The Royal Duchess of Sluttiness


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.

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.

7:48 p.m.: My boyfriend calls to ask if I’m wet. When I respond affirmatively, he says, “Then what are you waiting for? Get over here.”
9:20 p.m.: My boyfriend and I have sex on a pillow covered in a Mustang Ranch T-shirt.
10 p.m.: Watch my boyfriend’s videos of his former girlfriends. They all end with the women flopping down on his bed. The best is a clip of a girl pretending to play his flute as she dances in her panties with Peter Pan–like gaiety.
10:15 p.m.: During a smoke break, I laughingly crown my boyfriend King of the Hoes. He dubs me the Royal Duchess of Sluttiness.
10:22 p.m.: We have sex again on the Mustang Ranch pillow.

8:38 a.m.: Fantasize about a female co-worker from the gallery where I work going down on me on the subway to school.
6 p.m.: Boyfriend calls asking if I’m wet. I say no because I’m babysitting for a friend.
11:55 p.m.: While sleeping at my friend’s house, I’m awakened by moans. My friend used me to put her kid to sleep so she could come home and get some midnight action.

8:45 a.m.: Masturbate with my Hitachi Magic Wand while thinking about having sex with my boyfriend.
11:20 a.m.: Put an ad on Craigslist to invite women to a Pride-related party. The ad proposes a “safe orgy” with caressing and kisses only. I also put out an ad to meet guys that shows a pic of me in a bikini.
3:43 p.m.: At the gallery, which I call “Lesbian City” because most of the workers are gay women, I tell the office manager about my “safe orgy.” She laughs but is interested.
10:40 p.m.: My boyfriend and I have sex at his place while the DVD version of The Secret plays.
11:42 p.m.: My boyfriend and I have sex again.

12:57 a.m.: Boyfriend tells me about the only time he had a threesome. It was with two women on a 95-degree day. “We didn’t have A/C, so we had to take our clothes off to keep cool,” he says.
1:08 a.m.: We have sex again.
2:40 a.m.: We talk about the Peruvian girl I met two weekends ago at a conference in Orlando. For the third time I tell him about how I had innocently invited the girl up to my room to watch movies and drink beer while her boyfriend slept. She ended up putting her breasts and clit in my face.
2:48 a.m.: My boyfriend says he “owes me two,” vowing to catch up with me on the number of outside sexual encounters. He only knows about the women. I keep my mouth shut about the guys because I know he won’t be so easygoing.
8:30 p.m.: Meet another ex and his girlfriend over tapas. She is as “tittylicious” as he’d said.
10:12 p.m.: At a hotel the buxom lady and I passionately eat each other while the ex watches with a pout on his face.
11 p.m.: I call my boyfriend and give him a blow-by-blow of the evening. He laughs at my ex’s pain.

10:40 a.m.: I have more than 60 responses to my Craigslist ads. One is a six-page diatribe from a balding man who still lives with his ex-wife and wonders why he can’t get laid by a young black woman. I fall out of my chair laughing.
11 a.m.: I come across an ad from a sincere-looking South Asian fellow and respond. The fellow responds with a number. I call and we agree to hook up for drinks.
6:17 p.m.: The fellow and I do a 69.

2:28 p.m.: My favorite ex calls to reschedule the date for the evening. I agree.
7:30 p.m.: My ex starts making out with me as soon as I get in the door of his apartment.
7:44 p.m.: My ex tells me about all the girls he’s dated since I saw him a year ago. He claims they were all pretty but dumb as rocks. “What does that say about you?” I ask. That he’s shallow, he admits.
7:48 p.m.: I shrug of his shallowness and give him a blow job that makes him squeal like a virginal teenager.
8:05 p.m.: We fuck like crazy.
9:36 p.m.: “How did you get so good at that?” My ex gasps as he orgasms. “Practice,” I tell him.

Total: Seven acts of intercourse, two on a Mustang Ranch pillow. Three sex-related Craigslist ads. One act of lesbian sex. One act of masturbation. One act of watching boyfriend’s homemade porn of other girlfriends, including flute-playing.