So on New Years Eve, I invited Toby to come to New York City and celebrate some friends and me at a snazzy loft in Chelsea, which isn’t really my style, but it is. You know Toby, right? The guy I was in lust with since 2000, Wayne’s best friend, and the playboy of the house. Right, so I asked him to come along as “friends”.
That’s complete bullshit, I knew I was going to sleep with him, or at least try to. So we come home that night, blown out of our minds and immediately fall asleep. At the suggestion of one of my friends, I didn’t wear panties (which I’ve come to find out, ALWAYS works).
Okay, okay, so drunk out of our minds, he didn’t even make a move till the morning, but after all that hype, all those years, the good looks, the black wife beaters, and the gym workouts, WHY was the sex not that great. Okay, I mean he was the first person I slept with since Christoph but was I really setting the expectation too high? It was literally an in, out, in, out, bang, bang, done. What the hell?
Look, I don’t think I set too high an expectation. All good-looking guys aren’t great in bed, but if I hear rumors about a guy and his ability to do something right, I am going to have a set expectation on the morning runaround.
I felt kind of shitty for judging him so I bought him eggs from the diner down the street. Was that tacky?
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