New York’s Sex Diaries series asks anonymous city dwellers to record a week in their sex lives — with comic, tragic, often sexy, and always revealing results. This summer, the Sex Diaries will appear on the Cut as a special edition. Check back Tuesday afternoons for your weekly peek behind doors left slightly ajar.
This week, a student-intern in a long-distance relationship, who pounds 12 tequila shots without getting a hangover, and makes out with random colleagues without (too much) guilt: female, 21, Upper East Side, lives with parents, straight.
8 a.m. Ugh, internships are the worst, but I have to stick with this one to keep my scholarship. It’s ruining my entire summer break. I’m the “smart one” of me and my sister, so the college fund goes to her because she’ll never get a scholarship anywhere.
1 p.m. I am having the worst case of Monday blues. Why won’t the weekend come back? I don’t know how I’m going to do this for another month.
5 p.m. Some of the colleagues are going for drinks at this lounge with $1 beer. HELL. YES. I didn’t think these colleagues, technically my “superiors,” were going to become my friends, but so far they seem cool enough. I feel like I’ll never speak to them again after this stint though.
8 p.m. Ohmygod it’s “Free Flow Champagne” night at the bar. Words cannot express my joy. I’m downing glasses like there’s no tomorrow; I might actually have fun tonight.
9 p.m. Everything is a blur. I honestly can’t tell you one thing for sure …
6 a.m. Holy shit, I don’t remember the end of last night. Or how I got home. Holy crap. At least I’m wearing clothes. Checked my phone and found out I cabbed it home with a male colleague. I hope nothing happened in the cab because I’m a terrible slutty drunk.
8 a.m. Daddy gave me a ride to work and told me I was so drunk when I got home that I couldn’t open the door. I guess I called him, woke him up, and asked him why he locked me out … but really, I just couldn’t find my keys in my bag. Oops. Minus points to Drunk Me.
8:30 a.m. Ran into colleague I cabbed it home with (let’s call him C1) on the way into work. C1 doesn’t even remember paying for the cab. I chicken out of asking him if anything happened between us. It’s for the best that I don’t know. And it sounds like there’s no way he’d remember anyway.
10 a.m. My long-distance on-and-off boyfriend, “Meatballs,” just texted me after a night out. He was out all night. Maybe this is a guilt text. Meatballs is tall, blond, blue-eyed, noncommittal, a bad boy, totally my type. Which is also why we broke up at the airport when he left. And then got back together over text a few days later. Then broke up again. I honestly don’t know what’s going on, but we still talk, so that’s nice.
3 p.m. Work, work, work.
6 p.m. Hot-yoga class. Feeling fat nowadays. Office life is not for me. I’m trying ClassPass. Starting to really enjoy hot yoga. Okay fine, not really enjoying it, but the sweating feels good. If I weren’t so forgetful, I might ask my parents to invest in a sauna.
10 p.m. I’m bored. Maybe I should just try to sleep so I’ll be awake for work tomorrow. I masturbate. Somehow I finish while thinking about C1 (the mystery-make-out colleague … hmmmm).
7 a.m. It’s way too early to wake up. My friend’s 21st is tonight and I’m going to need to take an afternoon nap to be awake enough for clubbing. The routine of work life is really getting to me.
2 p.m. I take aforementioned afternoon nap hiding in the bathroom at work. There’s a couch in there. Is it sad that I’m hiding in a bathroom to take a nap? The bathroom has been my fave place to escape since the first day of work. Even just to play Sudoku. (Oh God, I’m such a nerd!)
11 p.m. Way too early to be at the club, but it’s Ladies Night and this particular club has a liquid buffet til midnight. Which basically means we’re just drinking nonstop for the full hour. Get in line, get drinks, get in line, get drinks, get in line, get drinks.
12 a.m. Not bad: I’ve squeezed in six vodka cranberries and 12 tequila shots. (Yay, tequila!) I wish the birthday girl a good one, and head off to the better club where everyone is going to be. It’s the club that my entire dorm and university go to, I swear. I can go there and run into like 20 people I know. Which is also kind of scary. Day three turns into day four …
3 a.m. I am getting too old for this (says the 21-year old student). I can usually stay until the lights come on and the bouncers chase us out but I’m just dying now. Really want some sausages (not in a sexual sense … like, real sausages). Time to cab home and think about my terrible decisions tonight.
4 a.m. Okay, the random white dude I made out with wasn’t terrible (did I mention I’m Asian?), but he was incredibly boring. I should make out with higher-quality guys. That’s my new goal.
8 a.m. Thank you, Daddy and Mommy, for giving me the no-hangover genes! It’s the only reason I can club and drink before work/school and be okay.
3 p.m. Work blows. This cannot be my life. Is this what adult life is?
11 p.m. I get this text: “Wanna smoke?” from my friend-with-benefits, Fred. Is that a coded booty call? It’s sad to admit, but even though Fred isn’t technically a real relationship, it’s my longest one to date. We’ve been sleeping together for two years, and through many significant others. It’s so comfortable and familiar. That being said, I swear I’m not in love with him. Not even a little.
11:15 p.m. I think about it for a whole minute before replying to him. He comes over. My parents are always clueless. The sex is great as usual; I like it rough (and Fred knows it), so we play with handcuffs and he shoves me around.
1 a.m. Fred sneaks out. We can’t be caught together.
4 p.m. Today has been CRAWLING.
7 p.m. I meet my parents for dinner like a good daughter does. Yum, Italian. Sometimes I only meet them because I know they’ll take me out to eat nice food, which is a terrible thing to say, but I feel like it’s normal to need your parents for some things and not want them around at all for others.
10 p.m. I meet a friend at my regular bar where my best friend works, so I get a discount or free drinks. We drink beers and the manager decides to test her new shot recipes on us. I am not complaining.
12 a.m. We’re joined by more friends when they get off work. Jäger shots all round. They’re so yummy, and don’t taste like cough syrup, or whatever people say. I Snapchat my entire night away as per usual. I can’t live without Instagram and Snapchat.
1 a.m. Oh lord, another colleague just Snapchatted me and said not to make out with anyone “for once.” I figure it’s time to ask: “WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT?” He wrote back: “You made out with me bij” — that is a terrible way to spell bitch. Shit. I knew something happened with some colleague, but I didn’t realize it was him!
1:30 a.m. New Colleague is trying to make me feel bad. It’s hitting me that I actually made out with both of them that night … and that they both know … and maybe the whole office knows. Never drink with colleagues, people! Learn a lesson from my mistakes.
3 a.m. My bestie is a “certified drunk driver” (certified by herself, naturally) and tries to drive us all home, but I take a taxi.
1 p.m. Wake up to my kitty cuddling me. Today’s going to be a good day. No hangover and at least I have clarification about my kissing scandal, even if it doesn’t make me look too good.
2 p.m. Lunch with the family because weekends are family time.
4 p.m. Meatballs texted to say the weather over there is crazy, I tell him it’s crazier here. Is this what we’re reduced to? Talking about the weather? Yikes.
2 a.m. Spent the day sleeping and plan to spend the rest of the day watching TV. I stream a crazy amount of shows and catch up on all of them on the weekends. Totally obsessed with Devious Maids and UnREAL. Such a coach potato.
10 a.m. My bestie comes over to finalize our vacation details before we go back to school. I make us a crumbled-bacon avocado toast (so basic). I am such a basic bitch. Yes, my favorite songs are predictable. I eat predictable things like avocado toast and poached eggs. My color is pink. I am constantly on Instagram. I love being me.
9 p.m. Booty-call alert from Fred. We meet up, get drinks, and almost fuck in the park! A father and his kid almost see us when they walk by, but thank goodness I duck in time.
10 p.m. We just sit in the park talking. This is the weirdest thing about us: We are honestly really good friends. We HTHT (heart-to-heart talk) all the time about the deepest things, his girlfriend, life, philosophy. We share random things. And we still fuck all the time. It’s like having a relationship but not. The only thing is that we can’t be seen out together because people know us and our significant others, so …
11 p.m. Just got back to my room. I text Meatballs good night, he’s just getting off work. I fall asleep thinking, Just great, back to the grind again tomorrow.
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