There’s always some kind of unspoken competition between girls when they’re three bottles of moscato deep and start sharing sex stories. Who slept with the hottest guy, who got that fuckboy to text them back the next day, but most importantly, who got it on in the weirdest place possible. I’m here to tell you all that I win that category. Permanently. That crown has been placed on my head where it will forever stay.
Because I had sex on Jay-Z and Beyoncé’s pool table.
Living in the Hamptons and being home for the summer brought around some seriously beautiful men. And I’m not talking the top tier frat guy, I’m talking Grade A man meat with careers, a bank account, and a wardrobe outside of Chubbies and rush tees. I was hanging out at a local restaurant bar one day when I saw a guy who had all of the above with a face like a Hemsworth. So we immediately started talking. A few drinks later, we really hit it off and he invited me to a small party at his friend’s house down the road that night. Tipsy and mesmerized by a smoking hot dude asking to do something other than Netflix and chill, I obviously accepted. Could he have been a closet murderer who just wanted to get me out of sight so he could chop me up and store me in his freezer? Yes. Did I care? No.
We pull up to a white gate leading to a long driveway and this Greek god sitting next to me (let’s call him Dan) says, “this house is like nothing you’ve ever seen.” And boy, was he right about that. If I wasn’t already set on getting my MRS degree and living out my life like the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, I sure as hell was now. After an introduction to his friends, Dan gives me a tour of the house, if you could even call it a house. It had movie theaters, massage rooms, a massive gym, a bowling alley, and a skatepark. A freaking skatepark. In this dude’s basement. We strolled around the backyard that could have spanned an entire town and Dan informs me that he stays in the pool house during the summer to avoid his long commute to work. This pool house? It was the size of my seven-bedroom childhood home. Honestly, who is this friend of his? How does he know him? Does he own a country or something? Where the hell can I find one?
After a few hours of socializing and drinking, I concluded that Dan and his friends were not mafia bosses, or gangsters, or sex traffickers who were going to drug me and sell me to a foreign country, and I was having a great time. Things started to wind down and Dan and I retreated to the pool house to, you guessed it, rip each other’s clothes off. The sex was so good, you’d never think about walk of shaming from a frat house again. At some point during the act, we ended up on the pool table. Because, of course we did. When we finished there, catching his breath, Dan casually says “you know who played pool here? Jay-Z and Beyoncé. They rent this house.” Uh, excuse me, WHAT?
Speechless couldn’t even describe a fraction of my reaction. You’re telling me I’m laying naked on a pool table that our lord and savior Queen Bey has actually played pool on? Are you shitting me? As if this night couldn’t get any more unbelievable, it just did. In every way possible. Getting down and dirty on a pool table where Jay and Bey had shared a game? Hell, maybe they even banged there themselves! Maybe that’s how Blue Ivy came to be. Nothing could ever top that.
The very first thing I did the next morning was call for a wine night with all the girls. Because what’s a story like that if you don’t share it with everyone you know?.