We launched Courtship in New York because it’s home to so many single types, but also because it’s home to Sex-And-The-City types. Getting lucky on a first date is not out of the realm of possibility here. I’ve been hopeful that one of the blind date couples would experience love –or at least lust — at first sight, and send me the dirty details (since I keep all Courtship Connection couples anonymous).
After a month of blind dates, there’s finally a seriously racy report. From a Biglaw attorney who has apparently left his Midwestern values back in flyover country:
The first thing I noticed was how curvaceous she was. Being from the Midwest, it was a welcome change from all the ellipta-holic emaciated type-A shrews that pass for women around here. Still, you could tell she was no fresh daisy, having been thoroughly corrupted at the temple of NYC BIGLAW. Her first question was whether or not my firm was lockstep. I said it didn’t matter, because either way, I *always* eat what I kill. Saying this, I looked her up and down with my best approximation of hungry eyes. This could have backfired, true, but you don’t get to be a successful attorney without taking risks. Fortunately, her eyes lit up, captivated by my alpha-Dahmer routine. We were off to the printers. Her blackberry buzzed almost immediately after we sat down. I made a joke about potential alternate uses for this demonic device – a way to turn the pain inflicted on us by our superiors into rapid, double bursts of pleasure. She laughed. I just knew we were in for a fun, sexy time, BIGLAW style.
BlackBerry as vibrator jokes are still fresh?
My favorite drink is the Manhattan, named after the first market to go to 160. I was pleased when she let me order a drink for her, Man style. I’ve spent almost 4 years in the Big Apple, and I have a pretty good read on what women want around here. 95% will be content subsisting on cosmos, Magnolia cupcakes, and sexual encounters that rarely have a sequel. It’s almost as if they’ve all seen the same movie or something. As for me, I’m just trying to get ahead – I’m trying to get liquid, rich enough to actually own in the West Village, rather than rent along with all the other strivers. Rich enough not to waste time on 6s or 7s who went to law school, and focus on the 9s who are merely toying with the idea until someone gives them a reason not to. But I digress.
Things were progressing nicely. We had the obligatory, mercifully brief chat about her family. She showed me some photos on her IPhone (cool phone, I was impressed!) and upon seeing her 8-year-old brother, I commented that he looked good enough to eat. At that point, I realized that my alpha-cannibal schtick had probably run its course, and I shifted gears. Inevitably, we started talking about work. I don’t want to brag (much!) but despite the fact that I am only a fourth year, it’s well known around the office that I basically run my own deals. Sure, a partner has to “sign off” once in a while, but I’m turning those documents, making it happen. I could tell she was impressed as I discussed several of my war stories in excruciating detail.
After I was done, she might as well have been there the time I caught that discrepancy between the indemnification language and the escrow provision and basically saved the deal. She was licking her lips, and suggestively fingering the rim of her cosmo glass. In the parlance of our time, it was on, like Donkey Kong.
We stumbled out of the bar. At this point, I’d basically consider myself a real New Yorker, so I know a bunch of secret spots where you can get exquisite $16 dollar cocktails made by men wearing 1920’s style ties and vests. Anyone who visits me is always impressed how this city is basically my oyster. I even know some edgy restaurants in Williamsburg, when I’m feeling grimy. In the cab, her hand crept up my leg. I felt a rush of excitement, almost as intense as when we are about to close a ten figure deal.
And yet, there was a nagging in the back of my mind – something that couldn’t quite let me relax. Did I remember to incorporate the ERISA comments into the draft I sent over to the other side a few hours back? At this point, the situation in the cab was rapidly escalating from PG-13 to R. “Let’s just go to my place,” she mouthed. I hoarsely agreed, feverishly trying to recreate the last few hours at work, and finding a blank spot where those ERISA comments should be.
ERISA is not a particularly sexy area of law, but does have some hot practitioners.
We started kissing, and the warm, wet lips of another human being almost made me forget for a split second that I may have majorly jeopardized the latest turn of comments on a pretty sizable financing. Could this wait till tomorrow? It was Saturday night after all. Surely nobody would care if I just sent in another draft Sunday morning. The cab stopped short at some nondescript Murray Hill high-rise. On autopilot, I swiped my corporate AMEX through the card reader, and we stumbled out, groping, breathing heavily, her hands no doubt ready to tear at the mother of pearl buttons on my shirt, seeking to undo the precise stitching of some Hong Kong tailor thousands of miles away.
And then, at that moment, I knew what I had to do. I gently pushed away and yelled out into the night for the cab to stop. I looked at her wistfully, trying to ignore the shock and hurt that registered in her eyes. “I’ll call you” I gestured, as I popped back into the cab and directed it to my office. Looking back at her standing on the sidewalk, her purse hanging limply from her hand, I knew how the Vikings must have felt, pushing off in their great wooden ships, off to pillage and conquer, off to PROVIDE, seeing their women on the banks, weeping and waving them farewell. Regrets? I’m sure they had a few – but there was a battle to be fought. And one thing about my date tonight: she lives the life. She will understand. So….. all in all, I think it went pretty well. A second date is surely in the offing.
Surely… So what was the female attorney’s take on the date?
HAPPY APRIL FOOLS’ DAY
FROM YOUR EDITORS AT ABOVE THE LAW!
If you are annoyed to have read this lengthy account only to have it end with this anticlimactic finish, you can blame one of our Biglaw friends with literary ambitions and/or too much free time on his hands. But if you want to direct your anger at a named individual, Grossblogger would have you believe a Harvard Law grad is responsible for the holiday.
How April Fool’s Day became our least funny holiday [True/Slant]