Confessions.of.a.NYC.Lezie

I usually don’t do the whole crushing thing. It is so passé in my book. But something changed with the writer. I don’t know. For the past weeks or so, I’ve been getting the sweaty hands, the butterflies in my stomach, the occasional blushing when her name pops up, the smiling and the giggling just for the sake of hearing her voice. Anyway, the other day, she stepped really close, making it difficult for me to breathe. I think I did that thing where I look up through my eyelashes and ducked inside. How embarrassing.

Anyhow, Thursday I met up with the writer. She is the most stunning woman I know within my bunch of friends and she always looks good when we go out, she can wear a plain tee and it would look amazing on her. Maybe if I grow a pair I would essentially be able to talk to her about it.We went to dinner at Sushi Samba and the food was delicious – as always. But sadly, despite my best efforts to stay focus on the dinner and conversations, my mind was so not focused. The chemistry we share is fucking irrefutable. I am sure she feels the same way. Or maybe I keep telling myself that. I can just say that 20 minutes into dinner and my goal of keeping this thing on the tame side had disappeared.I kid you not, every time we meet for dinner and drinks I always have to remind myself to “Go with the flow and have fun”. Sounds simple to you, but to me it’s probably the hardest thing to do when I am sitting in front of her and trying to have a decent conversation without thinking about sleeping with her. Shit I just said it AND I thought about it.

For those who know me, you will agree that one of my personality trait is that I am bold I think the shy me disappeared that night and the bold, fearless feline that I am, took over. She invited me back to her place. She always does that. She knows she is torturing me and she probably enjoys every minute of it. The make-out session started on the couch (It isn’t the first time). She is a great kisser and she figured out pretty quickly I liked to be kissed on my neck.

I am a good girl, really I am. I convinced her that we should stop since we are both really good friends and probably are too drunk to do what we envisioned would happen. She agreed. We went to the kitchen to grab some wine and (blush) she pretty much puts me on the counter. I couldn't let that go on for long because it was too hott and would have went south fast....The writer is a friend and as much as I want her (oh I do), I couldn’t do the one night stand and be totally strangers the next day. I slept in her bed that night and nothing happened – just a few heart palpitions everytime she’d roll over and her hands gently caressed my back.I went home the next morning and acted as if I couldn’t remember the night due to too much of Mr. Budweiser and Madame Pinot. She broke the ice though later on that day with a sweet voicemail ( I wouldn’t pick up the phone):

The writer:

"Hey its me, I guess you forgot my number already, or was it the awkwardness you were talking about last night when you decided that south was not the way but north is a lot colder and better for the both of us. Mr. Bud and Madame Pinot would like to know if you’d join me for dinner next week. Let me know. Bisous.