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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 customer-service rep who goes hiking to see if his wife misses him: 40, male, married, Midtown.
7 a.m. The dogs make sure I’m out of bed. This is actually early. My wife stays asleep. I do the morning things around our house — dogs, make the coffee, full bathroom rights, etc. She sleeps until 10 or so, because she works late most nights.
8 a.m. Jerk off in the shower, like I do every day. I’m 40 and still horny as a 14-year-old.
9 a.m. Subway to work … always soul-crushing.
9:10 a.m. I have a very working-class, blue-collar job in the city. It’s not what I imagined for myself exactly, but it allows me to play music with my band and have a decent income. It’s a step above the job my dad had, though not much beyond that. My wife is the GM of a really busy, touristy restaurant. We are working-class people who make just enough money to scrape by in the city. We do not make enough money to have children, but that’s okay — as of now, neither of us want kids.
7 p.m. I stop by the bar after work. Throw a few back. Women flirt with me and I’m generally standoffish. I’m mostly afraid of my wife chopping my dick off if she found out I flirted.
8:30 p.m. My wife is home on the early side tonight. We cook some pasta together. We’re both Italian, both great cooks.
9:30 p.m. We make love in our bed. Basic sex. Feels good. Standard stuff. Normally we just fuck in bed, not the bathroom or floor or what have you. We’ve been married ten years; I’m lucky it’s even happening.
7 a.m. Some days I wake up depressed. Today is one of them. I haven’t figured out our Christmas or New Year’s plans (my wife likes me to plan that stuff since she’s always working and I can sit at a computer and procrastinate at my job). I can’t seem to get excited by anything.
8 a.m. Beat off in the shower. What do I think about? Usually faceless women with huge, gigantic tits. I’d be lying if I said I beat off to the image of my wife.
4:40 p.m. A buddy asks if I want to hit up a bar that his friend owns. I’m down.
9 p.m. We’re pretty plastered. There are a lot of hot women here. Someone tells me I look like John Cusack, and her friend says it’s more like Scott Baio. Both, not so good. My hair is thinning and I don’t work out much. At this point, I’ll take any form of famous person look-alike other than Chris Christie.
9:45 p.m. I tell one of the girls that my wife doesn’t check up on me much, meaning, she trusts me. She’s always so busy with work that she doesn’t have time for jealousy or keeping tabs on me. I wonder if maybe I’ve given the wrong message because when this girl comes back, she offers me a little bit of blow. She’s with another girlfriend who wants to come too. Oh boy.
10 p.m. I do the blow in the bathroom with the girls. They’re both hot, but I can’t tell if they’re horny. Again, I’m no saint — I’m just scared my wife will have some sixth sense and know I fucked around, and put my junk through the meat grinder.
10:15 p.m. Good night bar, I’m drunk and going home.
11 p.m. My wife is still out. I pound water and go to bed.
11:30 a.m. I’m working fast today because my band is playing tonight in New Jersey and I need to leave at 5 p.m.
5 p.m. I run out of work and hop on the train to go home, shower, get my shit and go. My wife is home because she doesn’t have to work until later, but she basically ignores me. She’s working on something on the computer; Christmas shopping for all our nieces and nephews, I think. I wish my wife paid more attention to me. I don’t really know the right way to express that to her.
I’ve tried, but she calls me a wimp and then we move on to other topics. Sometimes I think she sees me as a loser who never made much of his life. Other times, I think she’s just busy and doing the New York grind.
8 p.m. We’re playing at a small Jersey music venue. Fifty people or so there. A sad bunch if I’m being honest. I’m the bass player. I give it my all.
10 p.m. No drinks afterward, I have to drive home to the city. Drinking and driving is not my style.
10:45 p.m. I stop by my wife’s restaurant to surprise her with a hello. She looks beautiful from a distance. I wonder how many guys hit on her. My penis is surprisingly entertained by this idea. Is that sick? I have a hard-on imagining men hitting on her. It’s never crossed my mind that she’d flirt back …
10:50 p.m. I notice something sort of disturbing. She sees me, waves hello (she’s with customers), and looks somewhat panicked. I can’t explain it. It’s an unfamiliar look. A hunch. I look around the restaurant and notice an older, quite handsome man at the bar. It seems like he’s kind of examining me. I go sit at the bar, but on the other end.
11 p.m. My wife comes over and kisses me hello like always. Maybe I was being paranoid. I tell her I’ll see her at home …
Midnight When my wife comes home, I ask if anyone was weird at the restaurant tonight. She says, “No?” I ask about the guy at the bar. She says, “No clue where you’re goin’ with this … ” And then instead of getting into it, I take off all her clothes and go down on her for about 20 minutes. She is sweaty from working all day, but it’s hot. I just want to make her come. She comes in my mouth and falls asleep on the bed without washing up or anything. I jerk off in the bathroom right before brushing my teeth.
10 a.m. I kind of have this pit in my stomach from last night. I can be a little depressed and a little paranoid so I try to remind myself that the mind plays tricks on us.
Noon I work out at lunch. We get free gym memberships. I keep gym clothes under my desk, and I don’t know how else to kill the hours of the day today.
6:30 p.m. I go home, order a pizza, and watch TV until 9 p.m. or so. Lights off.
9:30 a.m. I have a good idea: I’m going to take us away this weekend. I text my wife quickly to see if someone can cover her. I already know that she’s long overdue for a weekend off from the restaurant … her boss has told me many times that he’d be happy to give her the days off.
10 a.m. She texts that it’s going to be impossible. What the fuck? I already know it’s possible … I text a few more pathetic, somewhat begging texts. She says she’d love to but it’s nonnegotiable at work. It doesn’t add up … but what am I gonna do.
11 a.m. I decide to figure out something to do for myself. Hiking upstate sounds nice. I used to be big into hiking. I find a day-trip-type thing I can do tomorrow. Metro-North, door-to-door hiking, easy.
6:30 p.m. I’m pretty angry with my wife right now. I have needs too. I decide not to tell her I’m hiking tomorrow and just take off and do whatever I want in the morning. I doubt she’ll even notice.
10:30 p.m. When she comes home from the restaurant, I am already asleep in bed. I’ve beat off three times since coming home from work. I’ve basically been hate-fucking myself. I know I sound mopey — and maybe I am. But I’m human.
8:30 a.m. On the train upstate. My wife was sleeping when I left, so I never told her my plans for the day.
9 a.m. Several young, beautiful women on the same train going to the same destination. In this political climate, I’m afraid to even look in their direction. Oh, and yeah, I’m married.
11 a.m. I am starting my hike. Phone off. Silence.
3 p.m. Motherfucker, that felt great.
7:30 p.m. I’m back in the apartment … and lo and behold: I never heard from my wife once. I’m not going to pretend that is unusual, but in reflecting on my week, it does seem a little odd. She wasn’t always this cold. She used to love me so much it actually made me nervous. I wasn’t sure I could love someone as much as she loved me. Time has changed things.
8 p.m. I check in with my folks, who live in the Boston area. When I tell them I’m having the winter blues, they suggest having a baby. They’ve made this suggestion for ten years. They have no idea how much a baby in NYC would cost, and if my wife can’t be loving to me, who knows if she has the capacity for a child.
10:30 p.m. I’m too tired to stay awake until my wife comes home, but we both have tomorrow off so I’m planning on practicing my (not very good) communication skills then.
8 a.m. Enough whining about my wife! I decide to take another train to Long Island to visit my brother and his kids.
1 p.m. My sister-in-law implies that she’s never liked my wife when I mention that things have felt a little icy between us. I’m taken back by this. Does everybody know something I don’t?
3 p.m. I’m having a great time. Funny, warm, totally comfortable with myself here. These kids are golden. I decide to spent the night. I text my wife to let her know.
5 p.m. She writes back, “I love you baby. Sounds good. Send my love. Let’s go somewhere warm soon — margaritas and midnight swims.” This makes me feel less anxious. Less anxious about … everything.
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