoury things. I wanted to know, what misconceptions did Elizabeth have before beginning this project that were debunked for her?
“I’ve always thought strippers were cool, amazing and fabulous; I’ve had friends that were strippers so I never had a stereotypical view of them. I had concerns that they would like me. I thought they would be annoyed that I was there and might not want to pose for a photo and I was really touched and moved with how generous and nice they were.”
Elizabeth Waterman (c) Dollars everywhere, 2019.
A dancer in downtown Los Angeles performs a table dance on a Saturday night.
When it comes to society's misconceptions she tells me, “there are a million of them and probably none of them are true, some of them are based on something but it’s like any group of people doing a job; there is no common norm. Look at any industry, any job, there are things about it.”
Oftentimes people are so caught up in the fantasy they can forget that being a stripper is a job, and as Elizabeth says, “people forget there is no one kind of standard stripper. I know there are stereotypes, but they often don't fit. These are complex people and the strip clubs are really different around the country. There are a lot of different crowds of dancers working there.”
As a female who has spent my fair share of time in strip clubs where the target audience was predominantly male, I had to ask how did being a female photographer in this scenario, taking photographs of women, influence the body of her work? “Most of them had not encountered a female photographer in a club before. I don't know how a man could have gotten into my shoes on this one. I was not there to sexualize them; I wasn't shooting for the club, I was shooting just for myself, my artistic vision, which is one of elevating these amazing women into goddesses and basically worshiping them.”
For Elizabeth that changed the tone of the relationship. She tells me, “Honestly, I probably spent 80% of the project in the locker room; as a man, they wouldn't have let you in. The locker room was where everything happened; it’s where I met them, talked to them and then I would shoot the club performance. It was 90% talk beforehand and sometimes I would talk to them for several weeks before they would say yes and I could shoot them on the club floor. If I hadn't had that access to the locker room, I wouldn't have had a project.”
I’m excited to announce a special limited edition collaboration poster with the artist:
NY MAG: Sex Diaries
Although sex with multiple people in a day isn’t my usual weekend activity, it has happened on several other pre-COVID occasions. However, sex with multiple people at once is fairly regular. What can I say, threesomes are my favorite.
A New Yorker, through and through, it feels a bit off to be called ‘A Montreal Woman’ but alas, that is what I am now. If you don’t already know New York Magazine’s Sex Diaries, be sure to check it out. I wrote a little something about sex in the age of Covid. Enjoy it; I certainly did.
A woman tanning naked while working from home and pining for a man she loves but has never had sex with: 33, single, Montreal.
Photo-Illustration: James Gallagher
DAY ONE
10 a.m. I invited a guy over for a quickie after we matched on one of the apps last night. When he arrives, I see that he’s cute just like his photo. He’s ten years my junior, with a mischievous smile. We have our way with each other in the living room and then my bedroom.
12 p.m. I lounge in the park with friends, take mushrooms, and soak up the sun. It’s been so long since I’ve been properly social, I forgot how nice it is to be around others. Especially others who are as fabulous as this crew: a model turned interior decorator, a footwear designer, and a graffiti artist visiting from Toronto. We stand out in the crowd of “outdoorsy types” that lines the rocky shore of the St. Lawrence River. After a while I Uber home to shower and change.
6 p.m. Uber to fuck buddy No. 2, The Gymnast, who I also met the night before on an app. This one is my age, extremely tall at 6-foot-6 and absolutely handsome as hell. I wanted him to film me while he fucked my mouth, but he clearly hasn’t done that before. We have very different definitions of what “naughty” means.
Although sex with multiple people in a day isn’t my usual weekend activity, it has happened on several other pre-COVID occasions. However, sex with multiple people at once is fairly regular. What can I say, threesomes are my favorite. Until now I’ve only been with a man and woman; I look forward to the day when I can have two men at once and throw wild orgy parties at my fabulous future loft in Berlin. Most men who say they’ll fuck you with another man end up backing out. This has happened at least five times. Although maybe they’re scared because I always want to film it…
10 p.m. Stroll home along the canal, still high on mushrooms, delighting in the two fucks of the day.
DAY TWO
8 a.m. Rise and shine and go for a run. Nothing feels as good as a quick eight miles after a night of sex and a day of drugs.
12 p.m. Tan naked on the balcony for hours. Swipe through the apps. No, I don’t care about the photo of you holding a fish. Match with a hot couple. Chat until I realize that no, they’ve never invited someone to join them before and no I am not looking to be their first.
4 p.m. I head to the grocery store; it’s a small corner type place filled with the best local and exotic produce. I stock up on salicornia from the Dead Sea and mangosteens, origin unknown. I take a selfie of the hot outfit I wore to the grocery store to post on instagram because someone other than the cashier deserves to see how hot I looked.
7 p.m. My Instagram DMs are blowing up with past lovers, girlfriends, and wannabe lovers. I guess it was a hot outfit. One handsome friend requests my presence in Berlin to accompany him to a club. If only the world was open for travel and I could join … add to my “to do later” list and move on.
9 p.m. I go to bed, thinking of The One. Now, he’s in London and I’m here in Montreal. No matter who I fuck, I always wish it was him. I don’t know how much more being apart I can handle. We’ve actually never had sex; the first time we met we spent 48 hours together … just not having sex.
It was nine years ago at a hotel pool on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. He was visiting New York for the first time. It was love at first sight and the universe has pulled us apart ever since. When the pandemic happened, I reached back out to him. He told me I was the one who got away and that if he could, he would marry me tomorrow.
He is the only person with whom I’ve had this kind of connection and not immediately slept with. I knew with him it needed to be more than just sex and until recently I wasn’t in the right headspace for that kind of love. He is poetic and passionate, dark and intense, and so beautiful.
DAY THREE
5:15 a.m. Wake up, run, get sexy texts from The One.
7:15 a.m. I shower and imagine he is here with me: his hands caressing my body as the water cascades down my skin, holding me against the cold tile and sliding inside me.
9 a.m. The work from home life continues. My first ever 9 to 5 job started just before the shut down. By day I operate as an account executive for a business solutions company. It’s just sales, but I’m good at it. In the short time I’ve been with this company I’ve received five promotions. One more to go and I’ll have reached the top. Boring, but six figures and insurance makes it worth it.
12 p.m. The One and I are sending erotic art photos back and forth. I get so turned on I have to take a break and make myself come.
1 p.m. Tan naked on balcony.
5 p.m. Work is over, the only thing to do is roam the streets of my neighborhood, admiring all the shops that are closed that I plan to patronize as soon as they reopen.
7 p.m. The real work begins. Since lockdown I’ve been contemplating relaunching an old project — an anonymous sex blog. Two hours later I’m deep on a trip down memory lane, migrating content from the old anonymous platform to the soon to relaunch updated site. A change of the blog title and a whole lot of copy and paste has me longing for New York, past lovers, and future adventures. When can I sit at a bar and seduce a beautiful blond again? A man, a woman, or even better, a couple. Dating apps are becoming dull.
DAY FOUR
5:30 a.m. Same as Monday, but this time on my run I see the old man who sexually harasses me. Off to a great start.
5 p.m. Match with a super sexy man visiting Montreal for a month this summer. Yes he has a pool, yes he has a boat. Yes I think I would like to play with him.
7 p.m. Make myself dinner — bison burgers with a side of radish microgreens. Hold the bun, hold the ketchup, add extra wasabi vegan mayo. Later I bake an impromptu vegan, gluten-free banana bread because why not? While it bakes, I scroll through erotic art on Instagram and send messages to the artists I fancy most in hopes they’ll be down to collaborate on the blog.
DAY FIVE
5:20 a.m. Same running routine, but this time I take a new route and fantasize about The One. Variety is the spice of life after all.
10 a.m. Boat Guy has now been added to the mix. We’ve only been chatting one day, but I can tell he is a man who knows how to get what he wants and is used to getting it. Could be fun.
12:30 p.m. More topless tanning. This time I take topless selfies to send to The One.
7 p.m. Catch up phone date with my bestie who is now in Chicago. I was supposed to visit this summer; who knows when we’ll see each other next. The border shutdown is breaking my heart. We laugh about the crazy old times in New York. Running a boutique PR firm in our early 20s was a blast. Together we were unstoppable.
8 p.m. Continue migrating content from the old blog to the new platform. How did I write 96 posts before! This is way more effort than I’d realized and there are definitely spelling mistakes that need fixing; the joys of self editing and self publishing.
DAY SIX
5 a.m. Almost trip on my run checking out my ass in a window as I go by.
12:30 p.m. Lunch on the balcony, shredded chicken with a vegan basil pesto, hand crafted by yours truly, tossed with radish microgreens and extra pine nuts.
6 p.m. Boat Guy calls me. He has a lovely voice. We seem to be on the same page for the kind of kink that will go down up on his arrival. Things are looking up.
7 p.m. Drink a liter of homemade ginger-turmeric bone broth. My knees have been killing me since I began running like a maniac. Hoping this anti-inflammatory mix will rescue me. Nothing seems to help.
DAY SEVEN
5:15 a.m. Love the extra time I have in the morning since we started working from home. Make the most of it with another 7.5 mile run.
9 a.m. Final day of the week grinding it out at work. The sexts start early and this time they are with the Boat Guy.
12:30 p.m. He’s keen to meet, and has moved his flight up by five days. Oh yes and he’ll be bringing his kids, “You like kids right?” I mean, I do like kids, I just didn’t realize I’d be meeting them. This fuck fest we’d been planning now suddenly sounds more like a “family vacation” than the kink of my wildest dreams.
5 p.m. This is my third week of physiotherapy and it’s definitely helping. I perform back bends in hopes of loosening my lower back. My therapist inspects my movements and helps me relax the muscles to allow for optimal progress. I’m not sure if I like it for the relief it gives my knees or because it’s the closest thing to regular human interaction in months.
6 p.m. With the work week behind me and multiple lovers on the go, things are almost starting to feel like normal. I’m deep in text land with all of them.
12 a.m. The One and I FaceTime while I’m high on mushrooms walking in the park. He is so handsome it’s hard to focus on anything else. He is saying all the right things and I am swooning hard. Why does the world bring us together again while COVID forces us to remain apart?
It All Adds Up
“Scorpio,” I said lowering my voice, “I only sleep with scorpios; married scorpios.”
It was July 2011 and simmering hot on the city streets. My dove gray Reformation slip dress floated behind me as the air-conditioning cut through the thick air as I entered the only place to be on at night as hot as this. The attendant at Soho house was polished to perfection. Having spent all day in the cool lobby her hair was perfectly pressed, her make up immaculate.
My skin was sticky with sweat from the city streets and my dress clung to my breasts; I rode the elevator to the roof to meet my friend for ice cold wine, people watching and plotting world domination. As I stepped up to the bar to greet her she already had a crisp glass of Chablis in hand for me.
The men she was chatting up looked me up and down and I was keen to move on without them, but she was pushing hard to gain the attention of the taller, slimmer one. Much to my irritation the four of us ended up at a table near the swimming pool and while the men tried to entertain and impress me, I was cold, short and aloof, not having any of it. When the conversation turned to star signs I’d almost had enough until the more handsome of the two said he was a Scorpio.
“Scorpio,” I said lowering my voice, “I only sleep with scorpios, married scorpios.”
He shot me a knowing look from across the table, taken aback by my forwardness and even more intrigued by my seeming lack of interest in him and his career.
As the night wound down and we made our way to the streets of the meatpacking district. I kissed my friend goodbye and I was about to jump into a cab myself when the tall handsome Englishman asked if his driver could drop me at home. Who am I to turn down a lift? Let’s call him The Ad Man.
His driver pulled to a stop at my front door and got out to leave the two of us alone. We had been staring at each other, hungry to get a taste of what the other had on tap. He pulled me close and kissed me hard, the electricity was contagious. I felt a fire inside me and I wanted him to push his hands between my legs and feel how wet I was. But instead I told him goodnight and I made a swift exit.
Moments after I walked through the doorway of my East village apartment my phone buzzed.
“I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. When can I see you again?” It was The Ad Man. His car had barely pulled off the block and he already wanted more. His lips were firm but soft, just like his touch.
We were in the backseat of his town car parked in front of my apartment; his driver has stepped out of the car to give us some privacy. He slid one hand up my warm thigh as he pulled me closer with the other leaning in to kiss me. A shiver went down my spine and I was instantly wet. He was as hungry for my lips, as I was to feel his tongue deep inside me. I pulled away thanking him for the lift home and stepped out of the car.
I was still in the haze that comes from the sweltering heat off the concrete on a New York summer night, combine with several glasses of wine and a steamy make out session with a handsome stranger. At the time I didn’t know who I was dealing with, that would soon change.
I lit up a freshly rolled joint and inhaled the clouds of smoke as his messages kept rolling in. I lay back on my bed and slid my fingers inside myself imagining they were his tongue; as I push myself closer to the edge of orgasm I knew it was going to be a very fun summer. And a fun summer it was indeed.
The Deep End
The young man looked about surveying the scene and then I heard it... my name pass through his beautiful full lips.
As the resident queen of Manhattan’s rooftop pool hopping-scene, it was business as usual on a Saturday in the summer. I lay mostly naked, at what was then called the Thompson Lower East Side Hotel, on the pool deck of the fourth floor. The sweltering sun reflected in the glass of the hotel‘s windows amplifying it’s rays; creating a Mecca of sorts for us sun worshippers with enough connections to escape the radiating heat off the concrete streets down below.
I continued my summer ritual of dipping in the cold pool and laying out in the humid heat, my body bronzing further with each passing moment. 100°F and climbing it was just another day for the beautiful people sipping deliciously expensive cocktails, served by tall stylish model-types and eyeing the other gorgeous bodies laying about.
Back then the pools were a well-kept secret and unfortunately I may have been responsible for bringing down the house... but that is not this story.
I lay on the lounger as beads of water still floated across my skin from my most recent dip in the pool running down my breasts and onto my flat tanned stomach. I glanced over at the bar to get the attention of my server.. my champagne was almost empty.
The dark tinted glass door to the pool deck swung open. There he was. His T-shirt clung to his muscular body in all the right ways, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Tell me he’s the one I’m supposed to be showing around this weekend... my heart beat faster in anticipation. I had promised my friend I would look after his visitor while he was away and had not a clue what he looked like, just his name and that he was in town from London.
The young man looked about surveying the scene and then I heard it... my name pass through his beautiful full lips.
I couldn’t believe my luck. The way my name rolled off his tongue with his posh English accent sent a thrill down my spine. We locked eyes and as he walked towards me I stood. When he drew close enough I jumped into his arms pressing my wet swimsuit into his dry clothes whispering in his ear “Welcome to New York,” and that was when everything changed.
I didn’t know it then but this encounter would be the beginning of a whole new world.
Though it was nine years ago, that weekend we spent together has stayed close to my heart. He’s the only man I felt such a connection with who I didn’t devour in an instant.
At the time I’d told him it was because I had a boyfriend... but let’s be honest my boyfriend was married to another woman, had three kids with a fourth on the way and that is not why I wouldn’t sleep with him.
This was new for me, a connection between us unlike anything I’d known. We spent the weekend getting lost in each other. His kiss, his arms holding me closely. His hot breath as his tongue passed over my panties getting me so wet and beyond turned on.
There was a feeling of intimacy and carnal need to be together, yet I was resisting the temptation to make him just another conquest.. he was to be more than that. Even though it was almost impossible to resist as I felt the size of his hard cock push up against me, something told me to wait.
Back then I was too caught up in running to understand it. But now almost a decade later it clicked; he has always been the one.
Now, countless miles apart he is in London and I am in Montreal. The world has been put on pause and I know without a shadow of a doubt he is the only one I want and perhaps he always has been.
A Leave Of Absence
It’s been 9 years since I stopped writing the blog. Why stop? The stories never ended, the lifestyle carried on swingingly... but I was an addict, a self proclaimed workaholic. I was proud, smug even. I’d selected the very best of all the addictions; one that slid under even the most advanced of radars. Like all addictions, I constantly needed more.
Keating Sherwin photo (c) Elizabeth Waterman
Keating Sherwin photo (c) Elizabeth Waterman
It’s been 9 years since I stopped writing the blog. Why stop? The stories never ended, the lifestyle carried on swingingly... but I was an addict, a self proclaimed workaholic. I was proud, smug even. I’d selected the very best of all the addictions; one that slid under even the most advanced of radars. Like all addictions, I constantly needed more.
My career advanced and I began working 17 to 20 hours a day; there was no time left to have a life and write about it. So I switched gears, throwing myself into the work as it came, climbing the ladder of success as a budding stylist. Music videos, short films, top tier editorial spreads, New York editor for a Canadian indie publication, styling top models, celebrities, launching a creative agency, a not-for-profit foundation, a private members club... I was in my mid-twenties and my resume read like I was 45. All the while my personal life provided another level of distraction, still devious and deliciously scandalous as ever.
Not only did the workaholism sneak by undetected but people praised me for it commending me on my work ethic and dedication, for my commitment to the job and ability to take on so much at once, wear so many hats, fill so many roles.
A master of disguise, I hid my addiction even from myself until I was so deep in, so broken, that there was no denying it. If I didn’t change I would die and as I approached my 29th birthday I knew I had about three years left if I was lucky.
The men, the women, the work, the parties, the uppers and downers (prescribed and unprescribed); a delicate balance keeping afloat the sinking ship that was my physical and mental well-being. A new level of exhaustion was beginning to sink in and it was looking like I may never bounce back.
No amount of sleep could make up for all the sleepless nights. That last summer in New York I was pulling one to three all-nighters a week, having launched a new business, still consulting for another client and producing a runway show for New York fashion week. Each day I struggled further to perform basic human functions.
I was smoking half an ounce of weed a week just to round out the edges from the daily 80 mgs of Adderall I was taking to function; a volume well beyond the scope of sorting out the ADHD that persisted. On top of that, a new Doctor had come to the conclusion that if the one antidepressant wasn’t working I should probably add a second to the mix just to “get level”.
New York had always been home, even before I ever stepped foot on the hot dark pavement. Nine years later I knew if I wanted to live I’d have to leave. For the first time in my entire life I wanted to live more than I wanted to die. It was time to push pause on New York.
The One
I’ve never wanted to be locked down before but with him it’s undeniable. My heart is engulfed in his darkness. Wild, crazy and open. To be locked down with him is to truly be free.
The thought of his touch electrifies every cell in my being.
The space and time between us is vast but also nonexistent. This connection runs deep and my mind goes to those future places where we are together. Properly together.
That first touch, our first kiss.
As he said, “It will be a million microseconds being pulled together at once, like tiny shards of metal hopeless to their magnetic nucleus; causing a large energetic whole - where time stands no chance against the physics”.
He is poetic and passionate, dark and intense and oh so fucking beautiful. My heart sinks deeper in pleasure with each song he sends, with each photo of his gorgeous body and handsome face I receive.A snippet of artful delight lands on my phone screen as we exchange erotic art sexts; the depth of my desire increases.
I’ve never wanted to be locked down before but with him it’s undeniable. My heart is engulfed in his darkness. Wild, crazy and open. To be locked down with him is to truly be free.
I’ve never met someone who loved me for me. They loved the idea of me, but when the cards are on the table and there are no chips left to play, it’s too much, I’m too much.
He is different. He is strong like me, smart like me, dark like me. Even if we are never together, he will always be the one.
