Before moving to LA I lived in Manhattan for a few years, I had a teeny apartment on 71st and Columbus and life was a ball! I was booking lots of dance work, partying like it was 1999 and was enjoying being single for the first time in 6 years and New York is a great place to be a single gal.
I met a lot of guys doing random gigs around the city and Fabrizio and I had done some cater waiter events together. He was a musician from Italy and had moved to NY around the same time as me. We had chatted at a couple of events and he told me about his music and the bands he played drums in so I said I’d love to support another artist and I’d come along some time.
We had connected on Facebook and messaged each other now and then on there, I’d been to a few gigs and found out we had mutual friends and we always had friendly easy banter, until one night a few weeks before I headed off on tour in Europe. It was around 2am, neither of us had been doing much that night and he asked if I wanted to come over for a glass of wine. I lived on the UWS in Manhattan and he lived in a very trendy part of Brooklyn, off the L train. By train this is at least a 45min journey and probs 25 mins or so in a cab so there was no way I was going over, was this a Facebook IM booty call? Didn’t know that was on the cards. I said that it wasn’t a good night I was tired (and confused) so he said I must come over to his place that week so he could cook me some real Italian food before I left. Now this I was definitely into! I told him I’d be out the next night at a monthly event called, French Tuesday, drinking champagne on a fabulous rooftop in the Meat Packing District so we’d find a night that worked for both of us. Sweet dreams!
The next night, as planned I’m heading downtown with a couple of friends to go to the French Tuesday party and I get a text from Sexy Italian, “Hey I’m coming out to meet you guys after rehearsals, where will you be?”
Me: “We’ll be at STK, call me when you arrive and I’ll come and meet you at the door” – inside my head I’m screaming YIPEEEEEE!
Of course I’m excited to see him and that he’s coming but still not sure where this night is going, we’re just friends after all.
Fabrizio comes after rehearsals just as we’re heading to another spot so he and two of my girlfriends pull up some stools at the next bar and order some cocktails. Fabrizio and I are chatting and giggling and he is definitely being flirty! I get a thumbs-up from my friends and they bow out and leave me alone with hottie. We moved on to another cool club at a nearby hotel for more drinks and to meet some of his friends. I don’t know how this happened or what lead to it but Fabrizio was kissing me, I was bent backwards over a leather sofa running my hands through his hair and feeling his facial hair scratch my chin. There was no need to talk as we bumped into every piece of furniture and knocked our fellow clubbers out of the way and we stumbled out of the club into a taxi. I don’t remember any of the journey to Brooklyn only how soft his lips were and how good he smelled. I’m sure the poor cab driver remembers this moment fondly.
We crashed through the door into his apartment peeling layers of clothes off as we made our way to the bathroom for a sexy shower. Or not. I think back about what could have been a really cool sexy moment for me I cringe. Shower sex is one of the worst methods of penetration. You’re wet, it’s soapy, it’s likely that one or both of you are going to slip over and break a tooth. There is just so much to think about when in the shower with a handsome man for the first (and hopefully not last) time: suck in stomach, point boobs to the ceiling, stick out bum, keep hair and face dry so you don’t look a drowned rat when you make it to the bedroom. So I’m juggling these things while propping myself up on the slippery shower wall and he’s so enthusiastic, kissing me, pushing my head under the water so I’m getting soaked and before you know it about to slip and face plant on the wet tile- as predicted. No worries, Italian Stallion grabs my elbow in the nick of time and saves me from a bloody nose and missing teeth. Still kissing, barely dried-off we rush to his bedroom for a night of glorious shagging and dirty talk in broken-English then slept like exhausted teenagers till the next morning.
I wake up next to this beautiful man and all I can think is, shit I must look awful, no make-up, slept with wet hair and I’m supposed to be going to work in a few hours. He gets up to phone-in sick so we can stay in bed a bit longer (waheyyyy) so I take this opportunity to look at myself in my phone’s camera app and I am pleasantly surprised by what I see. My fair skin looks fresh, my freckles look charming and my hair is a cute curly fro, the universe was really on my side that morning. And the night before actually. I sent a text to my friend Monica exclaiming I was in bed with the sex god and was thinking there may be a round two and I’d better call in sick too ahhhhhhh *smiley face *wink face *call you later he’s coming back to bed!
There was a round two. And Italian coffee. And dreamy looks (from me) until finally it was time to walk to the subway and head back to my neighborhood. The walk of shame. Usually this is an embarrassing time for women in my position but honestly, if you could see this guy you’ll understand why I was practically skipping home and resisting the urge to tell perfect strangers about my ridiculously amazing night, and morning. I have officially re-named this ‘The Walk of Pride’.
25 minutes later I’m back in the comfort of my teeny apartment, still in last night’s outfit with a post-bonk glow. I now have the whole day to enjoy myself so I put some coffee on and call my mum on Skype for a quick chat. Right before I sign-off my dad jumps on to say a quick hello and see how I’m doing,
“Where are you going today? You look lovely!”
Take a look at this FAB TV commercial featuring editor Kate Braithwaite
Harvey Nichols – Walk Of Shame