The real sex in this city
Landed at JFK this evening and stood in a godforsaken line about two miles long waiting for a taxi. You might imagine the far ranging sorts that stood there with me but directly behind me were four women, returning from New Orleans, and discussing their escapades as if no one could hear them. The blonde slept with a 24 year old (she looked to be late 30s) and said that she didn’t catch his age until later and by then she was already smitten. Why is it that cougaring always involves a 24 year old, not 25 or 23, but 24 year old. The other one was checking her meals, which she apparently has delivered – breakfast lunch and dinner – tomorrow would be three blueberry pancakes, a tablespoon of syrup, vegetable sausage (whatever that is) and so on. She is trying to lose weight and the trip to New Orleans didn’t count, so she said (I know better). The other one described the umpteen mosquito bites she got especially in her inner thighs while lying on a lounge chair near the pool – she was smoking a cigarette as she spoke. Number 4 had a secret but she wasn’t telling.
Seems the real sex in this city was happening in the Big Sleazy all along.