Mikey. From Brooklyn.

Do you remember my last post? The one in which I apologized profusely to some stranger guy for “hurting” him? Well, scratch that. I didn’t hurt anybody. He’s Mikey from Brooklyn and he doesn’t give a fuck. I have to start from the beginning.

In an attempt to start healing my broken heart, (which I’m still not ready to write about), I created an profile on OK Cupid. It was great! I received so many messages, tons of compliments and so much attention. Mike’s message stood out to me because he’s a native Brooklynite (very rare these days), has lots of tattoos and seemed like a laid back, fun person. I liked him right away. We started texting back and forth and he wanted to hang out right away, but I was a little taken aback by his aggressive approach. I also listened to too many people. My shrink said stay away. My friends were “iffy.’ He seemed like his interest was mostly sexual and I don’t know why, but at that short moment in time, I didn’t feel comfortable with that.

Silly me, that is just what I needed!! A no-strings, no commitment, sexual relationship. A fuck buddy!

Anyway, I acted all crazy and told him that I didn’t think we were a good fit and to please stop contacting me. He was definitely confused–he didn’t understand what he had done wrong. Honestly, he didn’t do anything wrong.

Friday rolls around and I spend an agonizing day with my girl. I just quit smoking, I had serious PMS. I was in physical pain and my heart was still freshly wounded. Big Daddy was having a barbecue that night, and I had been excited to go for weeks! I even switched a day with the ex to go, but by the time he picked up my girl, I was exhausted and in tremendous period and lower back pain (I’ve gotta get that lower back checked out). I told Big Daddy I couldn’t make it after all and I collapsed into bed, praying for the pain to go away. I checked the weekend forecast. Hot and sunny. I knew one thing. I did not want to spend the weekend alone.

I scrolled through my phone and I found Mikey’s number. I sent him a text message.

Hey! I’m sorry for the way I acted relier this week. I’m never like that.

I understand if you don’t respond to me, but I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

He responded immediately. He told me not to worry about it and that he was sorry if he had sent off some vibe that turned me off. We decided to meet up the next day either at the pool or the beach. I told him I would give him a “make up” kiss. Relief. I wouldn’t be spending the weekend alone.

The next morning we spoke on the phone. The fancy pool was having a party for Veuve Clicquot and it would be a scene. He suggested the beach, I agreed and he told me he would pick me up around 11 AM. He was right on time and pulled up in his 1978 Mercedes Benz. Classic. Mint Condition. He was standing beside the car and when we were thisclose we shared a quick hug. He’s barely 5’6. I say 5’5″ because I’m 5’4″ and I was at eye level with him. It didn’t seem to matter, though. I was instantly attracted to him. What Mikey lacks in height, he makes up for in swagger. In fact, he might have the most swag of any guy I’ve ever known. I hopped into the passenger seat, we decided to hit the Rockaways and away we went.

I spoke for most of the ride to the beach. It made sense since he was driving and had to pay attention to the road and navigator. He was super easy to talk to. I told him just about everything he needed to know about me as a potential love interest right away so that there wouldn’t be any secrets. He was cool with everything. When we arrived at the beach, he told me to wait on the boardwalk while he parked his car at his parents house not too far away. I called my friend T-Money, who is a Rockaway girl, to let someone know where I was and who I was with. He sent me a text to find a spot to settle in and I found a great big open spot among the masses of beach goers right by the water. It was lovely.

He met me, settled in and wanted to jump right into the water. So in we went. It was fun. The water was warm and the waves were big. He grabbed my legs here and there to check out the tattoos I have on my feet. We talked while bobbing up and down in the water. I was wearing a strapless bikini, so I was a little scared of it falling off amongst the waves, but it was all good. Since it was “my time”, by breasts were enormous for my otherwise tiny figure. Mikey liked that. He said so.

Back on the sand, we basked in the late summer sun and he reminded me of the promised “make-up kiss.” I liked Mikey, so I didn’t mind. He’s a good kisser. It was fun. He sort of poked around my body checking out this and that–the tattoo I have above my lady parts was slightly sticking out, and he touched it before he asked to see it. When I showed it to him, Mikey liked it. We made out some more and he told me to stop because he couldn’t hide his excitement in his swim shorts. I couldn’t help but grab a feel. It was good.

Our next trip into the water was different. This time we went in to cool off from our make out session and to make out some more in the water. I wrapped my legs around him and we kissed and kissed and kissed. I ran my tongue along his salty neck and heard him grunt slightly. I whispered “Do you like that?” in his ear and he whispered back “Yes.” He felt up my entire body beneath the ocean and his hands felt so good. We stayed in the water for what seemed like most of the afternoon and finally made our way back to our little spot. We hung out and dried off in the sun, talked about getting something to eat and relaxed, happy that we were us at that moment in time.

We decided to leave. We grabbed some food and a beer and then took the mile and a half walk home to his parent’s house where he had left his car. I didn’t even put on my clothes until we hit a commercial strip. The conversation turned to sex and that’s when I really started to get to know him. He asked me questions about rough sex, threesomes, favorite positions. It turns out that he had the best threesome of his life TWO WEEKS AGO. I tried to quench the pangs of jealousy I felt. I told myself “It’s too soon for that shit, Suzy!” and went on to ask him about his oral abilities, foreplay, and other sexual generalities.

On the car ride home he kept one hand on the wheel and one hand up my shorts. He knew it was “my time” so he kept his distance from the good stuff, but still, that shit turned me on. He was rock hard and I took him into my hand and started caressing it lightly. Suzy and Mikey liked it.

We went back to his pace and jumped into the shower. We started kissing. Hard. He grabbed me by the back of my hair and turned me around against the shower wall. He rubbed himself against my ass and thighs. He used his fingers to tease me and asked me how I liked it. He told me talk to him and I did. We were filthy in that shower.

Showered and slightly refreshed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I wanted to cry. My nose and chin were slightly sunburned. The dark circles that my sunglasses his so well were prominent in the bathroom light. My sweaty, salty, unwashed wet hair was a mess of tangles around my face. I stared into that mirror and slowly, all of the day’s pleasures were wiped away. I was still me. I was still broken ol’ me.

He was getting group text messages from his friends because one of his buddies was in from San Francisco and wanted to go out. He was tired and said he would rather stay in. He asked me if I thought it was fucked up if he blew of this visitor. I told him yes and so he said “Ok, I’ll call you an Uber and take another shower then go meet them for a quick dinner.” When my reaction was “Huh?” He reminded me that I was the one who told him to go out. He was right. I did tell him to go out. He paid for the cab  in advance and I was back home in twenty minutes. I was so tired, I didn’t even shower. I figured the rinse I had at his house was good enough. I threw on some pajamas and went straight to bed.

The next morning I felt weird. I knew he had to travel for business early in the week and I figured he was busy. The day was hot and filled with heavy thunderstorms. The perfect excuse to stay inside. At around 9 O’clock, I sent him a text message “Safe travels this week! Kisses!” He responded with a thank you and I wrote back “See you around. Have a good night!” He wished me a good night too and that was that.

I couldn’t find a place to write about all of the little things I learned about Mikey that day–like his love of luxurious things, his throng of female “friends”, his ardent desire to remain uncommitted (I stressed that too.) and his immaculate nature in both his home and appearance, but they all added up to something very scary.

I like Mikey.

And I’m never calling him again.

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Good Friends and Beach Therapy

Seagate Beach. Brooklyn, NY.

Seagate Beach. Brooklyn, NY.

I was heartbroken and sad this week  (post to come, but I just can’t write about it yet)  and I didn’t want to do much except lay around on my couch or in my bed and feel sad and empty.That lasted for a day and a night until my friend “Big Daddy” stepped in and commanded me to get the fuck out of bed and meet him and my buddies “Mama Lu” and “Chick Pea” at the beach.

I always keep a beach bag packed in my car, so getting ready to head to the beach solo is a fairly easy operation. I just throw on a suit, pack my essentials in a little ziplock bag and bring a bottle of water. I know my friends come fully prepared with food and drink.

I got into my hot car, feeling empty and blue, hit some traffic, thought about my bed and finally got to the beach.  My friends were missing from their easily recognizable “station.” They were in the water and I set up my little spot and lotioned up until Chick Pea came strolling back from her dip.

Chick Pea doesn’t now about the relationship I was involved in as it was clandestine and she and I are not as close as we used to be. It was nice to be around someone who didn’t know about what I had gone through 24 hours earlier and just shoot the breeze. Chick Pea is adorably hot. She’s 5 feet tall, an Italian-Puerto Rican beauty who resembles Jessica Alba, though I find her to be prettier. We chatted for a while and caught up on shit until Big Daddy and Mama Lu came strolling back from their swim. Immediately, Mama Lu gave me a big kiss and Big Daddy offered me food and drink. I couldn’t eat much due to some stomach problems I have, but I love an Icy Coke and he gave me one.

It was a beautiful day! I was only about ten miles from my house, maybe even less, but what a difference I felt laying around on my oversized beach towel than in my oversized bed. The sun felt so good on my face and body and when i finally couldn’t stand the heat any longer, I hopped into the ocean with Big Daddy, floated on my back, talked with only our heads above water and that’s how I began to feel–like my head was just above the water. I wasn’t sinking anymore.

I stayed pretty late and I felt the despair starting to come back as I drove home to what would be my lonely apartment, but I had begun to heal. I have a long way to go as he was an essential part of my life for a long time and as the summer comes to a lazy close, I realize I may not have much beach therapy left, but what I do have are my friends. My irreplaceable, funny, kind and generous friends who have stood by me through all of my madness. I suppose every group of friends needs one madwoman.

I am thrilled to be theirs.

Bikini Season

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Despite the cruel winter that imposed itself on NYC, I found myself daydreaming every single time I pulled on my foul snow boots about Seagate, the tiny enclave that houses a private beach I have frequented for over twenty five years.

I love the beach. I love the hot sun on my body, digging my feet into the sand, taking a dip in the only clean waters you’ll find in Brooklyn. I love the smell of Coppertone and I even love the post beach shower, sand collecting around the drain and all.

I’ve never been shy about my bikinis. The less material, the better. Then again, I had a hot body. I was tanned, toned and tattooed. I got my fair share of stares, and of course, I loved every minute of it!

This upcoming summer, however, scares me. It’s not the predicted brutal heat–I mean, every summer in New York is brutally hot. It’s not that I’m worried about wrinkling up like a raisin from all of my over sun exposure or the threat of skin cancer that every single beauty magazine devotes it’s May and June issues to. It’s something else.

I. Am. So. Skinny.

I’m not using the word “thin” here. I am using skinny because that’s what I’ve become. My cancer caused me to lose five pounds from my 98 pound frame thus making my body the equivalent of a seventh grader. I’m trying really hard to gain back those five pounds, and hopefully an extra five for my ass, but it’s hopeless. I ate four slices of pizza the other night followed by a slice of Brown Betty Apple Cake with homemade whipped cream and the next morning, the scale read the dreaded number: 93.5.

I purchased two new bikinis at J.Crew (in my bikini experience, they have the best bathing suits) in size XS. The tops fit great! They even gave me lift and cleavage, but despite the XS stamped on the tag of the bottoms, I pulled them on and was dejected to realize, they were a tiny bit loose in the ass. No problem, unless I jump into the water and emerge with saggy bikini bottoms. Not sexy. No.

So, I’m working. I can’t work out due to doctor’s orders, but I’m eating and eating and trying to fill out this non existent, bony ass to fill in an extra small bikini bottom.

It’s funny, people are super sensitive about being overweight. I can’t stand being underweight.

Does anyone know where I can find some ironized yeast?

Ten: A Summertime Memoir

During the 1980s, my parents had, depending on how you look at it, the foresight or stupidity to buy up a whole bunch of houses in Seagate, Brooklyn. Seagate, the small gated community about one mile from all of what was then the danger and prostitution and general seediness of Astroland, Cyclone, Thunderbolt territory, was summertime to my family and me. We knew nothing of this Disney World all the kids would write about in their “What I Did Over the Summer” essays on the first day of school. We had a few brief encounters with the Turkish variation of the Catskills in upstate New York, but for the most part, we were a family of beach combers, spending all day or even heading over at dusk to eat dinner on the sand. Seagate was a destination spot- a vacation and it represented all of the gorgeousness of summer. Fuck spring and its cold spells and sinusitus. Summer was the season I loved most. Off from school, my father included, and we had the longest, loveliest, laziest days to look forward to spending on a beautiful Brooklyn beach.

Suddenly, and with all of the viciousness of a famished seagull attacking a carelessly discarded bread crust, my family as I knew it disappeared. My Dad died. Minus one. Late May. My Mom. Even now in my thirties I am only beginning to understand the horrifying details of her experience with death and the the family that it left behind. Deeming my brother old enough to be left alone to cope with his sadness, she gathered up her girls aged six through twelve, some bathing suits and towels, a couple of bottles of suntan lotion and cheap shampoo and took us right back to the only beach resort she had ever known.

It was different that summer, without the men, without our Dad. I think we were all pretty numb. Afraid of what was so very obvious. My parents had rented out the apartments in the houses on the beach, so my Mom set up shop in one of the basements. Semi-finished. A small TV. A couple of beds. Running water. Stove. Refrigerator. Water bugs. Centipedes. She would wash our hair in the kitchen sink and comb it straight with a rough hand. We were slathered in Coppertone and then sent off to the beach, my sisters and me. Off to the beach where we could run far away from our sadness and loss. Where the enormity of the ocean would soothe our broken hearts. We were so tiny in that ocean and though we could never articulate it then, there was something calming in that smallness. We didn’t know it, as we tumbled and rolled along the sandy bottom of the sea, but we were learning the valuable truth that there is something greater than us, some force that is so much more powerful than we are and that it is so wildly uncontrollable that maybe it is ok to succumb to it.

And so, this is how my tenth summer came and went. Eventually, we had to pack up and return home and face the scary truth about what happened that late spring, but somewhere in between the gray and scary basement of an Atlantic Avenue mansion and the gray and scary waters of an Atlantic Ocean basin, I grew up. And gave in. And let go. A little.

Brooklyn Beach Day

Who says you need to go to the Tropics for a fabulous day at the beach? I just got home from an amazing day of sun and surf right here in my hometown of Brooklyn, New York.

In the late eighties when Coney Island was basically hookers lined up from The Cyclone to Seagate, (a small, gated community about a mile from the rides, but my Daddy got it into his head that it would be a great investment to buy some beachfront property in that very small gated community–and so he did.) Three houses and three years later, my Daddy was gone (RIP Daddy) but the houses still stood. My Mom, a native of Belfast with absolutely NO real estate or management skills sold two of the houses to my Daddy’s asshole Turkish partner (My Dad was from Turkey, my Mom is from Belfast, they met in New York City on a blind date–gotta write about that one day…) but she kept the one that he told her to purchase with my dear Auntie who has also just recently passed.

That house, sold one month before Hurricane Sandy, was amazing. Seagate was an enclave for the rich folk from the city to come into Brooklyn during the 1920s and have places to stay after their wild nights at Coney Island or Luna Park. This was not your typical Brooklyn house. It was a former mansion–maid’s quarters and everything. Over the years it was converted into a multi-family dwelling- five apartments, one of which I had the luxury of living in during my own roaring 20s.

My family has been a part of The Seagate Community for so long that nobody blinks an eye when we’ve shown up this summer to use their private beach.

The beach is gorgeous. White sand, clean water, sailboats in the not so far distance, underused (meaning no crowds), a perfect view of the Verrazano Bridge and a backdrop of some of the most amazing and landmarked houses you have ever seen. (It’s rumored that Al Capone used one of those very houses as a hideout during the 1920s.)

I have nothing against Coney Island sand and the view of the Wonder Wheel and Parachute Jump, but when you have your own private beach, my God, you use it! And so I did. I needed a break from all of the cancer and divorce and trouble I’ve been through and needed to be surrounded a Motley Crew of my favorite people.

LM brought the food, drinks, music, and jokes. MR brought the smokes. AD brought the smokin’ bod, KT brought the girl talk (and her own smokin’ bod…) and my favorite sissie brought the hangover and tales of last night’s debauchery. I brought my towel, a beach chair and a bottle of Coppertone. I knew LM would have the Maui Babe. A discovery he made on trip we took to Hawaii ten years ago this very month.

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It was perfect beach weather. 80 degrees and sunny. I love a good tan, but with all of the shit I’ve been through this summer, not to mention the gruesome heat wave that struck NYC for most of July, unfortunately, I’ve only been to the beach once. No tan. (…cries…) Luckily, I had a bevy of bronzers, sunscreens and of course the magical potion of Maui Babe to help me look a little less April and a little more August.

What a spectacular day. We ate, a swam, we laughed, we tanned. Goodness Gracious, it was absolute perfection! I never understood people who don’t like the beach. I LOVE IT! And after today, I realize, I need it! So I sit here in my bikini bottoms and tank top, covered in sand and salt and sunscreen, figuring I’ll need a Brillo Pad and some Pine-Sol to scrub this extra layer from my body and I’m thinking, Oh Summer, please don’t end…