I’ll have what she’s having

My best friend Laura and I jetted off to New York for a winter break in December. We’d both been before, so I made a detailed plan of food joints I wanted us to hit up as this trip was basically

My best friend Laura and I jetted off to New York for a winter break in December. We’d both been before, so I made a detailed plan of food joints I wanted us to hit up as this trip was basically going to be about us eating our way around the city with some (well, what turned out to be a lot) shopping and museums thrown in.

Katz’s Deli has been around for over 100 years and is infamous for it’s meat and pickles (HELL to the yea), as well as being the location where Meg Ryan famously faked that orgasm in the film “When Harry Met Sally”.

Upon being seated, Laura and I were jabbering away about pickles no doubt and were handed some menus from a ridiculously cute maître d’. I’m talking doe eyed, full lips, tall, very NYC looking in a baseball cap and hoodie, not my usual sort of attire, but with his

As he passed us some cutlery he said “ladies, I’m not done, I know I’m ugly, but eyes up”. My response to this horrified Laura beyond belief, I simply said “Oh no”, but I did it with such obvious flirtation that I may as well have stripped naked and told him to hump me on the table. He gave me a smile and walked off whilst Laura covered her horrified face.

We indulged on so much food. It absolutely lived up to, and exceeded expectations. Don’t go expecting to finish, the Reuben I had was mammoth. I was hyper, I’d be dreaming of pickles and corned beef for weeks, so to finally get it was great. Hence ridiculously photos such as this…

At some point during our meal, the cute guy walked past and was talking to a colleague; he then said, “I hate the sound of my own voice”. As I was clearly perving on his sexy American ass, he caught my eye again and added, “I know you don’t though”. Cue more obnoxious flirting, think hair toss, eyes fluttering, head back laughing.

Readying to leave and I gave the sexy man a last look, I got in the queue to pay and it felt like he was loitering next to me, though he was simply doing his job. Laura and I were looking at our battered map outside the shop to work out the direction we needed to head next (yes, I had a map, I’m old school), when there was a banging coming from behind us. Laura looked at me with wide eyes and pointed at the window, the hot guy was there, he gestured to his phone asking for my number. Internal fucking scream, except as soon as I’d saved his number, Laura and I walked around the corner and I did a proper teenage squeal. Laura exclaimed, “I give you full permission to dick ditch, he’s hot!”


So, the downside of me saving his American number was that I couldn’t figure out how to text him, it kept being undelivered. I tried it with a 00, a 001, +44 all sorts. I was fucking pissed off. He’d briefly shown me his Instagram page through the window, so I thought, OK, I’ll find him there, except I couldn’t remember his fucking username. What I’m about to tell you may indeed make me sound a little desperate, but you know what, I’m fine with that. I went to Katz’s Instagram page and looking at who they follow armed with the knowledge of his first name only and with high hopes that they followed their own Maître’ D. Well, boom, it bastard worked. Follow and message.

I’ll surmise the back and forth of messaging that ensued for the next couple of days; started friendly and flirty and got fairly heated. We made plans to meet on the last night of my trip.

When you’re sharing a room with your friend, obviously you’re not going to get busy there. I checked to see if there were any rooms in my hotel, but there was only one business suite available with 6 bunk beds, and it was ludicrously expensive. I spoke to Mr Katz and he said he could find us a hotel (he lives with his kids). It was up between Harlem and Washington Heights, so miles away from Hell’s Kitchen where we were staying, but cheap. Now, I won’t lie, I had some apprehension about going somewhere in a city that I don’t know, late at night (we met about 10pm) with a total stranger. My only safeguard was to find out the address, tell Laura where it was and Mr Katz that she knew where I’d be and his details. Of course, I could have been taken anywhere, but he knew I’d done this, so I told him if he did anything untoward he’d be culpable.

Needless to say, I was still shitting myself a little bit getting off the subway in Harlem. We got to the hotel and were told there were no rooms ready just yet, but they put our name on the list. It was a pay by the hour place, something to my knowledge we don’t have in the UK, so this itself was surprising to me. Presumably somewhere for hookers, hook-ups and pit-stops.

We finally got into our room, sexual tension having been building since meeting over an hour ago. I’d wanted to kiss him since meeting outside my hotel, but as I had red lipstick on I decided against making myself into a messy smudge of a former hot self.

What ensued was 3 hours of extremely hot sex. The first time was relatively quick. We’d both wanted it so much, he fucked me from behind in an animalistic romp, sliding in and out of me, as I was drenched from the build up of him pressing against me on the subway. I thought that might have been it, but my God, this guy had stamina. We fucked again and again, and he came four times that night, I don’t know how he did it. He barely paused except for an occasional cigarette or drink. When he’d just come, he’d go down on me, devouring me for what felt like an eternity whilst I briefly lost my head.

He’s the first guy who’s made me squirt from penetrative sex. His somewhat large appendage probably helped in the matter whilst I was riding him, but I kept going and going. I lost count of how many times I came that night. We ran out of condoms so ended up spending the last 10 minutes or so just chatting whilst he dried off from a shower. We could hear a woman next door screaming “daddy” and sounding like an unconvincing porn star. I booked an Uber and he walked me to the door of my car, before checking out for the motel staff to change the sheets of our sex stained room for the next guests.

It was an entirely excellent experience, but with cheap notes of the most casual of hook-ups in the motel, which has no doubt been home to many a fake orgasm.

Thankfully I had nothing to fake, unlike Sally.








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