| − | NOTE: All rights are reserved by author Zack Love but this story may be freely posted anywhere with this notice and link website This story contains profanity and adult content.<br><br><br><br>New York City is legendary for sleeping around. There's hot tail everywhere and it's such a big city that two-timing or even three-timing is very doable, if you plan it right.<br><br>I generally like to have at least two, if not three, girls on rotation. It makes it that much easier to get laid on any particular night. And you're more relaxed about any given girl-situation: if it becomes too much of a hassle, you've got plenty of alternatives.<br><br>And I'm not gonna lie - I LOVE women: their soft skin, the way they smell, how they laugh, their curves, their moans when you touch them right. Sometimes I wish I could just devote my entire life to the pursuit of pussy but I can't figure out how to put that on my resume. Although I do have a spreadsheet that I started a few years ago, just to keep a scorecard. This became necessary in my mid-20s, when I was in my last year at Columbia Law School and hit a personal record of dating six women at the same time: Colette, Heidi, Soleil, Lori, Jo, and Isa. I managed to keep all of their names straight but I started confusing the details of their biographies (giving them brothers they didn't have, diplomas they hadn't earned, divorces they hadn't been through, etc.). So I realized that I needed a spreadsheet system to keep it all straight in my head.<br><br>You probably think I'm a sleazy asshole by now, but I'm just being real with you. I'd say at least half of the unmarried men in NYC have the same view of things but just package it more [http://Search.About.com/?q=diplomatically diplomatically]. Or they flat out lie about it. Hell, half of the married men probably have that view too - especially if they're politicians or tycoons. Open up the NY Post on any given day and see for yourself.<br><br>Oh, and Manhattan women aren't much better. They sleep around plenty. Maybe they're social climbers trying to fuck all of the right people to get to the top. Or they're busy career women who just want some occasional NSA sex. Or they're impossibly picky in a city of endless choice.<br><br>Anyway, you can still judge me, but my disclaimer is over. Time for the story called "My Worst Valentine's Ever." And the funny thing is, it really should have been my best Valentine's ever, had things gone according to plan.<br><br>My goal was epic, so the unexpected crash and burn would end up being even more so. I wanted to have a "Celebrating Diversity Valentine's" where I manage to fuck three different races on February 14th. I mean, what better day to schedule some United Nations-style love-making than on the official Love Day itself, which is an internationally celebrated day?<br><br>And I like this sort of multi-culti approach to sex because I'm a man who loves variety, and I've got street cred in a few different worlds. And at the time, I was dating someone from each of those worlds: Lisa, Cassandra, and Ashley.<br><br>Lisa was a sexy, 29-year old Chinese-American girl I knew from high school. She worked in retail and still lived in the Newark, NJ neighborhood where we had grown up. To her, I was "Yi Wang" and spoke a mixture of Cantonese and English, and she understood the whole traditional family thing and why I used so much of my free time to help out my parents with their Newark laundry business.<br><br>Cassandra was an East Harlem, African-American girl with a booming system and sick dance skills, which of course carried over into the sack. She worked as a janitor at a rival corporate firm, where I met her while doing diligence on an M&A transaction (this was a few years after I got my JD and joined one of those miserably large, NY corporate law firms). Cassandra knew me by my street nickname ("Narc") and we basically talked in ghetto-speak and cracked each other up with our stories from corporate hell. She was also good with basketball statistics - I guess because her brothers were as obsessed with the game as I am. But mostly we fucked, and it was always good.<br><br>Speaking of that, Ashley was a boring fuck. Literally. And her conversational skills were just as lacking. She was basically just a smoking hot body. It's amazing how much a man can forgive when there's bootyliciousness involved. I guess my buddy Sammy is right with his whole theory about calculating SQ and how top looks mean people cut you slack when they probably shouldn't. Anyway, Ashley was one of these pampered, poodle-owning, Fifth Avenue chicks who never had to work a day in her life and would have never been admitted to even a third-tier college without her family's connections and money. But it was a challenge for a half-ghetto-first-generation-Asian-American guy like me to nail a rich blonde like her, so maybe that was part of the appeal. But she was less interesting than my aging goldfish and I was planning to dump her after my multi-culti Valentine's exploit. With her, I spoke normal, proper English but usually had to dumb things down a bit. She knew me as "Yi" but I think the only thing she really cared about were my credentials: an alumni of Brown and Columbia Law School, and an associate at the prestigious firm of White, Schue, & Krep. I was probably the first non-white and non-born-rich guy she'd ever associated with, and it was only because of the brand names on my resume that she let me get past "hello." I'm amazed we lasted even two weeks, but I needed her blonde hotness for my epic Love Day celebration of New York diversity.<br><br>Yes, I'm a chauvinist pig. But I'm also in my twenties and living in New York, which doesn't help. And if you ever disrespect one of my sisters, I will break your jaw.<br><br>Anyway, now that you have the cast of characters, I can give you the scheme for what should have been my best Valentine's ever. I was going to call in sick and spend the day in Newark helping my parents with their laundry business. I would take a 1 p.m. break to go to Lisa's place, since she lived and worked nearby and could use her lunch hour for a quickie at her apartment. So that would be Lay #1 (Asian). After that, I'd go back to my parent's laundry business, and finish helping them until about 7 p.m. Then I'd head back to my studio in Murray Hill, where I'd change into my Armani suit, so that Lay #2 would think that I had just arrived from the office.<br><br>If you loved this article and also you would like to get more info with regards to [http://mobilecity.vn/apple/iphone-5s-cu-xach-tay-q-te-prd665.html sex cartoon] i implore you to visit our own web-page.
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