New York City may have nine million residents, but it is a small town when it comes to meeting available women. Or at least so it seems when we go out on the town.
At a half past ten, I was dressed to the nines and entering Maxwell’s, located on the corner of Right Now And Everyone Was There. On a normal night, I would never make it within ten feet of the velvet rope, but ropes seem to jump by themselves with a friend like Robb. He is what Glenn would call “a trifecta” — a high-profile attorney, one of the Manhattan’s most eligible bachelors according to New York Magazine, and currently representing the daughter of the biggest real estate developer on the Upper East side, in a nasty divorce case that makes it to Page Six as frequently as she has gotten DUIs in the Hamptons.
So, there we were, in Maxwell’s, four attractive single men, Robb -the lawyer, Jake – the ultra-successful financial analyst, who never said no to a nice pair of legs, but always dropped her as fast as a T-bill in his money market account, Glenn – the former ballplayer, now a sought-after commercial artist, the only man I ever met who had slept with seven different women in one week, but who secretly would throw everything away just to become a stay at home dad, and me – the under-employed writer, currently living with his nice Jewish mother.
I spent much of the night thinking about Atlas, and how he struggled to hold the world up, despite his powerful arms. What does friendship really mean to me and my friends? Are we like four Atlases? Would we always be there to help each other hold up our own little worlds?
Of course, our conversation in Maxwell’s revolved less about Greek Mythology then our favorite topic — male shoes and fashion.
“Hey, Neil, my main man, are those Dockers you’re wearing?” asked Glenn, admiring the fit.
“F**k no,” I answered. “I wouldn’t wear those piece of sh*t pants again after the Docker/Levi Strauss Company screwed me with that “free flight” that ruined my going to BlogHer.”
A gorgeous model sashayed by, catching our attention. This was not just any model. This was Ashley Maran, the latest cover model in Vogue. Our conversation quickly turned to our second favorite conversation — the fairer sex.
“I’m breaking up with Annie,” said Robb, batting first, hitting us with a foul ball.
None of us were surprised, but we were a bit sad — we actually liked Annie. She was a Mets fan. So, we pressed him for more info.
“One of the reasons I was initially attracted to her was because she is a dentist. I figured — a dentist, oral sex, a perfect match. But she gave the worst blowjobs I ever had. How can you explain that? She even used her teeth!”
We all cringed in pain.
“Didn’t they teach her about this in dental school?”
We all agreed that this was a legitimate reason for dumping her like a third-rate draft pick, even if she did like the Mets.
Jake had oral problems of his own. Jake had been dating a busty stock broker from Goldman Sachs, and apparently she was bullish on him going down on her.
“That’s all she wants. Apparentlly, she can only have an orgasm through oral sex. I mean she’s been going to therapy for years because of this.”
We all agree that Jake was practically a Mother Theresa for sticking around with this woman for longer than he ever has with anyone else — nearly three weeks.
“You know me, I’m eager to help out.” said Jake. “I drive you guys to the airport whenever you need me. But not driving my c*ck between her thighs is torture. ”
Jake looked like he was near tears. Robb gave him a sympathetic hug.
“I can’t sit there for two hours with my tongue doing all the work,” Jake continued. “I’ve lost ten pounds this month because my jaw hurts so much, I’m too tired to chew any food.”
After we all consoled Jake, It was now Glenn’s turn on the witness stand.
“I sometimes wish I could just settle down, have a child, and become a stay at home daddy.”
For years, I never understood Glenn’s fantasy of being a SAHD. Here he was, a big success with a fancy Soho condo, women up the wazoo – and he wants to throw it all away? For what? For dirty diapers and daddy blogging? But New York can do that to you. It gets at you. It wears you down.
“I just want to meet the right woman.” said Glenn, sighing. “But it feels as if the only women over thirty in New York are either taken, unable to commit, lesbian, or trans-gendered men.”
“What about Lisa?” asked Jake.
For the last month, Glenn had been seeing Lisa, the cute V.P of this hip new internet marketing firm in Chelsea.
She’s very passionate, but a little too short.” said Glenn.
“Short? What are you talking about?” asked Jake.
“Well, I mean she’s compact. She’s 5’2″, and when we are in bed… and I’m a big guy, so… uh…”
“Are you saying your d*ck is too big for her p*ssy?” asked Robb.
“Has this ever happened to any of you?” he asked.
“Of course” we all said, nodding, as if this was a frequent problem in our lives.
Finally, it was my time to be grilled, like salmon filet at Tavern on the Green. I could feel the guys looking at me as closely as they would a brunette’s tight ass as she climbed on the Stairmaster at the Crunch Gym in Tribeca.
“What about you, Neil?” asked Robb. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight. You getting any action in Queens?”
I think it was Isaac Bashevis Singer who said, “The best stories come out of the daily experiences of your own life.” So, I took the writer’s advice.
“Well, I went to McDonald’s for a cup of coffee and as I was drinking it, I got a major hard-on.”
“Was the girl at the counter really hot?” asked Jake.
“No,” I said. “I think they just added too much sugar.”
After a long, uncomfortable pause, Glenn changed the subject.
“Have you heard from Ms. Big?” asked Glenn.
The others looked at each other, concerned. Was it too soon to bring up the name of Ms. Big?
“I IM-ed with Sophia last night. She’s in LA.”
They all were eager to know what she said.
“Well, she sent me this message:
“You should start seeing someone there.”
I said, “A woman?”
She wrote back, “A man or a woman.”
I answered, “A man or a woman?! I don’t get it. Are you saying I should start seeing someone — like going on a date?”
She said, “No. I meant you should start seeing a therapist in New York.””
My three friends laughed. But it was OK. I know that if I were Atlas, and had to hold up the world with my skinny arms, they would be at my side, helping me carry the weight.
Update: BlogHim 08′ recap