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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 week, a 25-year-old woman in fundraising who surfs FetLife and lives at home: single, bisexual, Long Island.
10:30 a.m. I wake up to texts from Colin, this 28-year-old I’ve been casually seeing since last March. He wants to see if I’m free to hang out tomorrow night. By hang out, he means get a little drunk and fuck. Normally I’d be game, but I actually already have plans to play with Peter, a guy I met via FetLife, a social network for kink and BDSM.
11 a.m. Thinking about tomorrow makes me a little horny, so I text Peter: Hi, Daddy. He’s 40 and I find our 15-year age difference superhot. Freud would have a field day with me. I start masturbating when Peter responds — How’s Daddy’s little girl? Do you need Daddy to come play with your pussy? — but almost give up when I realize that I have no idea where my vibrators are. I moved back in with my parents a few weeks ago as a temporary measure until I find a job on the West Coast; all my shit is still in boxes. Peter isn’t very good at sexting, and I start getting bored. I only manage to make myself come once I put my phone down and start fantasizing about the last time I had sex with Colin.
3 p.m. I go over to my friend Becca’s apartment. While we gossip, I think about how long she and her boyfriend have been dating and get a little weirded out. I’ve known Becca since high school and it is extremely strange that I’ll probably be attending her wedding in a few years. I’ve never been in a real, Facebook-official, meet-the-parents relationship, and it feels a little less socially acceptable as I get older.
5:30 p.m. Becca’s boyfriend comes home from work and rolls a blunt while Becca makes pasta for dinner. I take hits of the grape blunt in between bites of bucatini all’amatriciana. Watching Becca and her boyfriend share clean-up duties after we eat, I analyze myself for signs of jealousy but can’t find any. As sweet and domestic as this scene is, I don’t really find myself longing for someone to wash the dishes while I dry. I’ll just get an apartment with a dishwasher.
7 p.m. I get home and try to sneak past my parents. I’m unsuccessful and am forced to make conversation about my current fundraising job, which I despise, and my upcoming interview at another company. Moving home hasn’t been quite as bad as I thought it would be, but my parents want to talk all the time.
7:20 p.m. I finally escape into my bedroom. We switched rooms when I moved back home; now I’m living in the room that was my parents’ bedroom for 20-plus years. I was probably conceived in this room. With that thought, I need to get more stoned, so I pack a bowl and pull up Hulu. I’ve got important episodes of The Bachelor to watch.
8:15 p.m. A text from Peter interrupts my weed-and-Nick-Viall-induced haze, and I realize I stopped replying to him mid-sext this morning. Whatever. Nothing kills my vibe faster than an insecure partner. I put my phone on do-not-disturb and leave it facedown on my nightstand.
8 a.m. I arrive at my terrible job and am immediately assailed with the usual office bullshit. My department head is a narcissistic psychopath who routinely and gleefully throws members of our team under the bus in hopes of distracting upper management from her own inability to perform. Lately I’ve spent more time fantasizing about quitting than I have about sex.
12 p.m. Wow, today is really setting the bar for just how bad a day can be. I’m close to breaking a personal record — crying twice at work in one day! There’s no way I’m fucking Peter later. I text him to cancel.
1:30 p.m. Now Peter’s whining like a child and trying to talk me into coming over anyway. Between this and his neediness last night, I’m over his shit. Finding people who share my kinks isn’t so difficult that I need to put up with annoying people just to get laid. I block Peter’s number and feel proud of myself for enforcing boundaries.
6:30 p.m. Another benefit of living at home: I live in the delivery radius of my favorite Tex-Mex restaurant again.
7:45 p.m. I am extremely full of chile relleno and idly texting Josh, my other regular fuck buddy. We’ve been sleeping together since June and also met on FetLife; our specific kinks don’t align perfectly, but we both get off on him throwing me around and fucking the shit out of me. Josh and I make plans to hang out later in the week when I’ll have the house to myself for a night.
5 p.m. I’m leaving work when I get a text from Colin, asking if I’m free for a last-minute drink tonight. I want to see him, so we make plans to meet up.
7 p.m. I meet Colin at my favorite dive bar. We’re having a great time catching up, just drinking cheap beer and talking shit about politics — until he puts his hand on my knee and I become a horny, incoherent shadow of my former self. While I wish he were a little kinkier; we definitely have great physical chemistry.
7:45 p.m. We’re back at Colin’s place and making out on his bed. I know it’s bad form to compare partners, but I wish Colin kissed more like Josh does. Nevertheless, I’m really into it and I can tell he is too. One of my favorite things to do with Colin is torture him with really good head without letting him come. I enjoy giving blow jobs in general, but it’s super-fun with him, probably because he’s so uninhibited about making noises and silly faces and generally expressing how good it feels. I lie down between Colin’s legs and tell him to let me know when half an hour is up.
8:30 p.m. The only downside of giving Colin marathon blow jobs? He’s so desperate to come that he can barely last for five minutes of actual fucking. Sure enough, he manages three thrusts before he pulls out and comes all over my belly. He’s always embarrassed when this happens, so I don’t say anything about my lack of orgasm.
8:45 p.m. After I’m all cleaned up, we lie down in Colin’s bed to find a movie and end up settling on some ridiculous Nicolas Cage action movie. There’s no secret longing for romance — now that we’re done having sex, we’re back to just being friends, making Coppola jokes and burping at each other.
9:30 p.m. Usually I’m the more sexually aggressive of the two of us, so it’s unexpected when Colin rolls on top of me mid-movie. I take advantage of his improved stamina and rub my clit until I come twice.
10:45 p.m. Colin kisses me good night at the door (is it possible for a kiss to be bro-y?) and slaps my ass as I walk out.
9 a.m. My No. 1 boo thang texts me, asking what I got up to last night. Olivia and I have been friends since literal infancy, and at this point we’re more like sisters than friends. She disapproves of me fucking Colin, but I own up to seeing him. Olivia doesn’t have a problem with him personally; she just thinks that my hookup MO isn’t totally healthy for me. I identify as bisexual, but, for whatever reason, I’m much more reserved about having sex with women. With men, I’m pretty promiscuous. I didn’t really have a slutty phase in college, but seem to have hit my slutty stride in the years since graduation.
In general, though, Olivia’s totally supportive and tries to understand why I feel the way I do about relationships. No one knows what a weirdo loner I am better than she does.
4 p.m. Fuck, I hate this job.
10 p.m. I end up spending the night cuddled up in bed with my bong and black cat, watching Buffy on Netflix, texting friends, and applying my obscenely long Korean-style skin-care routine. To me, this is a perfect night; why would I want someone else here to ruin it? There’s no room anyway — my cat is extremely fat.
3:30 p.m. I skipped lunch today so I could sneak out of work a little early — Josh is coming over tonight, and I’ve never gotten in the habit of keeping my bedroom clean. Josh is 34, so I feel the need to at least pretend to be an adult. It’s bad enough that he’s coming over to fuck me in my parents’ house.
6 p.m. Josh arrives and is on me — one hand in my hair, the other pulling at my shirt — from the minute he walks in the door. He’s huge, nearly six-four and built like an NFL linebacker; I love how easily he can push me around. Josh kisses like he’s trying to fuck my mouth with his tongue, which sounds gross but is actually amazingly hot. He strips me naked in the kitchen and steers me upstairs by my hair.
6:15 p.m. Josh gives me a thorough spanking as a warm-up, then continues with a hairbrush and his belt. By the end, I’m crying. And thank God I took the trouble to find my box of sex toys, because Josh pulls out my Hitachi wand and proceeds to make me come over and over again, until all I can do is beg him to stop.
7:30 p.m. I am an amorphous blob of jelly. After an especially garbage week at my job, it feels amazing to float in subspace, completely blissed out. I can hear and feel Josh performing aftercare, praising me and making sure I’m not injured, but it all seems like it’s happening to someone else. These are some topnotch endorphins.
8 p.m. Josh and I lie in bed for a while, hanging out. Because Josh is a nicer person than I am, he asks how my work is going. I spare him the details, but tell him that I’ve been applying to West Coast–based positions and am flying out there this weekend for my first interview. I think he’s a little bummed, but we agree that we’ll try to see each other a few times before I move away.
8:30 p.m. I’m ready for Josh to leave now. He’s a super-nice guy, but he always lingers a little longer than I want him to. Thankfully he gets the hint when I start getting dressed again.
5:30 p.m. I meet up with my parents for cocktails at their favorite bourgeois bar. They’re picking up the tab, so obviously I’m drinking top-shelf. My parents really are the best; they’ve been married for 38 years and are still sickeningly in love. I know my mother is still coming to terms with the fact that I have no interest in being in a relationship, but she’s been good about not obsessing over it or guilting me about grandchildren. I always tell her it’s her fault — I got too used to being alone as an only child.
6 p.m. We talk a little about my upcoming interview and my flight details, then my parents leave to meet up with friends for dinner. I take out my phone and read some trashy smut on my e-book app as I finish my drink.
6:30 p.m. Time to get stoned and pack for my trip. I take a few bong rips and consider the most important question: Which vibrator should I bring?
6:30 a.m. I arrive at the airport at a disgustingly early hour. I slept in my plane outfit last night to save time, so all I had to do was roll out of bed and call a car. I get to my gate, inhale a shitty coffee, and eat the pot brownie I smuggled through TSA. If I’m going to be sitting on a plane for seven hours, I’m sure as shit not doing it sober. I take the opportunity to change my location on all my dating apps and FetLife account.
7:25 a.m. The brownie is just starting to kick in as I board, and there’s no one sitting in the middle seat of my row. Maybe this flight won’t suck?
??? a.m. I’m completely disoriented when we land. I slept for most of the flight, but I was restless and had anxious dreams about screwing up my interview. Plus, I have a slight edible hangover that’s making me extra groggy. I turn off airplane mode and see a text from Colin, wishing me luck. Admittedly, I would miss him (and Josh) if I moved here … but that could just be because I hate change. I check my dating apps and see that I’ve already got a few messages from some locals. This trip is for work, not play, but the West Coast is looking promising already. I’m so ready to move on.
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