sex diaries

The Novelist Who Always Ghosts After the Third Date

Illustration: by Marylu E. Herrera

This week, a writer has many drinks with many women — and still finds time to flirt at Pilates: 30, single, Brooklyn.


7 a.m. I have no kids, no pets, and no responsibilities, and yet my ass wakes up this early, every day, no matter how rough the night was before. And last night was rough. I’ve been on a bit of a drinking bender … for the past five years. I’m a 30-year-old man who loves women and partying, and you can’t really judge me for it.

9:55 a.m. You may, however, judge me for the stupid amount of money I spend on my daily Pilates classes, though. Bet you didn’t see that coming. I come here every day at 10 a.m., almost no matter what.

11:20 a.m. A lot of ladies flirt with me after class. I’m used to it. I know that sounds cocky, but I’m a decent-looking, charismatic guy and I’m open to meeting people, and it’s just a good vibe to put out there. The one I like is the teacher, Minka, but she keeps it real professional with me. I wait for her to pass me in the hallway. Sometimes she asks if anyone wants a hot towel … sadly today isn’t one of those days.

3 p.m. Decide to put a solid five hours into my novel. Believe it or not, I’ve done okay in the literary world. I’m not as poor as you’d think by looking at me.

9 p.m. I suppose you could call it a “date,” but I’m meeting my friend Lauren for some drinks at a bar nearby. We like to drink and then fuck. It’s good sex. But I’ve had better, and, frankly, I’m sure she has too.

10:30 p.m. Lauren has some blow. Lovely! We get keyed up and look for a place to dance.

12:40 a.m. After a bit of barhopping, we’re back at my place. I go down on her for a half or so; it feels like the right thing to do for all the free drugs. Then she goes home.


7 a.m. Awake! I’m a very insecure person. Every time there’s a tweet or a troll about my last book, I read it and I internalize it and I hate myself for it. I’m sure there are ways around this, but I’m sure I enjoy the pain on some level too. If I ever get therapy, I’ll letcha know!

10 a.m. It’s not Minka today. It’s a mean lady named Cheryl teaching the class. She’s a very good teacher, but she cracks the whip.

11:20 a.m. One of the girls I always see here, Clementine, asks if I want to hang out sometime. She calls herself a writer too (no comment). I know how things will play out with Clem. We’ll have a great night. She’ll be charming and I’ll be brooding, and then we’ll fuck and it will be … fine. Then Clem will want to see more of me, and I’ll have to blow her off, and it’s going to get very awkward. With my Pilates place, I don’t like to shit where I eat, so I try to nicely let Clem know I’m not interested.

9 p.m. Long day of writing. Going to have a drink by myself.

10 p.m. Unsurprisingly, there are a lot of drunk hipsters here, and they all want to fuck each other and perhaps me too.

10:30 p.m. I end up in some weird threesome-kissing thing with two girls. We’re all tonguing each other in this little booth at the bar. I’m trying to finger one of them, under her tights or whatnot, and the other is touching my cock. It’s hot but sloppy. I suggest we go back to one of their places. I’d rather not my place. When it’s time, I like “leaving” rather than hinting that someone needs to leave.

11:30 p.m. We’re at one of their apartments. One girl is looking for coke. The other girl is kind of riding me. I find a condom in my wallet and ask her if she wants to have sex. She says “absolutely.” Before the other girl gets back to the room, after calling her coke guy, we’re fucking and both of us are almost finished.

1 a.m. I’m walking home. I love to walk home alone at night. It’s good for me.


10 a.m. It’s a Minka class. Could I ask her out? Should I?

11:20 a.m. I try to make small talk with her after class. I want her to know that I’m not a total dirtbag — and that I have a nice career, maybe even a few fans. We chat about class and my progress. She seems very uninterested, which only fuels my fire. “Hey, you got a boyfriend?” I say. “I have a girlfriend,” she says, winking at me. Fuuuuuuuck. Of course she does! I walk away thinking that at some point, maybe, she’ll still want to sleep with me.

4 p.m. While I’m writing, my parents FaceTime me. They worry. They think I’m a loner and possibly an addict. My reality is very different from theirs in Texas, so I don’t tell them much, because they’ll never understand it. I like this weird, somewhat isolated, somewhat debaucherous life I’ve carved out for myself. It’s probably not forever, but it’s where I want to be right now.

7 p.m. It’s a warm night out, finally, so I grab a bottle of whiskey and take myself on a very long walk.

8 p.m. Girls text as I walk. I’d say I get five texts a night from various girls I’ve slept with, or flirted with, or met online. I’m not interested in meeting up with anyone tonight. I need some me time!

10 p.m. I walked for three fuckin’ hours.

11 p.m. Now I’m taking a shower, beating off, and going to sleep.


11:30 a.m. I need a new computer. Mine is crapping out on me. Going to the Apple store after Pilates.

12:30 p.m. Couple sexy ladies at the Apple store in downtown Brooklyn. I need to stay focused on this computer shit, though. It’s a lot of money to spend and I don’t like expensive mistakes.

3 p.m. Walking home with a brand-new laptop and totally pumped. I just want to fuck around on it all night.

7 p.m. On my second bottle of wine, getting to know my new technology.

8 p.m. Swiping around online. Feel a little lonely. Very drunk. Invite someone I’ve seen before, Lily, to come over.

9 p.m. Lily gets here and sees I’m plastered and tries her best to catch up fast. I have a great bar — I’ll give myself some credit for that. She makes a few vodka tonics or some shit and starts blowing me. She’s very good at this. We end up fucking all over my apartment. I think we actually scared my cat. It was drunk, messy, hot sex, and I’m very grateful for it.

11 p.m. Lily leaves, but first I give her a big and genuine hug good-bye. That was fun. I like Lily because she’s into the casual shit too. I don’t have to worry about any aftermath with her. Where can I move where people can fuck without “aftermath”? Is there such a place?


7 a.m. I brew some coffee and tidy up my place. We sure got crazy last night. It all makes me smile.

10 a.m. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the smelly guy at Pilates. How would I even know? I do have mad toxins to sweat out when I’m there … do I even want to know the truth?

3 p.m. My novel is taking shape. I’m digging it. Soon I’ll send a draft to my agent.

5 p.m. I forgot that I have a date tonight. Sophie is someone I’ve seen before. She lives in L.A. and comes to town now and then for work. I like her. She’s really cool. She’s interesting and deep and beautiful in a not-beautiful way. I was very transparent about my anti-relationship-ness when we first met (online), so she has always respected that — but if and when I ever grow up, I can see getting a little more serious with Soph.

9 p.m. We’re eating at a new Greenpoint hang, which I want to hate but don’t. Good vibes here. Sophie looks even more beautiful than the last time I saw her. This is about our fourth time hanging out in about six months. Sadly she’s one of the only women I’ve seen this many times (which, I might add, is my own doing). I usually try to disengage after the third time I see someone — don’t know why, just being honest.

9:30 a.m. We’re drinking wine and catchin’ up. I’m all touching her legs and her face. She’s a delight who smells like a spa and I can’t wait to go somewhere alone with her.

11 p.m. We’re at my place, and for the first time in a while, I’m embarrassed by what a shithole it is. In the past, we’ve always gone to whatever hotel she’s staying at for work. She says she wants to fuck me, but I don’t have condoms, and believe it or not, I am a stickler for the rubber. What a dumbass I am — how could I forget to get new ones knowing this angel was coming to town?

Instead, I go down on her until she’s happy. In a weird way, I’m glad we didn’t fuck this time, so that I know she’ll come back for that in the near future.

She Ubers herself home, even though I try to pay for it myself.


7 a.m. I seriously consider showing up at Sophie’s hotel just to crawl into bed with her. She takes her job really seriously, so I don’t know if she’d appreciate that or not. I text her, asking if she wants company.

9:30 a.m. She texts that she just woke up and has a meeting to run to. A gentle blow to the ego. Alas. I head to Pilates (which I was willing to forgo for her) instead.

3:15 p.m. Sophie texts that her plans freed up tonight if I want to head over there later on. An easy YES from me.

9 p.m. We’re in her hotel room kissing and getting frisky while intermittently drinking margaritas from room service. We had them deliver four at a time, two for each of us.

11:30 p.m. I forgot to mention: This time, I brought condoms. Several of them.


9 a.m. I have a rarely scheduled morning meeting today! I left Sophie’s hotel a few hours ago and am home freshening up. Having breakfast with my agent.

11 a.m. No Pilates today. Still at this meeting. Agent is excited about my next project. I am hoping to make enough money to retire off this one. I say that not as a joke, though she thinks I’m joking. I’m not joking.

4 p.m. Some nice texts with Sophie as she prepares to head back to L.A. I’d love to see her again, I tell her, and she says the feeling is “100 percent mutual.” I think she thinks she is fucking Hank Moody. I’ve gotten that before. I’m not going to say I don’t love it.

9 p.m. Having a few drinks alone at my favorite neighborhood bar. Just soaking in the scene. Can’t complain about my life right now. It won’t last forever, but I’m in no rush to change a thing.

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The Novelist Who Always Ghosts After the Third Date