Prelude: I wish I had written this when I remembered more.
I began my evening with 4 Loko around 10PM- that was my first mistake. I soon ventured out to Long Island City with friends- then Greenpoint- then decided that after hours in Manhattan was a necessity. I was fed drinks by my favorite doorman. Accepting said drinks was definitely mistake #2 as I was already highly intoxicated. It was around this time I met a young man we shall call “the beast”. We rendezvoused in a pretty gross, very cramped movie theater stall with a very broken door. Public making out ensued. Let me note at this point that this young man had A) a severely greasy slicked back Mohawk B) checkers shaved into both sides of his head C) intense mutton chops D) a drug induced under-bite and restless jaw.
So, eventually we decide it’s time to leave. I suggest his place to which he responds very causally “oh, yeah we can’t because my girlfriend’s there.” I have a suspicion that we then hopped in a cab and went to Brooklyn. What I do clearly recall is that we proceeded to ferociously make out on the concrete stairs of a completely public building across the street from a park. Attempted public sex ensued. Failed. He had alcohol/drug wiener. Every once in a while he’d accuse me of making him feel bad about his infidelity (though I’m pretty sure I didn’t say anything about it).
It was at this point 10:30AM, when he went down on me on said public concrete stairs, in the full-on daylight and proceeded to complain that my pubes were too long.
We parted semi-amicably, but I will literally die if I see him again. Why? Well because he changed his Facebook status to “why go out for burgers when you’ve got steak at home” 2 days later.
I’m also pretty sure that the keys I found in my purse the next day were his. I woke up super confused as to why my back was so sore to my dismay; I had pretty severe abrasions on my back and rump. It looked like a fucking rug-burn and will likely scar.
Conclusion: Say no to the After Hours, nothing good happens after 2AM. SFAR.