Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week: The Consultant With a 100 Percent At-Work Sex Life: female, 25, single, straight, Midtown West
DAY ONE
7:15 a.m.: Think about male co-worker in the shower and get butterflies. Realize I have to look hot today for the annual company meeting as I have not seen him since we hooked up last week at a work function.
7:32 a.m.: As punishment for not trying to see me between then and now, I decide to tease him with a killer outfit. Looking perfect would be too obvious, but I leave the apartment pretty pleased with myself.
11:30 a.m.: Last time I cared how a specific guy thought I looked was for a frat boy my junior year of college. Usually I make a point of deleting guys’ phone numbers at the smallest sign they’re not perfect; co-worker is shockingly still in my contact list. This must be love.
11:47 a.m.: Remind myself not to let my crazy out just yet … want him to feel the same way about me first.
1:30 p.m.: Arrive at company meeting. He sits behind me, so I make whispered jokes to girl co-workers so he knows I am not only sexy but hilarious as well.
3:03 p.m.: Wonder if co-worker is thinking about how this conference room’s podium compares to the one at the hotel we had sex on last week. I cave and text him this thought.
3:09 p.m.: He responds. He was thinking the same thing.
8:15 p.m.: Pub after work with co-workers. The whole evening has been one big game of foreplay. The knowing glances from across the room are making playing hard to get increasingly difficult. It doesn’t help that I cannot stop thinking about his tongue.
8:17p.m.: Realize I am wasted and should vacate the premises before speaking to any more superiors.
10 p.m.: Come up with seemingly amazing plan on the way home: I will text co-worker and ask him to come over. He will assume it’s for sex. Instead, he is walking into a Define the Relationship (DTR) talk. HA. Fool.
10:32 p.m.: He comes in, still in his full suit. I can’t help myself; I’ve never taken off a guy’s tie before. In the midst of hot make-out with clothes flying everywhere, I remember my plan. Shit.
10:47 p.m.: Stop the make-out to begin the DTR. I assume he said things I wanted to hear as I remember very little of the conversation. What I do remember is the amazing oral/sex/vibrator action that followed. Whatever he said, it was probably worth it.
11:35 p.m.: No orgasms on my part, but it’s okay. Give my first blow job since high school. Remember why I stopped in the first place.
DAY TWO
7:12 a.m.: Holy hangover, Batman.
7:15 a.m.: Co-worker and I kiss and he leaves. As I make my bed, I wonder if he noticed I, at some point during the night, got my period. Figure if I didn’t, it is unlikely that he did.
1:16 p.m.: Obsess over events of last night via e-mail with roommate. Says she: He’s using you, he’ll never give you what you want, he’s just saying things you want to hear. Promptly ignore.
2:30 p.m.: E-mail girlfriends from college. Most common inquiry: How the hell have you gotten away without giving head since HIGH SCHOOL? Honestly, I never really thought about it.
5 p.m.: Turns out this makes me kind of a hero/revolutionary to my girl friends. And I quote: “Props to you homegirl. I’d take any excuse to never have a dick in my mouth again”
7:37 p.m.: Head to Landmarc for dinner with roommate and her aunt. Have still heard nothing from co-worker but attempt to forget about it with several glasses of wine.
9:32 p.m.: Text from co-worker. ‘How was your day?’ Spent it agonizing over you, asshole. Reply ‘Good, out to dinner at Landmarc. Yours?’
9:47 p.m.: He responds ‘with who?’
9:49 p.m.: I respond ‘with a friend. I don’t think you have met him.’ Game on.
11:30 p.m.: Masturbate. Orgasm four times. I heart vibrators.
DAY THREE
9:45 a.m.: While checking Internet news, come across article that says a new study has linked oral sex to mouth and throat cancer. Of course I see this two days after I break my six-year-long fellatio strike.
11:53 a.m.: Am seriously horny while bored at work. Think about how I can get him to play a little rougher. The soft crap is all good, but sometimes I just need to be dominated.
12:50 p.m.: Remember still having period. Wonder where on the ‘going to hell’ scale sex on the rag hits.
2:19 p.m.: Debate texting him a fantasy. Decide against it. Must remember to play hard to get. And don’t want him getting the idea that bj’s are on the daily menu. Especially now that my health is involved.
3:59 p.m.: Attractive British client I always catch staring, finally comes over to talk to me. He wears a ring which makes me fantasize about an illicit international affair. He smells of cologne and tea. Oddly, married men have held a certain sexual curiosity for me lately that I never expected.
DAY FOUR
7:22 a.m.: Remember I have yet another work function with co-worker tonight and have to look effortlessly great again. This is exhausting.
4:06 p.m.: Contemplate the ethics of e-mail flirting with my married client, which is clearly happening.
4:08 p.m.: Realize I am contemplating my ethics on a somewhat frequent basis. Wonder if this is a sign of my adaptation to life in New York City.
5:18 p.m.: Co-worker texts that he has ‘dinner plans in midtown tonight’ so he can’t make other co-worker’s birthday drinks downtown. I had this coming, but the feeling of nausea is overwhelming. I simply like him too much for this casual bullshit he wants.
5:22 p.m.: Feeling blue. Recall annual review conversation with my boss earlier in the day. He says everything is great but the one area I need to work on is my professionalism, both at work and at social work events. The dance-floor make-out session with an executive client comes to mind. Or the screaming match I got into with other co-workers. This causes me to bail on drinks so I can go home and wallow in self pity.
DAY FIVE
10:24 a.m.: Wallowing nearly complete. Happy in my decision to stay in to ensure I refrain from dramatic texting, which has become my new means to make a desperate fool of myself.
11:21 a.m.: Despite my morals, I miss married Brit’s attention. Thank God Brit is back in London.
5:28 p.m.: After a long day of listening to the Love, Actually soundtrack, decide I am done with co-worker. Change to “Womanizer” and feel empowered. There is no mood Britney cannot lift me out of. Plan to bring home a hot stranger to prove how over co-worker I am.
6:43 p.m.: E-mail from Brit. Asks about why I smooth my dress/skirt over my ass before every time I sit down. Continue to contemplate where the line is with married men.
DAY SIX
8:30 a.m.: Working on the weekend … nothing is worse. Well, not hearing from co-worker is worse.
2:15 p.m.: Another e-mail from Brit telling me I have a lovely ass and he is only human; it is not his fault he couldn’t stop staring. My God … should stop this incessant flirting, but the need to feel wanted by someone is simply overwhelming in the light of rejection.
DAY SEVEN
10:06 p.m.: No word from co-worker. Am over feeling sad, on to being pissed. He does not know, however, that I have mentally cut him off. How am I supposed to relay this if he refuses to get in contact with me? Well … it is times like these I refer to my personal mantra: On to something bigger and better, literally and figuratively.
TOTALS: One act of intercourse; one act of fellatio; one act of cunnilingus; four acts of masturbation orgasm; five slightly inappropriate e-mails with married client.
