Sexual tension is a weird, mysterious thing, isn’t it?
Add warm weather, free-flowing alcohol and half-naked bodies to the mix — and Goddamn, you have one hell of a night.
And from my experience, this sexual concoction of ingredients resulted in a boisterous foursome with a D-list celebrity, a beautiful married man, and my best friend.
Yes, my gorgeous best friend, who also happened to be my maid-of-honor from my first wedding.
But before I tell you the story of how I ended up in bed hooking up with my best friend and two male strangers, I need to tell you the story of Emma.
I met Emma just one year into my first job at Boring Generic Tech Company Startup.
As the only two young females in the company, we were tasked with staffing the conference booth in hopes of luring in tech guys to buy or demo our software product. We spent our first day together laughing and struggling to set up the booth — because early phase startups apparently are too cheap to hire real event staff.
Our inappropriate bantering quickly turned into checking out hot guys that walked past the booth and sharply ridiculing the ugly ones that tried to hit on us.
Emma and I lived on opposite sides of the US, so our friendship was based on visiting each other’s cities when the company allowed it for one work-related reason or another. And despite the geographical distance between us, we became close friends.
Two years later, I asked Emma to be my maid-of-honor at my wedding. She was my soul twin, not only because we were both 5’2” brunettes, but also because we had the same sadistic humor and desire to fuck every man that showed any interest in us.
She was my best friend and my worst influence.
Let me repeat that one more time for clarification. She. Was. My. Worst. Influence.
As my marriage ended, Emma also went off the deep end. She decided to break up with her boyfriend of eight years. Keep in mind this was the boyfriend that she cheated on multiple times with different men around the world before finally falling in love with our coworker.
Unfortunately, I lived far away, and the only support I could offer via text messages and phone calls was a sad excuse for consoling a person I considered to be my best friend.
And so we decided on the best break up remedy — a girl’s trip.
After convincing the company to fly us both to Vegas for an advertising conference, we decided to rent a silver Ford Mustang and drive five hours through the desert to Palm Springs.
And let me tell you — nothing soothes a broken heart like 90-degree heat, crystal clear pools, and beautiful men with giant bulges in swim trunks.
Not only did we splurge $300 on the Mustang to live out our Thelma and Lousie fantasy, but we also decided to spend $500 a night at one of the most exclusive and glamorous resorts in Palm Springs. It was so exclusive that Robert Downey Jr. was apparently arrested in room 311 after overdosing on drugs and waving around a gun.
You know shit was gonna go down in this hotel.
Despite all the celebrity indecencies, the hotel itself was absolutely gorgeous. On our first night, we curled our hair, squeezed into our bodycon dresses, and sat in the hotel lobby drinking our $20 glasses of wine to match our $500 room.
And since it was just the two of us, sans boyfriends and husbands, we were on the prowl for dick.
But the unfortunate thing about posh hotels is that the clientele tends to be couples, bachelorette parties, and empty nesters. Any hot guy that crossed our path was immediately followed by an equally hot wife pushing a stroller with an equally cute baby.
So, we decided to end the hunt and just enjoy each other’s company while sipping our wine ever-so-slowly to make it last throughout the night.
We were so absorbed in conversation that we didn’t notice the two men in their 30s sitting across the room. Alone! And they were hot! And they were looking at us!
“If we don’t stare them down, they won’t buy us any wine!”, we joked.
And as if God himself heard my prayers, the two men walked over and introduced themselves.
David was a Bradley Cooper look-a-like, albeit a tad shorter. He lived in Los Angeles (swoon!) but had a house in Palm Springs (ka-ching!) and stopped by the hotel for a nightcap with his friend Ryan.
Ryan was a goofy but charming British expat also living in LA. He was a part-time actor (kinda swoon!) who once had a minor role in an Emmy award-winning drama and currently had a minor role in a cable family sitcom.
I was immediately smitten and intrigued by David (or was I smitten by Ryan?) and found myself twirling my hair and batting my eyelashes at each story. And yes, it was all over several bottles of wine — that they bought for us.
After last call at 9 pm (it was Palm Springs after all), we decided to continue the drinking party on the balcony of our hotel.
I watched as David massaged Emmas’s petite toes, gently licking her baby toe while confessing his fetish for well-kept feet. He told her how his wife would never let him lick her toes. I admit it was weird, but six glasses of wine can make even the weirdest situations fucking hilarious.
As the night went on, the four of us acted teenagers sneaking out of their parents’ house to secretly meet up and hang out on the streets.
Before long, we found ourselves leaping over pool gates to take a late-night swim. When we were cold, we ran into the hot tub, and when we got toasty, we plunged into the pool to cool off. We gave each other piggyback rides and attempted to perform acrobatic flips off each other’s shoulders.
Still aroused by his earlier foot-licking session, David pushed Emma against the side of the pool for a kiss. The night fell silent, leaving Ryan and me to either watch our friends make-out — or to join in ourselves.
I wrapped my arms around Ryan and shoved my tongue down his throat. He didn’t seem to mind, and I felt his arms around my stomach.
Emma interrupted our passionate, teenager-like makeout session, “Well, I want to know how Ryan kisses. You can try David.”
Being a good friend, I obeyed her order and soon found myself kissing another man a mere 30 seconds later.
Feeling unsatisfied, Emma stopped kissing Ryan and swam up to me. And it was there, in the chemically heated pool in the middle of Palm Springs, that my best friend kissed me.
The boys watched from the corner as boys do when watching two girls make out in front of them. You know, hiding their boners and trying not to interrupt the hard-to-believe fantasy playing out in front of them.
Emma pulled away and licked her lips.
“To the bedroom…?” she asked.
Now, I’m not one for tell-all sexual confessions. After all, this isn’t an erotic novel or pornographic manuscript.
However, the events that took place in the bedroom of our hotel probably would even put an overdosed Robert Downey Jr. to shame.
So, let’s just say that it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that could only occur with the right mix of sexual tension, free-flowing alcohol, and half-naked bodies.
Emma and I lost touch soon after that. And while we might not ever see each other again, we will still always have the memories of that wine and pool-induced foursome from Palm Springs.