Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Royal the Horny Hedgie: female, 26, hedge-fund analyst, Soho, cohabiting with boyfriend. DAY ONE 6:15 a.m.: Boyfriend rolls over and kisses my shoulder. I don’t react. Spoons me and pushes himself into my back. I shrug him off. He kisses me on the cheek and gets up. He’s so nice. I smile. 7 a.m.: Brushing hair, brushing teeth, lathering on lotion. Boyfriend moves in behind me and grabs my breasts; I welcome the support as I’ve yet to put a bra on. He says something about how I make him hot. I roll my eyes and motion him out the door. 7:30 a.m.: As we leave apartment, we kiss. He moves his hands down my neck and shoulders bringing them in and resting them on my breasts. He smells unreal, and for a minute I consider a quickie, but it’s a fleeting thought. Don’t want to endure wrath from tight-ass coworkers for being late. 3:30 p.m.: Bored. Scroll through AmateurEros.net. Love the real pics of girls. Imagine three-way with boyfriend and the girl with large nipples. Way too much of a sissy to bring it up, annoyed with self for not being more open. 7 p.m.: At home, changing for gym but decide to linger around in a thong. Making conversation with boyfriend, pretending not to notice he’s turned on. Start kissing in the kitchen, and he’s tracing my breasts with his fingers. Strip each other down. Straddle him as he sits on the edge of the bed. I come first within minutes; he’s not far behind.
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Royal Duchess of Sluttiness: female, 28, bisexual, student, Harlem, in an open straight relationship. DAY ONE 12:07 a.m.: End of a Craigslist blind date. He'd promised it would be tame, and it was at first, just kisses and fondling. Then he tried unsafe sex, and I got turned off and left. 12:35 a.m.: Call my boyfriend, try to convince him to wake up for sex. End up cooing him to sleep. He's an older fellow who is cool with my lesbian sexcapades. 7:45 a.m.: Want to masturbate, but I'm late to class. 5:50 p.m.: The little girl I babysit sees a man and a woman making out in a car. "That's you and your boyfriend," she teases. "Naw, we're motorcycle riders," I reply. 6:30 p.m.: My favorite ex calls for some rainy sexcapades. I accept. 6:57 p.m.: Boyfriend tries to woo me over. I say no. 7:10 p.m.: The ex cancels.
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Unfulfilled Circus Performer: female, 40, in a relationship, Brooklyn. DAY ONE 10:30 a.m.: We’re both walking around mostly naked. I say, “I haven’t put anything in my sex journal yet.” He answers, “What?! I’ve had like ten thoughts about sex already.” Why haven’t we been doing it all day? 10:50 a.m.: If he thinks about sex so much, how come we aren’t doing it every day? Our sex life has gone from 60 to 0 in two years. We used to have such great sex — kinky, wild, fun, and affectionate — and now I’m lucky if I get one missionary-style session a week. He used to be the one buying zip ties and pinning me against cold tiles in public bathrooms. Thinking about it makes me feel angry and rejected. 2:45 p.m.: Leaving rehearsal I tell the hot Australian that I have a blister. He takes my hand in his to look at it. For a moment I think he’s going to kiss my boo-boo. He doesn’t. 2:20 a.m.: I lie on top of my hot younger boyfriend while he’s reading in bed. I kiss his neck and bare back. Then I lie next to him and stroke the soft skin on his butt cheeks. It turns me on, but we’re both sleepy and nothing happens.
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Horny Mommy: female, 37, database designer, Bedford Stuyvesant, parent, in a relationship. DAY ONE 9:06 a.m.: See guy on subway platform with gorgeous curly hair. I wonder if our potential kids would come out with that lovely mane. 9:07 a.m.: He turns around. Never mind. 12:07 p.m.: Finally get last night's Today sponge out. Gravity is good. 1 p.m.: See a twentysomething girl’s perky breasts bouncing as she walks. I need a boob job. Gravity is not so good. 3:25 p.m.: Co-worker hopes that she’ll get a man within the next five years(!). I thank my lucky stars I’ve found someone. 5:11 p.m.: See fab body-builder type. Desperately wish I had already gotten the boob job.
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Horny Waitress: female, 26, Midtown East, straight, in a relationship. DAY ONE Midnight: Having dirty thoughts while I watch my boyfriend, Brian, a cook, sleep in his boxers. 12:15 a.m.: I sneak into bed, but my hiccups wake him up and immediately he wants to play. We cuddle for a little while, but it's too hot for anything more. 10:30 a.m.: Roommate and I take a kickboxing class. Afterward, we go to our favorite drunk brunch spot and obsess about our kickboxing instructor. 1:10 p.m.: We realize the instructor is sitting two tables over. He comes over, gives us his card, and offers free fitness advice. We promise to come to his next class. 2 p.m.: Next class plans aborted. MySpace indicates rampant homosexuality. 3 p.m.: Get romantic text message from boyfriend. I'm drunk. I text back something dirty. 10 p.m.: I come home to find an impromptu party on my rooftop. 11:30 p.m.: I crawl on top of Brian, tell him how much I want him. We kiss, but I'm turned down for sex. He says, "I am too drunk, and it will be no fun for you."
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Hot, Busy Trainer: female, 28, trainer, Harlem, straight, in a relationship. DAY ONE 10 a.m.: Today I don't work, so it's normally the day I get to have sex with my hot trainer boyfriend. Instead, I have to go to boyfriend's sister's bridal shower. In Westchester. Immediately turned off. 1 p.m.: Arrive at shower. Everyone is wearing khakis and huge smiles. They are all from Connecticut and talk about doilies. Remain turned off. 4 p.m.: Get home. Boyfriend informs me that it's "Guys' Night," and he is going out for beers. Normally I'd argue, but my insulin is too low after three slices of cake. Maybe he'll get some action and tell me about it. 8 p.m.: Call best friend to see if she wants to go out. Her lover is on his way. Bitch!
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Single, Hopeful Unemployed Guy: male, 24, Park Slope, straight. DAY 1 12:01 a.m.: Attend a college friend's welcome-home party. Flirtatious encounters with at least four different girls. I get one number. I recognize one of these girls from college, but she has had a breast reduction since the last time I saw her, so I didn't place her at first. I feel slightly dirty about this. 3:00 a.m.: Walk back home through Prospect Park with another guy. Tell him that I have a crush on his roommate Emily in hopes that he'll set me up. She just broke up with a longtime boyfriend. Then I complain about recently losing my job and how I have plenty of time to be bitter and sexually frustrated. 10:45 p.m.: Text longtime friend/crush Emily to see if she wants to meet me at a bar. 11 p.m.: She does!
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Phone-Sex Operator: female, 29, Williamsburg, in a heterosexual relationship, bisexual. DAY ONE 10:45 a.m.: On the train into the city, I realize that I haven't had sex in exactly a week. My boyfriend, a musician, has been averaging four hours of sleep a night, generally passing out the second his head hits the pillow. 2:05 p.m.: My first phone-sex call of the day arrives. Calls are forwarded to me at home, and I get paid per minute. 2:53 p.m.: Another caller. "I've actually never done this before…" Right. "I'm a model…" Ding ding ding, we have a liar! 4:43 p.m.: Caller wants me to "scream." I have to pull the "New York City –thin–walls–neighbors–will –call– cops" card. 11:30 p.m.: Go over to my boyfriend's apartment. He knows about my job and is neither threatened nor particularly into it. Finally, finally have sex, in various positions, in bed.
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Recent Graduate: female, 22, East Village, single, straight. Day One 1:27 a.m.: At a Williamsburg bar celebrating a friend's 21st birthday, I drunkenly tell the cute, very quiet boy that I have a crush on him. We try to explain to each other how awkward we both are, which is an awkward conversation. 1:29 a.m.: We make out. He's a rough kisser and keeps biting my bottom lip. 3:00 a.m.: His roommate interrupts us having sex, killing the whole interaction. 9:30 a.m.: I have breakfast in Union Square with my very hung-over Best Guy Friend. On a dare, he asks out our cute waitress. He goes with, "Um, okay. So, I'm a mess right now, and in about twelve hours I'll be a mess again, but sometime when I'm not a mess, do you want to, uh, hang out?" She says she has a boyfriend.
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Pregnant Waitress: female, 30, Long Island, waitress, married, straight. DAY ONE 9 p.m.: Arrive to dinner with thirteen of my girlfriends for a bachelorette party. Suddenly self-conscious that everyone is hot, sexy, and showing skin. Though I'm not showing, my clothes are too tight to wear and I feel bloated, unattractive, and pregnant. Why did I have to get pregnant before summer? 11 p.m.: Get bumped into by several hot guys trying to get closer to my friends. Apparently I'm puffy and invisible. Midnight: Pack the girls into my SUV and drive to another bar. They are loud, drunk, and screaming. I'm trying to enjoy, but I'm tired and feel my feet are swelling. 12:30 a.m.: Girlfriend gets in another fight with her ex's new girl. Cops come. Arrest both girls. I spend a few hours in a police station until they release her. 3 a.m.: Come home. Husband tries to curl up next to me and feel my breasts. "Ouch! Don't you know they're sensitive?" I angrily roll over and go to sleep.