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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 nonprofit employee who shows a photo of her breasts to a colleague: bi, 50, single, Denver.
5 a.m. Wake up to a text from B — my awesome friend with amazing benefits, one of which is a huge, perfect cock. He’s in London for work and has sent me a picture of some girl that he might want to fuck. She looks like she could be completely nuts so I text back, “Go for it. What could go wrong?” I go back to sleep.
7 a.m. Roll out of bed this time for real, do a little reading, meditation, a lot of iced coffee. Last year around this time I moved to Denver for a change of pace. I lived in NYC my entire life before moving to L.A. in 2011 to run a small production company. And I loved living in L.A. … until I didn’t. I had a group of smart, successful, single friends my age, and the social life I had always wanted but never could show up for in New York. But I always felt like I was in the wrong place. And the level of ambition — primarily among my peers in entertainment — was distracting and not something I could muster up. Denver is so chill. No one gives a single fuck if you’ve worked in movies or TV. They barely even go to the movies out here. I love it.
2 p.m. Working from my sister’s house today since today and Wednesday are my “work in Denver” days. I run a small arts nonprofit in Boulder. We spend most of our time raising money to ensure there’s racial and gender diversity and inclusion in the art that we bring to middle schools. A lot of the time I genuinely love my job, despite making approximately one-third the salary I used to make.
5 p.m. K texts me, “Around this week?” K and I met on Bumble; he’s 36 and in an open marriage, meaning that he and his wife date and have relationships with other people. K is hot AF and genuinely nice and always game for role-playing stuff. Like the time we did a B&E scenario that involved him barging into my apartment, ripping my clothes off, and tying me up. OF COURSE I am around this week, K. We try to schedule a time to meet up. I hope that I don’t get my period before I see him.
10 p.m. Zzzzzzz, I like going to bed early. I am really good at sleeping.
9 a.m. Getting ready for our weekly two-hour staff meeting that usually makes me want to stick needles in my eyes. I am bad at meetings. I get bored easily because I just want to crank through my to-do list instead of talking and listening and being a genuine leader, and other aspirational values that my colleague who started our nonprofit is slowly, but steadily, instilling in me.
1 p.m. Lunch. In a moment of unbelievable oversharing I show my colleague a picture of my tits that I sent B earlier in the week. No nipples, just a sexy top, but still. It’s a tit pic. I’m 50 and according to B, have the tits of an 18-year-old. He’s right. They’re large and firm, and I don’t need a bra if I don’t feel like it. Shout-out to the busty ladies in my family tree who passed down the good-boob DNA. Respect.
7 p.m. I see my friend C for a midweek bite. She’s a new friend and I treasure her already. I call her the Britney Spears of lesbians because she’s beautiful and fabulous in that long blonde hair way. Going out with her is fun because she’s so pretty and nice that bartenders like to comp her drinks or food, or someone will ask to take her picture. C is great — I can share details of my unconventional sex life and never feel judged.
I came out as bi right after the end of my marriage — I got married when I was 28, divorced at 36. Honestly, we just grew apart. I was very emotionally immature when I got married, and the older I got the more selfish I became. I was very career focused and my ex-husband and I just had fewer and fewer things in common. I largely fault myself. I was selfish and not a very caring partner. I’m still in touch with him. We’re not friends, exactly, and I definitely wish I could have been less of a jerk to him when we broke up. I hope he knows that.
I haven’t dated any women in Denver yet. C tried to set me up with her friend who I met at Denver Pride last weekend. This girl was stunning in a trashy midwestern way that’s a huge turn-on — but I don’t want to hump and dump a friend of a friend. And that’s what I would probably do. I’m working toward being more open and intimate with the people I sleep with.
10 a.m. I’m totally getting laid today. I text D — 31, DJ at a strip club. We met on Tinder when I first moved out here. He typically goes to work right as I finish for the day. We schedule a drive-by for late afternoon. It’s so on. D is a bit of a hot-mess party boy, but he’s great in bed. We have wild, passionate sex and sometimes throw in a little stepmom role-play. Why not?
3 p.m. I’m bored, so I text B and ask him to tell me his favorite time that I blew him. He answers, “The time I came.” I love B. He’s 32, and we were introduced by a mutual friend from L.A. after I moved out here. He always makes me laugh. He practically lives next door so we hook up at least once a week. We call our time together “Melrose Place” because everyone on Melrose was always getting laid and it went on like, forever.
5 p.m. D is running late. What else is new?
6:30 p.m. D shows up at my place tired, rushed, and sniffing up post-nasal drip that can only be from last night’s coke binge. I wish he would chill on the drugs. He’s so cute and sweet and when we first started sleeping together he would always play The Matrix in the background.
We chat a little before I pull him into my bedroom. D is super into my body and always makes me feel so pretty and sexy. He likes when I run my lips up and down the length of his cock — apparently there are entire websites devoted to women doing this exact, specific thing to men who are way into it, like D is. He gets incredibly hard and it’s a huge turn-on. He pushes me up against the wall and runs his hands along my body while we kiss, and he tells me how much he wants to fuck me. He fucks me on my bed from behind and then I turn over and he can’t hold back any more. We both finish strong. Sex with D is always fun.
6 a.m. Early morning lake walk to clear my head, always a good way to start the day. The air is nice and cool and I see a family of tiny baby ducks swimming in circles near their mama. I like living here, even if I get lonely for the camaraderie of my friends in L.A. and at times, feel like I am the only person my age in the entire city of Denver who isn’t married. But they don’t call it Menver for nothing. I’ve had more sex in the year that I’ve lived here than the entire seven years I lived in LA.
The last two relationships I was in were, to put it mildly, not great. I’ve made a point of looking at my part and working on changes I can make to my own behavior if I want to build a caring, intimate relationship. And I think I do want that. One thing I’ve learned is that intimacy starts from kindness and compassion. First toward myself, then extended outward to everyone I meet. That’s been a game changer.
11 a.m. Work. Today I’m in Boulder and our office is hot as hell because, no air conditioning. The glamorous life of a nonprofit.
4 p.m. B is coming home tomorrow. Yay! Melrose Place is back on the schedule. B avoids intimacy in many of the same ways I do. Multiple partners, staying aloof and detached. B is my favorite and he knows it.
7 p.m. Dinner at my sister’s house with her husband and 11-year-old son, and then I watch The Handmaid’s Tale, which is feeling more and more like a documentary sent back from the future every single week.
9 a.m. Board meeting at work. I get coffees for everyone, but no one drinks them. Wasting good coffee makes me sad. Don’t waste the bean!
2 p.m. Text from K — meeting up is not going to happen any time soon. He’s slammed with work and is heading out of town on vacation next week. A few months back, we put a hold on seeing each other because he said he needed to give his primary relationship, his wife, more focus and attention. He’s a good egg. They thought long and hard before opening up their relationship to other people and I admire the time and care they put into this decision. I always tell K to give his wife my best when I see him. I suspect that this thing with K is doing a slow fade, which I’m okay with.
9 p.m. B has landed! He texts me from the airport, “Swallow my cock please,” which makes me laugh.
10:15 p.m. B is exhausted from his long-ass flight, so we do a classic Seven Minutes in Heaven where he showers, then waits, naked in his bed. I show up, blow him, lick his ass and balls. After going down on him for a year, I can deep throat him pretty easily, and he loves it. It’s fast and dirty and he’s asleep almost as soon as he comes.
9 a.m. C and I meet for coffee in the neighborhood. We’re at this place called Bellwether that reminds me of one my favorite places in L.A. We started coming here after some Denver bro at our other coffee place freaked out overhearing C talk about sex with her girlfriend. He was sitting next to us, ruffling through his weekend paper copy of the New York Times, and started acting all flustered and weird. He grabbed all his stuff and moved across the room trailing a huge cloud of disgust. It was so fucking stupid. We laughed about it for like a week but it’s a reminder about the conservative undercurrent here.
2 p.m. Nap time! Naps are at the top of my list of favorite things.
6 p.m. I babysit my nephew so my sister and her husband can see a movie at the new Alamo Drafthouse. We watch a comedy that has so many more F-bombs than I remembered, ugh. He giggles the entire movie — he’s at that age where hearing adults curse is hilarious to him. He’s one of the best things about living here. We have a great time whenever we hang and I love being a part of his childhood and seeing him grow up.
11 p.m. No word from B. I imagine he’s out doing something amazingly cool, youthful, and fun involving technology that I’m too old to give a fuck about. That he’s surrounded by beautiful women who want to fuck him and hot hippie guys with beards and slim tan bodies who look like 30-year-old Brad Pitt. Then I remember that he’s probably asleep. B loves sleep as much as I do.
2 p.m. I text B, “Awake?”
4 p.m. B texts me and I write back, “10 minutes.” He knows the drill.
I would like to be in an intimate, long-term relationship with someone my own age (ish. Maybe 45 and up?). And I think I want that relationship to be open, physically — where we are each other’s primary person and we also have sex outside the relationship but are open/honest about it.
The whole thing with B is this: Being with him this last year has taught me more about loving someone unconditionally (with zero expectations) than any other experience ever has. I’ve always accepted who he is on the surface — a free spirit — and ultimately grew to love and appreciate him for EXACTLY who he is: a brilliant, creative eccentric guy who gets a ton of tail and loves blow jobs. He brings out the best in me and somehow — because there are no strings attached — I feel free to be unabashedly loving and caring and kind. Which is closer to the person I want to be all the time. To everyone, not just him.
4:10 p.m. I park at B’s house and let myself in. The windows and blinds are always closed at his place, which I don’t understand. His house is so charming. It’s decorated in a style I would call “tech bro lite” and is the biggest indicator that he’s trying to be a grown-up. It’s part of what made me like him when we first met. On our first date, he made me dinner from one of those meal delivery services and I thought it was so cute that he had these nifty utensils and could cook a real dinner. B remembers that date differently. “You came over and sat on my couch and we chatted for a long time. Too long. Finally you said, ‘So, am I gonna suck a dick here or what?’” Yeah, ‘cause I say things like that all the time, B.
I call out, “Are you home?” B says, “In here.” He’s in his bedroom, awake, naked, in the dark. And it’s on, again.
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