It’s 6 p.m. and the sweet scent of Chanel Nº5 embraces my naked body. Next to me, my friend finishes blending her glittery eye shadow, warm sunshine spilling on her bare body through the window. I slip on my skimpy, black sequin dress with nothing underneath and flash a smile to my friend.
Flash forward 10 minutes. Our shiny stilettos hit the dirty New York pavement as we rushed to meet our Uber. The driver judged us. Hard. We smiled devilishly and began swiping on guy groups on Tinder. While the sun set (just in time to hide our sins), we matched with two hot guys claiming to be club promoters. We arranged to meet the guys after our dinner, but in all honestly, we were mostly excited to get sexy pictures for our Instagram.
I should probably preface this by mentioning that we never actually intended to meet the guys or follow through with any of the acts later that night, but six cocktails and two hours later, my friend and I were on the rooftop of a random Manhattan apartment building. The sound of honking cars pulsed through my head as I leaned on my friend who was talking to one of the guys from our Tinder match. I observed his soft lips move and felt her chest bounce as she laughed at what I presume was a poorly executed joke. His friend offered me a shot of vodka and pulled me over to dance. I twirled under the cloudy Manhattan sky and felt his hands trace the sequins on my dress. To say that I felt invincible would be a naïve exaggeration, but I was thrilled at the idea of a racy rendezvous in the city.
Apparently, getting laid was not the only thing on these guys’ agenda. As it turns out, club promotion is actually an occupation, and these guys depended on their drunken evening adventures to pay for college. A few drinks in, one of them even told me about his ventures as a male escort during his freshman year, but that’s a story for another day. So we shortly left their apartment in a haze and walked to the club, where we met up with five other girls who seemed to know the guys pretty well.
I know what you’re thinking: “get to the sex part already.” I will summarize our time in the club as fun and sweaty, but by the end of the night, I felt a thirst for something I couldn’t drink.
As my friend called a cab to take us to our AirBnb, I texted one of the guys the address so he could meet me there. I’m not quite sure what I expected would happen since I’ve never had sex before. My friend, on the other hand, was a sexual goddess, so as our AirBnb host buzzed the guy in at 3 A.M., I waited for them to sexile me out of the room, sleeping mask in hand.
Seconds later, I found myself in bed… with both of them. My naked body shivered as I felt two sets of hands on me and I kept thinking what the actual fuck. I’d always fantasized about having a threesome, but never had I thought that I would have one with one of my oldest friends and a random guy in an AirBnb as a virgin. The whole thing sounds like the plot to a trashy paperback novel.
Yet, as our adventure progressed, I felt closer to my friend than ever before. We knew exactly what each other liked because we had spent years revealing our sexual experiences to one another, so it was easy for me to please her and to guide the guy to do the same. Similarly, she made sure the guy didn’t have sex with me and included me when they had sex next to me. In a strange fashion, the threesome served as a way for my friend and me to connect in an incredibly intimate manner without having to worry about the guy tarnishing our reputation, for we would probably never see him again.
Yeah, I’m not really sure if I’m considered a virgin anymore. If so, I sure know all of the fun loopholes around it. To be honest, the weirdest thing about the threesome was the lack of awkwardness about it. The next morning, my friend and I looked at each other, laughed, and Ubered to our overpriced brunch. However, I will say, I no longer use the term best friend lightly.