ThatChickFromNYC
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When: Last summer
Location: San Francisco, California
Report: I wore a black stretch skirt that evening, almost to the knee, a cute off-the-shoulder black top that shows off just enough tummy, cleavage and back, silver earrings. Simple but very nice black pumps. It was a classic New York look.
Key Boi showed up in a VERY nice charcoal suit, brilliant white silk shirt unbuttoned halfway down (nice contrast with his golden sun-tanned skin, plus it showed off his hairy chest, very sexy). He was wearing shades, and they definitely looked expensive. When I answered the door, he scored some serious points by not drooling or yammering about how "great" or "sexy" I looked. He just eyed me up and down for several seconds, without shame, as if sizing me up. He then gave a very cool nod of approval, and said, "Ready to go?" It came out sounding more like a casual order than a question, but I didn't mind at all, I liked his voice.
We got in his Mercedes (silver, late-model I'm pretty sure, quite nice) and drove around SF a bit. We exchanged small talk, chatted about the weather, politics, the feminist Naomi Wolf (I couldn't help laughing when Key Boi said that he didn't think any man would ever touch that "bitter, unappealling sow" other than to give her a "well-deserved slap in the face".) We then pulled up in front of a club on Minna Street that I've been dying to see. Key Boi wordlessly tossed his keys to a bouncer - not a valet, but some huge, Polynesian-looking guy, who promptly drove off to park Key Boi's ride. We walked right past the line at the door - Key Boi gave a knowing nod to the doorman - and he hustled me inside, past the crowds, past the bar, to a door in the back. "VIP," Key Boi said as the only explanation. We went up a spiral staircase to an amazingly cool, very laid-back lounge, with a live jazz trio playing. I didn't even know this place had a VIP lounge, and when I told Key Boi that, he just said, "That's right, you didn't."
I have to admit, I felt a bit intimidated: these with pretty beautiful and probably powerful people, and I wondered if I was a little out of place. But all that time, Key Boi kept one strong, warm hand on the small of my back, which made me feel more at home.
We sat on one of the deep leather sofas scattered around the lounge, alternately sipping Ketel One and opium tea (which I'd never had before). Every few minutes, people would come up to Key Boi, and he'd do some business, whipping out a tiny black leather notebook and silver pen to make note or write out some dollar figures. All the while, the opium tea and Key Boi's remarkably large hand draped possessively on my thigh were both getting me more than a little damp.
That's all for now: Tomorrow (maybe) I'll tell you about our dinner (at Aqua) and what happened when we went back to his place, and, why he later dumped me for ThatChickFromTNT![Roll eyes :rolleyes: :rolleyes:](data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7)
Location: San Francisco, California
Report: I wore a black stretch skirt that evening, almost to the knee, a cute off-the-shoulder black top that shows off just enough tummy, cleavage and back, silver earrings. Simple but very nice black pumps. It was a classic New York look.
Key Boi showed up in a VERY nice charcoal suit, brilliant white silk shirt unbuttoned halfway down (nice contrast with his golden sun-tanned skin, plus it showed off his hairy chest, very sexy). He was wearing shades, and they definitely looked expensive. When I answered the door, he scored some serious points by not drooling or yammering about how "great" or "sexy" I looked. He just eyed me up and down for several seconds, without shame, as if sizing me up. He then gave a very cool nod of approval, and said, "Ready to go?" It came out sounding more like a casual order than a question, but I didn't mind at all, I liked his voice.
We got in his Mercedes (silver, late-model I'm pretty sure, quite nice) and drove around SF a bit. We exchanged small talk, chatted about the weather, politics, the feminist Naomi Wolf (I couldn't help laughing when Key Boi said that he didn't think any man would ever touch that "bitter, unappealling sow" other than to give her a "well-deserved slap in the face".) We then pulled up in front of a club on Minna Street that I've been dying to see. Key Boi wordlessly tossed his keys to a bouncer - not a valet, but some huge, Polynesian-looking guy, who promptly drove off to park Key Boi's ride. We walked right past the line at the door - Key Boi gave a knowing nod to the doorman - and he hustled me inside, past the crowds, past the bar, to a door in the back. "VIP," Key Boi said as the only explanation. We went up a spiral staircase to an amazingly cool, very laid-back lounge, with a live jazz trio playing. I didn't even know this place had a VIP lounge, and when I told Key Boi that, he just said, "That's right, you didn't."
I have to admit, I felt a bit intimidated: these with pretty beautiful and probably powerful people, and I wondered if I was a little out of place. But all that time, Key Boi kept one strong, warm hand on the small of my back, which made me feel more at home.
We sat on one of the deep leather sofas scattered around the lounge, alternately sipping Ketel One and opium tea (which I'd never had before). Every few minutes, people would come up to Key Boi, and he'd do some business, whipping out a tiny black leather notebook and silver pen to make note or write out some dollar figures. All the while, the opium tea and Key Boi's remarkably large hand draped possessively on my thigh were both getting me more than a little damp.
That's all for now: Tomorrow (maybe) I'll tell you about our dinner (at Aqua) and what happened when we went back to his place, and, why he later dumped me for ThatChickFromTNT