Smallville



I’ve noticed a trend this past year: I like men on Sutter Street.

Not just anywhere on Sutter Street—on one PARTICULAR block.

I remember leaving my first Sutter Street apartment on a sunny Sunday morning thinking, “This is a cute neighborhood. Centrally located. Art Nouveau architecture. Lots of coffee.”

Six months later, I woke up in another date’s bed, looked around and thought, “This apartment looks familiar…” (Admittedly, I had been focused on one thing only the night before—and it wasn’t the neighborhood.)

Upon exiting the building, I realized that I knew this architecture; I knew these coffee shops; I’d had sex here before—across the street!

Ha. Lucky intersection.

Then, it happened again. I gallivanted around town with a date, he took me back to his pad in a cab (well, actually I asked him if I could come over), and while I knew I was in the general vicinity of experiences past, I did NOT know that I was on the other end of the same darn block. I woke up, recognized the brightly lit architecture of another 1920’s San Francisco apartment, and sighed…third time’s the charm?

Thankfully, I was able to hail a cab less than 30 seconds after stepping foot onto the all too familiar block (someone could have seen me!).

I laughed to myself the whole ride home, thinking “Geez, I need a name…maybe The Lady of Sutter? The Sutter Street Slut?” (For the record, I’m not a total whore. None of these were first dates; I’d known them all for a little while.)

A part of me has considered becoming a local diner/drinker in the ‘hood. Given these recent exploits, I feel like I’ve discovered a hidden gem: a block teaming with attractive single men! The other part thinks: I’ve canvased the block and done pretty well (at least sexually); I should probably quit while I’m ahead.

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