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I need Sex.
Apparently, so do many of my girlfriends.
“I have become best friends with my vibrator,” said my friend Emily as we sipped dirty martinis at an overpriced lounge in Soho last weekend.
“Oh yeah,” chimed in Suzy, “I kicked Joe out last Saturday and told him not to come home without something to aid me in this lull.”
I could relate. I hadn't gotten any in over three weeks and with the Martini bills growing larger every week, I could not afford anything to assist me. $90.00 for a love aid? I was stuck flicking the bean with the help of a little Sinatra and a folded-up photo of Joaquin.
Two days later, I was sipping mimosas at brunch with Cassidy, analyzing her boyfriend’s recent decline.
“Maybe it’s stress,” I said co-dependently.
“You know, Enrique is pretty stressed out these days over work.”
“Screw stress,” she said.
“Yeah, screw stress!” I agreed and ordered another round.
By 10:00 we were nothing but a couple of belligerent, horny, drunken wanna-be ho’s. When Melissa mentioned that she and Dan scheduled sex “every Friday”, visions of muumuus and cheapnight cream flashed before my eyes. I realized I needed to take action—fast.
On my way home, I decided to do what many of my forefathers had done when yearning to strike gold. I went West—all the way to Broadway where a wise woman by the name of Victoria resided.
Rumor had it she knew the secret to getting in men’s pants.
I walked in to find lingerie of all kinds—corsets, bustier’s and little boy shorts with matching tiny tanks. I bought them all and, with a little begging for a credit increase and the swipe of a card, I was sure that I would be frustrated no more!
I ran home and decided to put my plan in motion.
I lit the candles and poured the wine. I put on some salty Latin beats and slipped into a little pink number and awaited The Nicaraguan’s entrance.
As I heard the keys in the door, I stood up—excited that I was finally gonna tax that ass!
The door opened.
The keys were placed on the table.
And then it happened.
I heard a voice of his best friend Kris utter seven of the most painful words a sex-starved woman can hear.
“Man, I am excited to play Halo.”
I wanted to run, but I had nowhere to go! I live in a studio on Wall Street for Christssake!
“Uh, what are you doing?!” asked Enrique in an "us vs the crazy naked woman" kind of way.
I grabbed the carpet and ran into the bathroom as fast as I could. I stayed there for three hours while they got their asses beat by fast-talking 12 years olds.
Irritated by my lack of lovin’, I decided he needed something saucier. More experimental, if you will.
Off to the Village I went…when I returned, I had fuzzy handcuffs, dirty dice and a lotion that smelled of chocolate.
I slipped into the bustier and handcuffed myself in his closet and waited.
…and waited.
…and waited some more.
Finally, five long hours (and a very cramped arm) later, I heard the keys in the door. As he flicked on his light and opened the door, I found my most seductive voice and said “Surprise, Handsome”
“Huh?”
As I looked into his stunned, bloodshot eyes, I realized he was drunk and remembered it was Thursday, the day he was to take his boss out to Happy Hour.
“What in the hell are you doing in here?!” he asked.
Embarrassed and annoyed, I yelled, “Trying to seduce you, you ass!”
“By locking yourself up in a closet?! What are you, some kind of whack job?” he replied.
I grabbed the key from his dresser and unlocked my tired arm. By the time I stepped out of the closet, he was passed out on the bed.
Foiled again.
Frustrated and feeling anger indefinable by words, I attended the weekly Martini Meeting with great gusto.
I needed answers.
As we were discussing our plight, we were interrupted by a deep voice.
“Excuse me ladies, but I could not help but to listen in on your interesting conversation,” it said.
I looked up and saw a sexy older bartender resembling Robert DeNiro staring back at us.
“I know why you're not getting laid," he declared.
Eager for the inches, we begged for the information that had eluded us so long.
“You’re trying too hard,” he said.
“Men want it to be natural,” he said.
That would explain their porn, Playboy, Pamela and Brazilian wax obsessions.
Needing to finish my overpriced martini, I listened as he explained the importance of seduction, his theories of no make-up VS Full face and how sexuality should be something inherent in our personality and not something we turn on and off.
Intrigued, I asked him about his girlfriend.
“Oh, I’m gay,” he deadpanned.
With that, I threw down a twenty and stormed out of the bar. I hailed a cab and sped home to where I found my Latin sprawled out on the sofa, watching “So You Think You Can Dance” reruns.
I ripped off his clothes and did things to him that I cannot repeat here on the stand.
You might call it rape, but I call it necessary.
Whatever it was, Your Honor, it is how this gal finally got laid.
lame article. glad you got laid honey, but i was glad i finally found a toilet today after two burritos and a coffee, and i wouldn't write about that.
brice
and BTW...
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Posted: 1/26/2006 4:19:43 AM
really, if you actually looked like the girl in those pictures, you would not be so mad at the world. you probably really look a lot more like me.
deuce
nice twist at the end.
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Posted: 1/26/2006 6:48:37 AM
i also like how you referred to you boyfriend as simply "the nicaraguan" hilarious. 1st "the bachelor", then "the metro".. looking forward to more name calling... well done.
Mike S
The thing I always like
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Posted: 1/26/2006 8:16:32 AM
Is how you make fun of yourself in every piece. You're a good looking girl who could go another route, but you're always busting on how uncool you are. Good job on the piece and I liked the ending.
Frank
Brice
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Posted: 1/26/2006 8:19:04 AM
She's not mad at the world, she wrote an article, and it's probobly not true that's what these writers do, they make shit up. You idiots always bust on them for the shittiest reasons.
nice work, Brenda.
K.W.
Really...
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Posted: 1/26/2006 8:19:41 AM
This question of you not getting laid is retarded. The only women who complain about how often they have sex are the ones with boyfriends/husbands. Lose the ball and chain and go get some. There is no reason (besides her morals, which is bullshit) a woman can't have sex every night.
Laura
blah
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Posted: 1/26/2006 8:24:59 AM
Thanks for narrating an episode of Sex & The City.
Brenda Della Casa
Laura
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Posted: 1/26/2006 8:35:12 AM
I take that as a compliment :) Let the busting begin! Hope you guys have a good time!
BTW, I know it's shocking...but...a lot of us, "Make stuff up" over here
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