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.
Day Two
4:40 p.m.: I have a urinary tract infection.
8:30 p.m.: I buy antibiotics and cranberry pills so this stops happening to me. Guys have it so much easier in the post-sex department than girls do. Fucking unfair.
11:50 p.m.: I take a cab to a bar in Morningside Heights, hoping that my previous night’s hookup will show up. In the cab I realize I drank too much peach schnapps way too fast and now my stomach hurts. I remember that you’re not supposed to drink alcohol while on antibiotics. Alcohol poisoning from antibiotics would be so lame.
Day Three
12:33 a.m.: Intensely Quiet is a no-show, so I text-message him to see if he wants to go out tomorrow.
4:35 a.m.: Sleep over at Best Guy Friend’s place. We make a pact not to hook up, but within minutes of being in bed together, we start making out. We kiss, he feels me up, I give him a hand job, then a blow job. It’s pretty hot mostly because it feels wrong to be doing it. I used to go out with one of his best friends.
4:07 p.m.: Meet up with Intensely Quiet. We get burgers and beers. He is really hard to read; I can’t tell if he likes me, hates me, or couldn’t care either way about me. I walk him to the subway and give him a quick peck on the lips but don’t get much of a response.
11 p.m.: At a bar in Williamsburg with friends after their comedy show. Start flirting with Intensely Quiet again. We kiss a bit and discreetly hold hands.
Day Four
4 a.m.: Go home with Intensely Quiet. He goes down on me, and we have sex again. It seems like he’s concentrating really hard, and he doesn’t make any noise, which throws me off.
11:49 p.m.: At a comedy show with a stand-up comedian who asked me out earlier in the week. He’s trying incredibly hard to be funny, hamming it up. I’m completely turned off and decide he’s not for me.
Day Five
5:30 p.m.: Lying in bed with Best Guy Friend. I give him a hand job, he feels me up. We don’t kiss. It feels kind of immature, like we’re in middle school or something, and isn’t nearly as hot as last time.
11:15 p.m.: I really want to see Intensely Quiet, but he’s working, editing a video. Best Guy Friend is at some party and not picking up his phone. I hate staying home at night, always, so I smoke pot and wander around my neighborhood.
Day Six
4:05 p.m.: Get out of movie and check my messages. Got a call from Intensely Quiet asking if I want to get dinner, and a call from Stand-Up seeing if I want to go out.
8:37 p.m.: At a bar in Alphabet City with Intensely Quiet. He is on cold medicine and sick, so he’s super out of it and seems kind of sad. I tell him the best cure for a cold is making out with girls. He finally smiles, and we kiss. He’s stopped biting, so the kissing has gotten pretty good, but he still seems kind of blasé. I hope it’s the cold and not me.
10:10 p.m.: Watching The Life Aquatic at his apartment, making out.
Day Seven
1:30 a.m.: We have sex, and he finishes sort of quickly. He seems to be tripping out a bit from the medicine. I’d love to go again, but he has to work tomorrow so I don’t say anything.
Total: Two instances of flirting, two make-out sessions, three acts of intercourse, two hookups with a friend, and one urinary tract infection.
