Date file NY Edition: The Irish Boy

March 2019

What does one do when they find themselves newly divorced and newly unemployed? Well, I don’t know about you, but I book a trip to New York City for a few days of hedonism.

Sister lives in the Big Apple at the top of Manhattan. Like, she’s practically in the Bronx. I fly in on a Wednesday afternoon and being a normal work day for all other humans, Sister is obviously doing her normal adult work life. Like many people in NYC, she is also a creative, so she has rehearsal or so other such thing that evening. So I’m left to my own devices for my first day-ish in the big city.

I make my way down to Sister’s work to let her know I got into town safely and to get the key to her apartment. I meet her boss who literally lives in an apartment overlooking Central Park. It’s like I’m in the Time Zone. Nothing makes sense. People are reminding others to pay the Chanel invoice, discussing how tired this other person is due to just finishing styling some A-list celebrity for the Oscars, and paying some Uber driver $500 dollars to drive back from Brooklyn to return the iPhone Boss Lady left in the backseat. It’s a totally alien environment.

All the while I’ve been chatting with a guy from Jersey who has the most fucking Irish name I’ve ever heard. I assume he’ll be going to the St. Patrick’s Day parade.

“Oh fuck no. I don’t go to that shit. I will be in the Poconos. My extended family throws the most ridiculous, multi-block St. Patrick’s Day party where they all pretended they are not raging alcoholics. I am leaving tomorrow morning before the weekend hits.”

“Oh. Well, I’m alone tonight. Shall we hang out?”

“Sure. Can you make it to Hoboken?”

“Uh….. sure….”

And then the SexySuburbMom becomes the LostIdiotGirl. If I can stick to the subway, I’m alright. But this involved a ferry and a bus. Eventually I found my way there. I knew I was in the right spot when I saw more white people in one place than I’d seen anywhere else in the city.

When I arrived in Hoboken, Irish guy was there to greet me. We walked over to a not insanely crowded bar as it was now happy hour and had a couple pints. We talked more about my situation and I learned more about him. We’d been talking for a couple days, but I got to know more about him and his life across the river from NYC. We talked about how shitty and stupid online dating was, but it was pretty cool for people just looking to meet up with other people in a new city. After a couple beers, I decided I didn’t want to get really wasted with a stranger in a strange city, so I asked for the check and said we should walk outside.

We decided to go walk along the waterfront. As we looked across the rive to the skyscrapers, I asked what it was like to live there on 9/11. He told me what it was like to watch the towers fall on his second day of his junior year of high school and have friends worried about their parents’ fates. I talked about my experience 1500 miles away and tried to relate. He convinced me I should visit the 9/11 Museum, but he had absolutely no desire to go there ever again.

As we were talking and walking, I eventually realized we had wandered into a more residential area of the city.

“Where are we going?”

“Oh, back to my place. Is… that ok?”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess.”

“We can go somewhere else if you want. I was just going to grab my cigarettes”

“You smoke? Gross”

“Yeah, I know.”

When we walk into his apartment, I noticed a large tank in the corner. He tells me that’s his bearded dragon, Idris Elba.

“Why did you name him Idris Elba?”

“Why would you name a bearded dragon anything else?”

He smokes a cigarette outside and I play with his giant labrador. When he finishes, he pops a stick of gum and kisses me. He’s a good kisser, so I go along with it and we move our make out session into the kitchen. He lifts me onto the countertop and slides his hand up my shirt. I remember he mentioned a roommate, so I request we move to a more private place in case she returns. We make our way towards his room in the basement.

Now, in my part of the country, basements are rare. So this kinda freaked me out. And lets face it, I don’t really know this dude, so that kinda freaks me out. But I know how to take care of my own, so I choose not to freak out.

We have a good time. Better than I thought we would. Eventually he lets me know that a friend has to stop by to pick up something. Nothing to make you feel super awkward like meeting the friend of a stranger knowing that they most likely know we just had sex.

His friend is very normal and quite nice and jokes around for a bit before leaving. I realize the sun is setting and I should make my way back to the top of Manhattan. While I’m starting to gather my things that I had left in the kitchen, he kisses me from behind. Before I know it he’s fucking me from behind on top of his dining room table with my panties around my ankles. We go quickly, because we still don’t know when the roommate will walk in. Once we’re finished, he walks me to the end of the block and I tell him I can make my way back to the subway on my own. I tell him to have a good time in the Poconos and he tells me to be safe partying in the city. 10 minutes later he texts me to let me know that we narrowly missed his roommate walking into the house.

To my surprise, he continues to text me throughout the weekend despite knowing we can’t really hang out at all. He’s funny and easy to talk to. We try to get together one more time before I head back home, but the stars don’t align. He asks me to let him know the next time I’m in NY, but I let him know I will have a child in tow. I tell him not to hedge his bets on me, but if we can make it work, that’d be cool.

Over the next few months, he texts me randomly and I text him randomly. He kinda turns into a confidante of sorts, and I am for him too.

Recently, I’ve met someone. It’s honestly the main reason I haven’t written in a while. A few days after I met him, Irish guy texts me. I tell him I’ve met someone.

“Then why the fuck are you texting me back, crazy face?! Go be with him!”

“Ha, fair point. Thanks, Irish Guy. You’re a good dude.”

Honestly, I wouldn’t mind talking with him still because I’m the kind of person who can have a sexual thing with someone and if it doesn’t turn into something more, I can flip it into a platonic relationship and never look back. But maybe he’s not. And that’s ok.

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