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"  &amp;quot;Where are we going?&amp;quot; Ashley, Nina, and I were walking down a deserted alley-way in the East Village. I wrapped my fingers around my keys\u2014if a rapist attacked us, I would gouge his eyes out. &amp;quot;I told you, it&amp;#039;s a speakeasy,&amp;quot; Nina said. &amp;quot;Does it actually exist?&amp;quot; I asked. &amp;quot;Yes,&amp;quot; Nina said. &amp;quot;Mike bartends here.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Who is Mike?&amp;quot; I asked Ashley under my breath. She shrugged. We were dressed in what Nina refers to as the &amp;quot;torpedo uniform,&amp;quot; which consists of tight black jeans, tank tops, and painfully high heels.  &amp;quot;Is it weird that we are all wearing the same thing in the real world?&amp;quot; asked Ashley before we left. We used to dress alike, but that was college. &amp;quot;No,&amp;quot; Nina assured her as she applied a layer of bright pink lip stain. In front of us was a plain black door. It didn&amp;#039;t even have a handle. Nina knocked\u2014three quick, light raps, and one hard one. After a moment, the door cracked open three inches. &amp;quot;Do you have change for a $20?&amp;quot; Nina asked the doorman peaking out at her. He swung the door open wider. &amp;quot;That&amp;#039;s the code to get in,&amp;quot; Nina told us over her shoulder as we stepped inside. Will I ever be that cool? We followed the doorman down a dark flight of stairs, down an even darker hallway, and through another door that led us through a kitchen of sorts. On the other side was a tiny room lined with couches and chairs, a bar in the middle. The place was packed, but Nina managed to snag a spot at the bar. &amp;quot;Three dirty vodka martinis,&amp;quot; she yelled to the bartender. Then in the voice of the cafeteria lady from Billy Madison, she added, &amp;quot;And we girls like &amp;#039;em extra dirty.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Oh my God,&amp;quot; I laughed. &amp;quot;You&amp;#039;re so embarrassing.&amp;quot; Nina swiveled in the stool and surveyed the room. &amp;quot;Who looks good?&amp;quot; She mumbled. &amp;quot;I can barely see,&amp;quot; Ashley said, squinting. It was really, really dark. &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s okay,&amp;quot; Nina said. &amp;quot;Josie is going to make sure we aren&amp;#039;t making out with any woofs.&amp;quot; I nodded. &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m on grenade duty.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;There,&amp;quot; Nina pointed to a group of guys holed up on a couch in the corner. They looked to be about late 20s. Just then, I felt my phone buzz. I couldn&amp;#039;t believe how badly I wanted it to be Peter, and to my surprise and relief, it was. Hi, was all it said.  Before I could respond, our drinks arrived. Grabbing hers, Nina said, &amp;quot;Come on.&amp;quot; We followed her lead. &amp;quot;Mind if we sit?&amp;quot; Nina asked the crew of guys on the sofa. She was in full-fledged go mode. They moved so we could squeeze onto the couches with them. I ended up on an ottoman, thigh-to-thigh with a guy who could have been a 9.5 or a strong 3. My eyes still hadn&amp;#039;t adjusted yet.  &amp;quot;How did you guys hear about this place?&amp;quot; he asked me. &amp;quot;Mike,&amp;quot; I said. &amp;quot;You?&amp;quot; &amp;quot;My buddy works at New York magazine and he&amp;#039;s writing a review,&amp;quot; he gestured to his friend sitting across from us, who was talking intently with Nina. &amp;quot;Isn&amp;#039;t it supposed to be a secret?&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Does it look like it&amp;#039;s a secret?&amp;quot; He asking, in what I suspect was a condescending tone. He flicked his hand, indicating the packed room.  &amp;quot;So what do you do?&amp;quot; I asked him, not knowing what else to say. He snorted. &amp;quot;Why do girls always ask that? I work in finance, okay, and I make a shit ton of money so yes, you should fuck me tonight.&amp;quot; Oh, hell no. &amp;quot;Excuse me,&amp;quot; I said, standing and &amp;quot;accidentally&amp;quot; spilling half my martini on his lap as I did. &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m going to go home,&amp;quot; I said to a surprised Ashley and Nina. Ashley started to stand. &amp;quot;No really, stay, I&amp;#039;m fine,&amp;quot; I told her. &amp;quot;But one request\u2014don&amp;#039;t hook up with this douche.&amp;quot; I gave him a big fake smile and his friends roared with laughter. I took the stairs two at a time. It was like I couldn&amp;#039;t get out of there fast enough. I couldn&amp;#039;t believe I was back on the dating scene, again, dealing with assholes like that. Once I got outside, I dug my phone out of my clutch. Can I come over? I texted Peter. By the time I was out of that alleyway, he had written back, Yes. I flagged down a cab and gave the driver Peter&amp;#039;s address. I wasn&amp;#039;t going to Peter&amp;#039;s to get back together with him. I wasn&amp;#039;t even going to hash things out again. I just felt the strongest urge to be with him. Has that ever happened to you? "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a10623/j-bedroom-blog-on-the-prowl-again/>