sex diaries

The Creative Director Getting a Little Tired of Feeld

Photo-Illustration: by Marylu Herrera

New York Magazine’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. The column, which began in 2007, is the basis of a new docuseries on HBO.

This week, a divorced woman sleeps with two partners in one day, but finds herself wondering if she wants something more committed: 39, single, Los Angeles.


6:30 a.m. Wake up to a text from some guy on Feeld I gave my number to too soon. I’m not sure what’s more upsetting, his spelling or his inability to take a hint. I get why people ghost.

8:38 a.m. Cursing myself for taking a client in New York. I’m a creative director for early-stage start-ups, which means dealing with young, overly confident yet needy men way too early in the morning. Especially when they’re on the East Coast. I take a quick call and resolve a small issue for this guy.

10:57 a.m. Microdose and get on my SoulCycle bike. There’s nothing that can’t be accomplished with mushrooms and endorphins.

2:30 p.m. Texting with S, a guy I met on Feeld a few months ago and actually like. I always fall for sarcastic Europeans. Unfortunately, it’s not going anywhere because he’s just out of a relationship, into sex clubs, and he wants kids. (I don’t!) I knew this all going in, but he has one of those faces you just want to sit on.

6:15 p.m. With my friend Casey at our favorite neighborhood bar having our usual debate over whose dating scene is more disappointing. She’s a lesbian, and before I met her I assumed being with women would be easier and more satisfying. It’s apparently neither. I tell her I’m thinking of hiring a matchmaker, and we toast to the hope that not everyone is trash.

9:30 p.m. In bed with a book. Ignoring my phone incessantly lighting up.


6:30 a.m. Texts from both S and D. D is another Feeld guy who’s into MFM threesomes. I’m not really in the kink scene, but it’s the only app I’m on anymore. People seem much more genuine. I recently changed my profile to say “my hot male friend and I are looking for another dude.” S is the hot friend. This is why I can’t quit him. The sex is great, and he’s totally into helping me fulfill this fantasy.

9:45 a.m. D wants to know what I’m doing for lunch. He’s going to be on my side of town. I told him I wanted to make sure there’s chemistry between us before we get into a threesome situation. So I guess we’re doing this.

12:20 p.m. D shows up at my house. He’s taller and more nervous than I expected. Maybe I should be nervous since I’ve invited a stranger into my home, but I like the power of having men on my turf. He asks if he can smoke some weed. I don’t have a problem with it, but it’s not exactly a turn-on. He kisses me. It’s fine. His dick is fine. The sex is fine. He leaves. I don’t think he’s threesome material.

3:38 p.m. S is texting again, asking what I’m up to. I tell him I’m working, but had time to audition a potential third earlier. He immediately asks if he can come over.

4:02 p.m. S is already at my door. We live dangerously close. I tell him I only have an hour because I have friends coming over for dinner. He says “sure,” and then pushes me up against the wall and kisses me hard. I ask him if it turns him on that I fucked someone else a few hours ago. He says yes very definitively and then makes me cum more times than I can count. He does a thing with his tongue and fingers that everyone should experience. He also makes me laugh. This is my Achilles’ heel.

6:30 p.m. The girls are here, right on time. I’ve been divorced for five years, in L.A. for four, and I’ve never met more smart, hysterical women in my life. Sometimes I think this could be enough, but I miss having a partner.

We overdo it on pasta, Negronis, and many bottles of wine. I have to make numerous promises that none of today’s sex acts happened on any of the surfaces we’re eating on.

11:57 p.m. At a cabaret in West Hollywood. I’ve had more drinks than necessary. I’m pretty sure I let someone lick my boob. It might have been two people.


8:02 a.m. Misery.

8:05 a.m. More misery. I’m anxiety-reading texts from last night and see I messaged S. Evidently my drunk ass decided we should stop doing this because I don’t think he’s crazy enough about me. Phones should have Breathalyzers.

10:30 a.m. I keep looking at S’s reply. He said he doesn’t know what he said to make me feel that way, but he understands if I want something more committed. He’s not ready to be in another monogamous relationship so soon … blah, blah, blah. I’m not sure what to say back. He knows I want something real, but I don’t want to stop seeing him yet. Between my hangover and this, my clients are not getting my best today.

3:40 p.m. Still hung-over. Get on my bike to try to sweat it out.

6:30 p.m. Officially giving up on the day. Get Taco Bell delivered and watch Fleishman Is in Trouble. At least I got divorced before anyone convinced me to have kids.


8:30 a.m. I wake up horny, thinking of S. I need to get my shit together before I ruin my chances of having this threesome. I text him a photo from bed and tell him I thought about it and I still want to fuck him later.

9:08 a.m. He says he’s glad, but not free until 9 p.m. now. I guess that’s fair, since I tried to torpedo the whole thing yesterday.

1 p.m. Tennis with a guy I briefly dated last year. It’s nice to catch up. He’s a total sweetheart who was also just out of a long-term relationship when I met him … and still shares his dog with his ex-girlfriend in New York.

7 p.m. Meet Casey for dinner. She makes valid points about why seeing S is a waste of my time. I make less valid points about why great sex is never really a waste of time.

8:57 p.m. S texts that he’ll be at my house in 30 minutes. I say I’ll meet him there.

9:45 p.m. I rushed home and he’s still not here.

9:55 p.m. He finally shows up, and I’m annoyed. He’s being colder than usual. I get the sense I’m being punished, so I make a martini while he rolls a joint.

10:55 p.m. We’ve been talking for an hour. About his job. I cannot pretend to be interested in the latest crypto drama.

11 p.m. Finally, finally, he stops talking and pulls me toward him. He kisses my neck and turns me toward the window. I’m watching him watch me in the reflection as he pulls down the straps of my dress and grabs both of my nipples hard enough to make me wince. I’m definitely being punished, but now it’s making me wet.

1:30 a.m. We’re back in our groove, getting each other off and laughing. We have off-the-charts chemistry and we’re both kind of goofs. It feels so easy. Then he brings up someone else he recently slept with. Why? Why does he always want to tell me about it?

1:45 a.m. I’m cool until he reveals he’s been having unprotected sex with other people. What the fuck? We’re obviously not exclusive, but that’s not what we agreed. We talked about being tested and using condoms with other people on our first date. If that changes, we disclose it. He disagrees and says I was making assumptions. Yeah, the assumption that he’s a decent person. I ask him to leave.

2:03 a.m. I’m lying awake furious. I text that I don’t want to see him again. His response is nasty, taking no responsibility. He even hits me with the classic “I’m sorry you feel that way.” I could scream. He’s been cavalier with my feelings and my health. And now I have to get an STI test.


5:11 a.m. Still awake and inexplicably sad. I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. I just thought this guy was different — funny, thoughtful, kind. Nope. Just another asshole doing whatever the fuck he wants.

9 a.m. I was supposed to meet up with friends for breakfast, but I didn’t sleep at all. I text them what happened and everyone agrees he’s disgusting. This only mildly helps.

10:45 a.m. Drag myself out of bed for my appointment at the spa. Thank God I have this booked today.

11:30 a.m. Quietly crying in the hot tub. And the steam room. And the sauna.

2:30 p.m. After a two-hour scrub and massage, I almost feel like a person again.

8:30 p.m. Nap, yoga at home, and then do absolutely nothing else for the rest of the evening. I realize I’ve barely spoken today. That’s probably for the best.


6:23 a.m. Awake before my alarm. Scrolling through Feeld. Why does everyone want to be open? Most of the people I know don’t have the communication skills to maintain even one relationship.

8 a.m. Microdose and SoulCycle. Then throwing all my energy into work.

3 p.m. Getting ready for my call with the matchmaker. I was on the fence about whether or not to go for it. It seems so old-school, and maybe a little desperate? But I’m not meeting anyone I could see having a long-term relationship with, and I do want that. I’ve tried all the apps. It’s a wasteland. So I guess it’s time to bring in a professional. It’s what I would do in any other area of my life. Why not this?

4:28 p.m. The call made me feel surprisingly optimistic. Like maybe there could be decent men in L.A. who value partnership and want the same kind of life I do. She suggested there could be a lot of people who don’t have time to swipe or don’t want to have a public dating profile. Maybe this is where the gems are. Or the nerds. Either way, I’m open to the adventure.

7 p.m. Make dinner and talk to my college roommate for two hours. Her small children sound more mature than anyone I’ve dated recently. Our lives couldn’t be more different, but our love is deep. She’s coming to visit in a few weeks. I can’t wait to take her somewhere wild.


6:30 a.m. I thought I might hear from S. An apology, maybe. Of course not. I delete his number.

8 a.m. Crazy workday. I have two projects that need to be finished at the same time. I wish I could focus.

12 p.m. Take a break to email the matchmaker photos of my exes. Apparently requesting Jake Gyllenhaal types is not enough for her to go on. She wants to see real people I’ve been attracted to.

I’m scrolling way back in my photos — the early days with my ex-husband, our wedding, the ones where he starts to look faraway. I choose one from the last party we went to together. He looks unamused, but handsome. I keep scrolling to find one of the young Australian I rebounded with. He was a delight. And absolutely not equipped to be dating someone going through a divorce. I choose a photo of us in Ibiza. I skip my last boyfriend, who was an actor and an addict. There’s been no one significant in over a year. I send her a link to S’s Twitter, too. His charm is more palpable when you see him in action.

12:46 p.m. I send a follow-up email to remind her that anyone who has a snake is a hard no. I will be open-minded. To a point.

4:34 p.m. Text from Casey: “Is it too early to drink?”

4:58 p.m. It is not too early to drink. We’re at our spot. She tells me about the rest of her weekend. I update her on the matchmaker and she laughs at my snake thing. It’s a phobia! And it could eat the cat. (Of course I have a cat.)

9:30 p.m. In bed with a book as usual.

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The Creative Director Getting a Little Tired of Feeld