Post College - Freshman Year NYC (Part 1)
Long time lurker and figured I'd share my first work of truth - this is a bit cathartic for me so apologies in advance for the length. The innocent, 21-year-olds have been protected in name only. This may take a bit, so appreciate the patience and completely open to any/all feedback.
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It was in the early 2010s and I found myself playing right into a stereotype - preppy college dude, armed with a shiny new business degree and hopes of making it big in NYC. Coming from a tight-knit small college, I was going from being a big fish in a small pond to an ant in the concrete jungle.
I considered myself fortunate; amazing friends, fantastic family, incredible four years under my belt and a signed offer for my dream post-grad job. To boot, I was heading to the city with a big share of my graduating class, specifically rooming with three of my "bros."
The four of us weren't necessarily best friends. We just all happened to land analyst jobs in banking and/or tech; and, for a majority of our junior/senior years, we ran in similar social circles. We were the type of acquaintances that fist bumped each other when we spotted one another at the campus bars, bro hugged when we bumped into each other at house parties and all had been part of some miserable group project together at one point. Ugh, we were such douches.
It was early senior year, at some ridiculous themed party, that we all realized that our collective sights were on the Big Apple. Naturally after the "wait you're going to be in the city too?! Omg wait you too?! Dude!" died down, it was suggested we all needed to room together. Obviously, at the time, this was the best idea each of us had heard - so ensued potential tales of crazy parties, visions of a Barney Stinson like four bedroom apartment and basically reliving college in our "freshman year NYC." I woke up the next morning in a Halloween costume (from the prior night) on my bedroom floor next to half eaten cheese fries and with a new group in my iPhone "NYC Roomies"
For a bit of background, I'm Connor - 5'10, light brown/dark blonde hair, green eyes, fit with a flat stomach and thick thighs/ass from years of track. Coupled with my German ancestry, I have strong facial features and pale skin that served me well in college. I wasn't a steaming 10 but was a solid 8 after a hot shower, electrolytes and some hair gel - think boy next door. I recognize how conceited that sounds and I apologize, but I'm trying to help the visual learners out there.
On the outside, I'd spent most of college casually hooking up with a few chicks, dating one seriously for a bit - but, secretly, I was whacking off to Sean Cody or Corbin Fisher when my other DL bud wasn't sneaking over (in the middle of the night) where we'd play tonsil hockey with our dicks in my bed.
By the end of senior year, I was convinced that I was straight but had just spent the last four years enjoying myself. Looking back, I had seriously compartmentalized these parts of my life. I was convinced my bro that I was secretly 69'ing with regularly was in a similar boat to me; a little bit "bi" but, surely would end up with a wife, 2.5 kids, white picket fence, etc.
Fast forward to right before graduation. My three new roommates and I had a whirlwind of a Saturday in NYC to find a place to live. We saw 15+ apartments, made an offer on the spot on the last one and signed our lives (and sign-on bonuses) away on a flex 4 bedroom in the East Village. For those of you outside of NYC, a 'flex' means it's not a true 4 bedroom; we used a fake wall to make four bedrooms. This is a common life hack in NYC to make small living spaces even smaller to split the obscene cost of living. In our case, we scored a two bedroom duplex, walling off half our living room and the dining room to make two additional bedrooms. We told all of our college friends it was a penthouse with a rooftop - this actually meant it was a shitty fifth floor walk-up with a fire escape on the building's shared roof. It was fucking absurd but we had some amazing times there.
