Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Sexually Adventurous Brooklyn Dad: 36, Clinton Hill, editor, married with two children. DAY ONE 7 a.m.: Fondle Wifey's boobs in bed, pleasantly suprised she doesn't slap my hand away. I've got morning wood but we have a day trip planned. Much to do. 7:45 p.m.: Back home. Couldn't pitch a tent if I wanted to. Looking at all the haggard, fat people in the I-87 rest stops may have damaged my hormones. 7:55 p.m.: Wifey gives me soliloquy about how old (not) and fat (not) she is, asks me if I want to have sex. I say yes. She says, "Pretend I'm a cougar and you're 20 years old."
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Fat-No-Longer Woman on the Prowl: 39, Upper East Side, interior designer, straight and single. Day One 12:40 p.m.: Dressed like a homeless person on my trip to get a coffee, I get a smile from a construction worker and a hello from someone who looks like a serial killer. After a decade-long “dating hiatus” due to being obese, followed by 70-pound weight loss, my initial goal was “consecutive dates with a non-weirdo.” I’ve recently revised that policy. Looks are mandatory. 12:50 p.m.: Returning to my building, see that my pervy mailman is in there. Per my usual, I circle the block to avoid him. 2:45 p.m.: Online research of the Cone, a vibrator I am curious about. It’s out of my price range for items such as this, so I earmark funds for other things to help meet a real person with whom to have actual sex: push-up bra, heels.
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the randy Italian waiter: male, 33, East Village, straight in a yearlong relationship. DAY ONE 7:45 a.m.: My girlfriend wakes me up. The alarm never went off; we are both incredibly late for work. I still have the presence of mind to reach out and give a lil' titty squeeze. She's a Columbia student who just turned 21 and may be the only person on the planet who digs drinking and fucking more than I do. 8:30 a.m.: On the subway. A gaggle of giggling, jiggling, Catholic schoolgirls gallop by. I remind myself that I am not a pedophile.
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the sexually satisfied student: female, 21, Brooklyn, straight, NYU student, in a four-month relationship DAY ONE 9 p.m.: Preparing for house party at my apartment. It is nice to actually be spending a ridiculous amount of time (45 minutes) on my appearance instead of my usual smudged eyeliner and tussled hair rushing out of the door. 10:52 p.m.: Boyfriend arrives at the party and definitely appreciates the effort, stealing kisses and whispering "I can't wait to maul you later" into my ear. 3:45 a.m.: Exhausted. Everyone needs to leave. Beer bottles, cigarettes everywhere. Floor sticky and gross. Crawl into bed to be promptly stripped and jumped.
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Rabbit-Using Wannabe Slutty Secretary: female, 27, administrative assistant, Staten Island, straight. DAY 1 9:45 p.m.: Meet up with friends for drinks at bar. Flirt with bartender and lean over bar so he can see my breasts. Get free drinks for my friends and me. 11:39 p.m.: Dance with a couple of my girlfriends. We spot some cute guys in the corner checking us out. Decide to give the guys a show and lock lips with one another. Watch guys' jaws drop to the floor. 12:48 a.m.: Hook up with one of the cute guys checking us out earlier. Not too bright but an amazing kisser. Ask him if he wants to go back to his place. He says sure, but we have to be quiet so we don’t wake up his mother. 12:53 a.m.: I’m in a taxi heading home. Alone.
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Sex-Free Middle-Ager in Love With Her First: female, 47, communications coach, Upper West Side, single. DAY ONE 5:55 a.m.: I wish I could just sleep in. But I am wide awake, fantasizing about my rendezvous with an old boyfriend, Graham, two days ago in Los Angeles. Graham was also my FIRST almost 30 years ago. He looked good! I'm playing it cool, so I won't e-mail him. Instead, I'll masturbate thinking of him. 9 a.m.: Flirted with a guy walking his bulldog. I am fascinated by owners and dogs who look related. The guy's dog is like looking in the mirror! 1 p.m.: Attended my continuing-education philosophy class. To be or not to be obsessed?
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Non-Orgasmic Sex Bunny With Mild Body-Image Issues: 22, female, caterer, East Village, straight, live-in boyfriend. DAY ONE 9:30 a.m.: Wake up to boyfriend's flaccid schlong. Try to be discreet about pushing a blanket to cover him up. He grunts, wakes up, gives me a stinky morning kiss. 9:45 a.m.: Shower. I scrub at my thighs, trying not to think about the last eight hours I've been sleeping with dried semen crusted onto them. Gross. 10:30 a.m.: I notice a fresh used condom, folded into itself, unwrapped on the corner of East 14th Street and Second Avenue. People step over it like it's just another discarded gum wrapper or cigarette butt. Did someone do the dirty in a taxi? Throw the condom out the window? Who knows? I step over it to the L stop. 10:30 p.m.: Boyfriend is obviously in the mood. He plies me with Merlot and a box of Godiva he picked up on his way home. It works. Routine sex, both of us asleep by 11:30. I don't cum, I never have.
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Self-Lovin' Midtowner in a Long-Distance Relationship: female, 22, media researcher, Manhattan, straight, in a long-distance relationship. DAY ONE 8:30 a.m.: Woke up late and horny. Resisted the urge to call in sick and spend the whole day masturbating. 11:15 a.m.: Notice my older and married co-workers flirting. Get excited not by them per se, but by the inherent naughtiness of an inter-office affair. 5:30 p.m.: Knowing my long-distance boyfriend will be coming into town in 36 hours, I resist the urge to masturbate. 7 p.m.: I am so frustrated that I get online and look up the Nympho-Girl.com blog. It makes me unbearably hot, and I finally succumb to my masturbation urges. 9 p.m.: I go to my favorite online adult site and order some special toys for my boyfriend's visit. Express shipping.
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Frisky, Sexually Frustrated, Post-Knee-Operation Writer: female, 43, writer, Prospect Heights, married. DAY ONE 8:15 a.m.: My guy told me I look like a Sports Illustrated model this morning, lying on the bed. This comment brought a flush to my cheeks, since, at 43 and soft from five recent knee and ankle operations, I’d given up on that job possibility. Note to self: Buy more three-button tank tops. 8:16 a.m.: Still lying on the bed alone. Why? Because this is what happens when every attempt at sex brings howls of pain from you and fear into the eyes of your lover. (Oh! Move off my knee! Ouch! You kicked my ankle! My back! My back!) You end up on the bed alone, even if you are a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. 8:39 a.m.: When I attempt a seductive pose in the tank top in front of him, now wet from the shower, he reminds me that he has to go to work (yes, on a weekend) and that my timing is off, as usual. He says, “Save that pose for me tonight.” 4:30 p.m.: I practice my posing with a straight face. 9:45 p.m.: As we lie in the bed tonight, me on a heating pad, him listening to the blues on earphones, the only pose I attempt is repose. Sigh.
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Spicy Undergraduate Maid: female, 19, single, Bay Ridge, bisexual. DAY ONE 1 a.m.: Leave work, which at the moment is doing odd jobs for a local guy, cleaning and such. Think about how awesome my boss is and how my crush on him keeps getting crush-ier. 12:20 p.m.: Go sunbathing in the park. Wonder if the person of my dreams is sitting by the bay, or perhaps taking a jog through the park. Hope he/she magically senses the need to come discover me. 10 p.m.: I interview for a waitressing job. My sketchy, older potential employer offers me money to train me as a body-rub girl. "Your legs look tight," he says. Gross. 11:15 p.m.: Return home. My roommate is smashed, naked, and in bed with her boxer-clad boyfriend. I hang out to make sure she's alright. The boyfriend feeds me shots before they both go to sleep.