How To Say Goodbye To A Lover
In this life you collide with a lot of different lovers. Some break your heart and fill it with agony, some you dump on the first date, because with them, silences really are awkward and uncomfortable. With those, you almost always fake an orgasm, age and a laugh. With most, you never lose your mask and you forget about them the moment you step out the door, because they never truly held your soul.
But this story is about a lover who managed to crash into my life with such force, that masks, lies and fake orgasms got crushed by passion and truth. He took my breath away and both of us were consumed with the nakedness of a raw moment.
How can you ever say goodbye to such a lover? …
It all starts with a glance…
You look into their eyes and world disappears. Poof! Just like that, everything gone. You melt into the moment and forget to breathe. You have taught yourself to never allow anyone again that close, but you don’t care anymore, you’re under their spell. They’ve masterfully build a web around you and now you can’t even move. They play their flute and you dance, they chant and you laugh, you cry from pleasure and pain and they let you, they understand, they accept. With them, everything is allowed, you can finally let go and scream. They want to swallow you whole and you let them. You let them trap you with their hottest and stickiest of glues.
Two years… two incredible years…
Pleasure, ecstasy and the best orgasms of my life…
Curious to know their name?
Yes, its New York! Here, my soul found the chaos, passion, love and even peace. There’s been a lot of stories written about the negative side of this city, that’s why I want to flip to the other side of the coin.
The Food, Rooftops, Humor and Sanity.
The last is greatly overrated! I overheard a comedian at “Laugh Factory” say, that everywhere in the world they keep crazy people in “special places”, but here, in New York, they let them roam free! True! They really do. By the way, if some crazy homeless person spits at you on a street and curses you out, do what I do – Spit back! Then proceed to curse at them in all languages you have mastered so far. Just go for it! Let it all out and then let out a hearty laugh in their general direction. You can close your performance with yet another spit. You have my permission! I’m telling you, it works! No one will come close to you again in your hood, because news such as these, travel fast among the crazies.
Ahhhh… the food.. Holy shit! New Yorkers are a spoiled bunch when it comes to food… In New York, they actually like to dress up for a dinner out, instead of showing up in their pajamas with ugly Ugg things in 90F weather. Ladies, listen, the word UGG is obviously short for ugly… (Dear la-la landers, I’m talking to you, my darling fashionistas…) In New York, you eat the best Pizza in bed, sip on a very dirty Martini at “The Carlyle”, catch a delicious “quickie” orgasm from pasta, at “Marea” or stand in the middle of the street in poring rain and have a delicious hot dog. Crash on a couch at the famous “Campbell Apartment” and listen to walls whispering about sex, murder and all that jazz, that this space is dripping with. Every New Yorker and I consider myself as such, thinks their rooftop is the best.
Rooftop envy is almost as silly as cock envy… but we just can’t help it. I lived at (now infamous), 157 East 72nd street, the historic building by the name of “Le Bourgogne“. Seven Minutes to Central Park and two minutes to Ms. Holly Golightly’s pad.
I truly turned that building upside down and shook it to the core (residents and staff, most probably celebrating on the roof with fireworks and champagne, as I’m writing this now, from Australia…) What can I say… I’m talented like that. I crash into people, places and countries, like a meteor. And New York did that to me…
If you’re wondering what it means to be a true New Yorker, a waiter at famous “The Loeb Boathouse” will tell you – “You are a true New Yorker, when you stop missing a place where you’re from.”… Since I don’t really know where I’m from and where I’m going most of the time, I’m a fucking New Yorker... Okay?! I’m one of those gals, who is everywhere and nowhere at the same time… Go on, try to describe me… I dare you! Can tell you one thing though – I’m someone who grabs the bull by his balls instead of his horns… (you’re more than welcome to quote me on that) and if THAT doesn’t make me a New Yorker, I don’t know what will.
When you’re late for dinner and you breathless crossing the street on the red light, (naturally) wearing fishnets, red lips and little black dress, a tall man in his early 40’s, who happen to cross from the opposite sidewalk, will lock his eyes with you and say; “We can do THAT together…”, while stabbing you with his look… then, you almost trip, of course and let out a hearty laugh, saying; “Yeah, sure! My number is 1-800-in-your-dreams”… He replies with a laugh and applause. You finish off with a ballet curtsy, like you used to, when you did ballet a lifetime ago. At that moment you knew, that all that agony in pointe shoes, were actually leading you up to this particular moment in time and you finally got a long overdue standing ovation in the middle of a cross walk.
Speaking of standing ovations… if you haven’t taken off your clothes and jumped into the infamous jacuzzi at “Le Bain”, you haven’t truly experienced the Queen of all rooftops or the loudest standing ovation. Hey, and if you’re shy, just give me a buzz and I’ll help you out in that department… free of charge, promise! I can even teach you how to get out of that jacuzzi, naked, wet and drip-dance your way into the men’s bathroom, simply because you can. If you don’t want to do it for me, do it for the “Art”, darling! I mean, New York writers do need something inspiring to write about… why not become their muse?!… For a night or two or three…
Soulmates, Parties And Cigars.
When you move into your high-end, doorman building, on Upper East Side and get greeted by one of the night-shift security men, with words “Good evening, Ms. Levon”, at that moment, you don’t know yet, that this person will become so much more for you later on. He has seen me at my worst, my best and everything in between. He helped me cry and made me laugh to the point of tears. He saw me stumble into the building, like a true Bond Gal, from a hot night at James Bond’s joint – smoky “Bar and Books”, across the street, with a broken heel, a broken heart, holding a Cohiba and unfinished drink, that I probably just forgot to leave at the bar. He endured my sobbing hysterics from loosing my best friend, credit cards, keys and my health. He’s seen me put on “Hip To Be Square” on my phone and dance to it “American Psycho” style, across the lobby floor… (not kidding)
Press play only if you’re feeling “Psycho” today —>
He listened to my countless stories and laughed with me so hard, that one extremely under-fucked, overworked, spoiled, 50-60 something year-old, “way too square” board member of my building, has objected to me hanging out in the lobby with him. But you guys know me, don’t you?… I took her advice to heart… So I started coming down to lobby more often and laugh much louder. He knows how I am feeling without telling him, just by looking at me. He knows me more than my own mother ever will. He has been the biggest surprise and gift to me, from New York. Thank you, New York! Mr. Javier Rosa, it would be an honor, to open the door for YOU… without you, my dear Jav, “Le Bourgogne“, would have no soul and my own soul would have much more cracks and bruises on it.
The Parties… Well… My Dear New York, congratulations! You truly throw the best and wildest of parties! Here, you can dance in a drum circle with hippies and drifters, in Central Park or sip on a James Bond Martini, at the Belvedere Vodka’s “Spectre” party, with supermodels (Gia Genevieve), at the top of the world – “One World Observatory”. You can dress up in 20’s-30’s-4o’s-50’s outfits and go to the time machine of a place – “The Heath” bar. Or just wear a turban with a peacock feather, that you brought back from Kuala Lumpur and hit “The Waldorf Astoria” for annual Bette Midler’s Halloween Party in support of New York Restoration Project. In a few days, when hangover passes and your feet stop hurting from too much dancing, you’ll realize, that New York Times has taken one of the best candid photos of you, while you were rocking it to Bowie’s “Let’s Dance”. And just in case you wanted to experience true debauchery at the “Studio 54 party”, head to “The Mckittrick Hotel”, these guys throw the hottest and sexiest parties! Be it Mayfair, Halloween or New Years. And while you’re there, go see “Sleep No More” and crawl into the minds of Kubrick, Hitchcock and Lynch.
Nudity, Art And Central Park.
When I found out that nudity is allowed here, I knew, that me and New York will hit it off right away! And ladies, if Robert Farber approaches you at a restaurant and asks to capture you with his camera, you say “yes”… okay girlies? I haven’t been in front of the camera in the nude much before Mr. Farber’s lens. Streets of Manhattan, Summer nights, one or perhaps two, very dirty Martini, Robert Farber’s legendary talent and your topless self trying to hail a cab, in front of a camera… for me, very few things can beat that combo!
New York is so rich with Artists and I was very fortunate to meet quite a few of them. Some, even became my very close friends. We are from the same tribe… we get each other.. no words needed. (Yes, Mr. Klingspor…I’m talking about you.) I was fortunate to have The Metropolitan Museum Of Art, as my very close neighbor. If you want to be inspired by Art, that is the place to be. A neighbor like that will always be happy to see you and will put on one hell of a show… be it with paintings, sculptures, photographs, dresses or jewels.
Central Park is yet another hot neighbor of mine – The colors, the energy, bridges and people. You can take a boat ride, learn tango, dance on roller blades to loud music, ice skate to “Happy” song, watch a touching moment of a young lad, awkwardly propose to his love, while standing on your favorite bridge. (I’m sure every New Yorker has their favorite Central Park bridge… I have mine too.) Watch colorful Autumn leafs dance around you and spend hours reading all the heartfelt, loving and at times heartbreaking messages on every single bench. Listen to music, watch a play or attend a free concert. Stretch out on your blanket, pour yourself some wine and savor a great conversation with your friends. Go for a hike in “The Rumble” with your dog, run a marathon or tie a hammock between the trees and just relax. But beware of Raccoons, they are truly curious and fearless bunch.
Fashion, Women & A Cock Cake.
Speaking of fashion, if you have never been in New York for the fashion week, you haven’t truly experienced New York’s chaos. And who cares, that German “Ok Magazine” puts you in a worst-dressed list after you dare to hit the red carpet in a see through dress, with all weirdly unmatched colors… hey! Maybe I’m color-blind! Damn… I knew I should have left panties at home… oh well… next time! (Mr. Bond, it’s all your fault! You gave me an “ok” before I waltzed out the door!) New York is absolutely insane when Fashion Week is in town. Good luck trying to get Uber! You party with Rihanna by the bar, that’s made out of 24k Gold Leaf and give back 14k watch to yet another showbiz asshole, who’s so drunk, he doesn’t know what city he’s in at the moment.
You get told by Katie Couric, that you look absolutely gorgeous in your off-shoulder black dress. (That’s actually just a top and a skirt, that cost you less, than what you usually tip your favorite bar-tender at “The Waldorf”.) You hit a strip club with a billionaire, trash your shoe-box size of an apartment in search of a sneaky cockroach, and buy a thanksgiving dinner to a homeless person. In New York, women do know how to dress! Thank you ladies, for letting me watch your gorgeous selves, for those 2 years. Only in New York, you stand in line at the lady’s room next to Legendary Meryl Streep, and get completely star struck… even though you have seen her and spoken to her a few times before in LALA Land.
I haven’t had much luck in my life with girlfriends and women in general (most are threatened in some way), but New York turned that around for me. I was able to share wonderful moments with extraordinary women. From Artists, to mother and daughter (Natasha and Monta) who I just happen to meet while waiting to see a movie or even my own neighbor, Maureen, with whom we shared countless tears of laughter and who presented me with stunning pair of vintage earrings, as a farewell gift. All above ladies, as well as, Ana Piponska, Pati Sands and Lauri Lyons, thank you for touching my life with your souls. In New York, I found the absolute best hair stylist, Eleanor, who actually listens to you when you ask for an old-fashioned haircut.
When you turn Dirty 30 in New York and get presented with a delicious Cock Cake, by your friends, you go for it, like it’s the last cock you’ll ever have…
I have learned how to do many things in life, but have failed at one – staying. I feel like a wild animal in a cage. My soul needs to run free. A flower in a vase always dies, no matter how beautiful the vase is.
So you pack your life into 3 carry-on bags, go for your last dinner in the city to one of Frank’s favorite places – Patsy’s, kiss and hug everyone you love, breakdown in tears, by your window, while “New York, New York” is playing in the background and then you board the plane to your 6th continent – Australia.
It’s my way.
“You only live once, and the way I live, once is enough.” – Frank Sinatra
So how do you say Goodbye to the best lover of your life?
You just walk away, knowing in your heart, that you will soon be in their passionate arms once again.
And then again…
Love her, but leave her wild – Atticus.
The woman behind Goodbye …
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