Sleeping with Strangers

I've always wanted to sleep with a stranger. In a city like New York this is not a difficult task. You could have one good eye, weigh 2000lbs, sport some crutches but still manage to go home with a complete stranger. In the six years I've been here, I have always meant to take this final step into complete left leaning liberality yet find myself undone.

My 6-year New York-a-versary is on July 14--not too far at all. So I feel like the time is now, yet tonight I just couldn't get myself to do it.

He had bright blue eyes under raven lashes and un-manscaped brows. He was tall--that perfect tall that in my flops he could rest his chin gently atop that soft spot on my head. He was interesting--we spent a ridiculous amount of time discussing religion and politics without actually offending one another. He kept buying me drinks. It wasn't sketchy--despite being in Midtown past happy hour. His suit was perfectly pressed and the tie was loosened without signalling looseness. They even played fucking Bon Jovi at the moment he chose to disclose he grew up in suburban NJ...and I still couldn't do it. It's not that he asked me to go home with him as much as all the leaning and general gazing signalled the cues I wasn't following.

I'm just not sure what happened. I've always wanted to try it...this was my chance...but I choked. I'm not sure what happened or why it happened...but I just finally came to terms with the fact that I will never be the girl who goes home with a perfect stranger, no matter how drunk I am. Not me. I'm just not Sweet or Vicious enough. I'm kinda bummed out to the max.

Damn Opal. Damn Ketel One and Club Sodas. Damn Bon Jon!