sex diaries

The Freshly Single Man Avoiding Texts From His Ex

Photo: James Gallagher

This week, a 36-year-old man whose soon-to-be ex-husband left him for a 20-year-old: 36, gay, nonprofit employee, Midtown, separated.


7 a.m. Wake up to a message from my future ex-husband, James. I’m a 36-year-old gay Latinx man in the midst of a divorce: Eight months ago, after we were married for five years and together for ten, my 40-year-old husband decided to leave our economic and emotional stability for a 20-year-old college freshman. So if James wants to text someone, that’s who he should be texting.

Six months ago, I met and befriended a tall, handsome financier, Frank, who at 47 looks more like 35. That friendship (with benefits) ended. It’s a long story, but: We’d decided that Pride would be our coming-out party, so we posted pictures together and met each other’s friends. But afterward, we talked and realized we were moving too fast and decided to slow things down. He had also broken up with someone recently and gotten together with me right after. Then he started really pulling away. Suffice it to say, 2018 isn’t my year. On the upside, I’m single, financially stable, and playing the field.

There’s also a message from Dan, a handsome 28-year-old from Yonkers. They say Yonkers is up-and-coming, but I grew up in Westchester, so I can tell you: It’s not. Once I tell him a bit about my career — administering grants and money to nonprofits — it’s clear he doesn’t understand the need to help people who are down on their luck. I ignore his texts.

9 a.m. This guy in my office has a magnificent ass. He keeps flirting but I have this rule about not hooking up with work people. It gets messy, believe me. Very few people at work know I’m getting divorce — most of them are wondering where James is. I’m a very private person, but when we were together, James would never miss coming to a business event with me (he likes open bars). By leaving, he traded country-club dinners for keggers with a college student. I bet he buys the beer.

11 a.m. A “straight” guy on Growlr wants to give me oral. His name is Jason, and he agrees to meet at my place during lunch.

12 p.m. I get to my place early to tidy up. I know Jason’s a hookup, but I don’t want to be known as that messy guy. It’s still strange to me, bringing someone to my place — James and I dreamed of raising our kids here.

12:15 p.m. Jason arrives. He’s pretty handsome. We undress each other; he has a nice dick. He goes down on me. I don’t go down on him, but I bend him over. He screams in pain but doesn’t stop me. He claims he’s never bottomed before, but I suspect that’s a lie. He asks for more until we’re both satisfied. He dresses quickly to meet his girlfriend. I guess that makes me the “other woman.” Ugh.

2 p.m. Back at the office, where my staff completed just as much as I did while I was with Jason: none. I log in to Scruff — not Growlr, because it’s bad form to log in on the app you just used to hook up with someone less than two hours ago — and I chat with a guy named Dino. He unlocks his private folder. Great body, greater dick. He’s a top. I’m not much of a bottom but, for this guy, I’ll try.

5 p.m. Dino’s place is out of the way, but I don’t want to bring another guy to my place on the same day. He’s shorter and slimmer than he looked on the app, but nice abs. We smoke some weed. (Do kids call it that these days?) He eats my ass for a minute, and here comes the dick. It hurts! Whose idea was this? Oh, right. He’s long and pretty thick. I try to relax so it doesn’t hurt as much. I’m on my back, with my legs up in the air, and wondering where my ex is. Thinking of how I miss my old life. I pretend to like it as he finishes, then I pick up my clothes, and out the door I go.

6 p.m. Back to my place. I play with my dog and wonder if he misses James as much as I did at first. I stopped missing James after I met Frank. Thank you, Frank, but it sucks that we were each other’s rebounds.

7 p.m. I meet up with my friend Scott for drinks. He’s one of the few people I relied on when James left. I tell him about my day. He doesn’t judge me, but reminds me to take my PrEP daily.

10 p.m. Back to my empty home. It’s so quiet here. We started to renovate it slowly. The first room we finished was the kitchen. It turned out quite beautiful, but I haven’t cooked since James left.


5:30 a.m. I try to go for a run every morning, but it ends up being 3 or 4 times a week. While I’m running, I get a message on Growlr. No profile pic but says he sees me running. Creep.

7 a.m. Get on Metro-North to visit my parents.

8 a.m. I arrive at my parents’ house for breakfast. I forget how much quieter Westchester is. Growlr goes off: A college kid from Rye. Is it my turn to try on a 20-year-old?

11 a.m. My parents go shopping, so I hit up the guy from Rye. He wants to come to my parents’ house. Did I mention he’s 20?

11:30 a.m. We meet at a cute coffee shop where I’m not the only Latinx customer; clearly, things are changing in good ol’ Westchester. Anyway, he blows me in his car. It’s amazing. Did I have these skills at 20?

3 p.m. Back in the city. A guy from New Jersey has been hitting me up for a few days. I’m not in the mood to go to Jersey. I never am. But he shows me his ass and somehow, I’m on my way.

4:30 p.m. Jersey’s place is messy. He thought he was going to top. Oh, Jersey. I top him. He asks me to come in him, which makes me lose my erection. How many people has he asked to do this? I pretend to come into the condom. Bye, Jersey. You were worth the commute but not a return trip.

6 p.m. Frank and I used to work out together. Now I go to the gym when I know he’s at work. I don’t want to see him but I still need to look good. Gotta move forward.

9 p.m. James texts to see how I am. He thinks we could be friends someday.
Maybe one day after his boyfriend can legally drink … I wish these texts were from Frank instead.


5:30 a.m. My morning run is interrupted by a waiter from a restaurant near my office. His smile is distracting. So is his ass. I give him my number. Let’s see if he calls.

8 a.m. Loneliness will make you do some dumb things. I decide finally to reply to Dan from Yonkers. He’s kind of sweet, even if he doesn’t understand my work. Yes, I’m making excuses.

11 a.m. Nice to see that discrimination and racism are still okay in the gay community. It’s all over the apps: No blacks. No “rice.” White only. No olds. No fats. No fems. No browns. We discriminate against our own while others still discriminate against us.

1 p.m. I decide to message a Dominican guy who works for an airline and had previously chatted me to suggest having drinks. I revisit his profile. “Looking for white friends only.” What? Am I white now? Is he blind? Do I need to change my Snapchat filter? I tell him I’m not interested in talking anymore. He continues messaging, but I don’t reply.

4 p.m. Dan wants me to meet him and his boyfriend for dinner. Yes, Dan apparently has a boyfriend. Fuck it. I agree to meet them tonight. Maybe this could turn into a threesome … it wouldn’t be my first.

8 p.m. I put on my favorite pink shirt. Pink is my color — a guy at Club Monaco told me so. I get to the restaurant. To my surprise and his dismay, I recognize Dan’s boyfriend. Ten years ago when I first started dating James, I had a friend named Chris. (Chris was my first gay friend. We went to clubs together, got harassed by older men together — you know, all those gay milestones.) Chris tried to hook up with James the night they met. I told him that James and I were monogamous and to please stop, but he kept messaging James behind my back until I was forced to cut him off. He deleted his Facebook account and no one heard from him again. Now here he is. I pretend I’m happy to see him. We laugh, we joke, we reminisce about the old days. He knows we’re not okay but pretends for his boyfriend’s sake.

11 p.m. Back home, tired and tipsy. I didn’t hook up with anyone today. To be honest, my dick needs a break. Good night, New York.


5:30 a.m. I wake up to texts from Dan and Dino. Dan thanks me for last night. Dino wants to hang out again. I go for my morning run.

12 p.m. Another text from James. No, James. Sorry you left our townhouse for a studio. No coming back, though.

1 p.m. I see an older Puerto Rican guy, 47, on Scruff. Another top with a big dick. I thought big dicks weren’t the norm. Why does everyone I like have a big dick? Maybe I’m attracted to big dick energy.

5 p.m. I get to Puerto Rican guy’s place. I ring the bell, and he opens the door. He looks older than his picture, and he’s like maybe five feet tall. He has another guy with him. Tall football-player type. The tall guy and I are surprised to be in this situation — this guy doubled booked! I’ve never felt cheaper. I try to leave, but they start kissing me, undressing me. The tall guy starts blowing me while the Puerto Rican guy starts eating my ass. It feels good. I come to my senses and put my clothes back on and try to leave. The Puerto Rican guy tries to block my exit. I feel almost threatened, but he’s short and looks like he’s pushing 60. I nudge him out of the way. What an asshole.

7 p.m. Happy hour. I need to forget about that old Puerto Rican guy, so I drink. A few friends meet me. It’s nice to have friends. I got custody of our friends in this separation. Sorry, James. Meanwhile, Dan and Dino keep texting. Calm down, boys; I’ll get back to you.


7 a.m. No run this morning. I drank way too much last night. I jump in the shower, but I still feel dirty.

12 p.m. Rob, another older guy (47) I’ve been chatting with, hits me up. He recently moved in with his uncle in Queens because, he says, his uncle is sick. We have a good conversation about our failed marriages and how we need to rebuild our lives. And how we aren’t ready to date — but make plans to meet tomorrow anyway.

5 p.m. I meet Dino, we smoke weed, we talk. He designs patches and other hipster gear. He’s too cool for me. We fuck again. Is this what “having him beat your insides up” means? It doesn’t feel great. It really is like getting punched from the inside. Like an alien creature is going to come out of my stomach. We finish, and I dress to leave and plan never come back.


11 a.m. Dan from Yonkers comes over to play a new game we talked about. He’s fully undressed even before the first level. He’s dick isn’t that big, and he marvels at the size of mine. His boyfriend’s — my ex-friend’s — is pretty small. I fuck Dan like he’s never been fucked before. We spend all afternoon in my bed until he has to go. I’ve reached depths his boyfriend will never reach. Payback’s a bitch, “friend.” Good luck satisfying your boyfriend now.

7 p.m. I get ready to meet Rob at his uncle’s place out in Queens. A top, which is fortunate because Dan tired my dick out. I bring some jockstraps I’d originally bought to wear for Frank, and it stings to put one on for someone else.

Sadly, Rob’s uncle is home. We find a quiet park and, once it’s dark, I pull down my shorts and he immediately starts rimming me. It starts raining, but we don’t care. He enters me. For the first time since Frank, getting fucked feels good. We finish in the rain.

10 p.m. My friends want to go to the Eagle. I pretend the place is too ratchet for me, Mister “I Just Had Sex in the Park.” I’m exhausted. I wonder if sex counts as part of my workout?


10 a.m. A friend for many years, Jay is beautiful and bi, with a wife and kid. The wife knows Jay hooks up with others and it’s okay with her as long as it doesn’t affect the family. I’ve never hooked up with Jay but I’m hoping to change that. He’s coming over so we can go bike riding.

12 p.m. He arrives, and, soon, we’re kissing. Forget biking. The only thing he’s going to ride is my dick. He’s submissive. I take over. I order him around. His body is incredible. Afterward, I take him out to eat. We talk about his kid, and about my life. It’s a good day.

4 p.m. On Growlr I see Rob is now in a relationship with someone else. He ignores my messages. I decide to stop hanging out with 47-year-olds. I keep coming across them, and they are not good for me.

8 p.m. This house has never felt bigger. I have thought about selling it after the divorce. The dreams I had here are long gone, and only the memories of what might have been remain. The memories of the children we were going to have, of the adventures we’ll never get to take. I’m in the living room, in the dark, with my dog. At least she won’t leave me. Maybe I should go abroad for a bit, to keep working on forgetting. I do have two cousins in Paris …

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The Freshly Single Man Refusing to Answer Texts From His Ex