The Spicy Undergraduate Maid

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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.

DAY TWO
12:35 a.m.: Wander drunk down the street. Make friends with the hot bouncer at the nearby bar, who "sure would like to get to know me better." Get his phone number.
1 a.m.: Still wandering. Make friends with group of pretty men out for the night. They call out to some dressed-up women while I'm there, one of whom has an amazing ass that I watch as it flounces away. I am now officially horny. I turn down an offer to go clubbing but agree to hang out in the park with the prettiest of the guys. Make out. I end up partially naked on public property, drunk, and still horny. He ends up satisfied. He's sweet, and as drunk as I am.
4:35 a.m.: Find myself in the bath, talking on the phone to a friend who has previously confessed his crush on me. We're talking about vanilla things. He's being amused and trying to seem nonchalant that I'm having this conversation in the nude.
10:14 a.m.: Aforementioned friend calls to check up on me. "Good morning, beautiful." His roommate/best friend/my first love gets on the phone. He says sweet things about wanting to make enough money so he and I can retire to an island somewhere.

DAY THREE
11:30 a.m.: My good friend from high school calls. Her significant other is in the military, so the conversation transforms into her coping mechanism for when she's hard up, which happens to be asking strange sex-related questions. Apparently, a mutual friend is a closet voyeur. We discuss whether in-person voyeurism would be as hot as porn, or just ungainly and kind of amusing.
4:50 p.m.: Taking a break at work. My boss asks about my weekend. I tell him a slightly whitewashed version. He can't stop laughing. I secretly hope he's watching me when I lean down to reach those hard-to-clean areas.
7:30 p.m.: Eating Asian dumplings with my father, who's in town for business. Wonder idly if people who are very adept at chopsticks are better in bed — fine motor control and all that.
10 p.m.: Walking back to my apartment, vaguely horny. I can't stop thinking about how amazing it felt to have that boy from Saturday spend so much time on my breasts. My last fling was not a boob person. I wonder if I'd recognize the guy if I saw him.

DAY FOUR
9:35 a.m.: Check my e-mail. One is a very romantic confession note from the first love. We may not be exes for much longer.
6:15 p.m.: Random guy follows me through three transfers on the subway, which I make to avoid him. He wants to be very, very good friends. I'm amazingly uninterested, but it takes a while for me to shake him off.
10:35 p.m.: One of the members of my book-discussion group, a very young corporate guy, asks me out to "coffee sometime." I accept.

DAY FIVE
12:10 a.m.: There's a gorgeous, well-dressed, tall blonde woman on the subway. She looks tired. Someday I'll get up enough guts to actually approach people. For now, I spend the ride wondering what it would be like to make out with her.
2:35 a.m.: Can't sleep. Take a shower and masturbate, mostly to use up the excess energy.
11:45 a.m.: The first love calls. He's just been in a car accident, but he's miraculously unharmed. I tell him to get some rest. He says, "I'd rather be snuggling with you." Aww.
11: 50 p.m.: On IM with an old friend I've known since I was wee. Our parents are friends. Over the next few hours, we talk about sex, romance, kinkiness, positions, threesomes, you name it. We keep it platonic, except the part where he tells me I've gotten unbelievably hotter over the course of the conversation.

DAY SIX
2:34 a.m.: As a result of the IM conversation, I start thinking about this girl from school I fell for pretty hard. She's straight, of course, but that doesn't stop me from feeling all butterfly-ish when I think about her.
6:15 p.m.: I just got out of yoga, and I'm headed to another waitressing interview. Some days, you look around, and people are just beautiful. Humanity, you are so sexy.
7:45 p.m.: Apparently the Gay Pride parade is hiring people to man their kissing booths. What an awesome job that would be, kissing pretty women all day.
9:30 p.m.: I'm talking to the first love again. I kind of can't believe he's still alive after the car thing, so I keep calling him to make sure. I'm glad he's okay, but I'm also a bit disappointed that his car is totaled, and hence he can't come up to see me this weekend. That boy is talented in bed.

DAY SEVEN
2:20 p.m.: No work today. I was supposed to babysit, but the parent never called to confirm. I'm sitting at home, trolling the Internet for job listings, freaking out about my inability to pay rent.
2:25 p.m.: I decide the best way to solve the problem is to eat a bunch of ice cream and masturbate. Voilà!
4:30 p.m.: Seriously consider becoming a stripper. Strippers never have to worry about getting evicted.
8 p.m.: Get very, very sick. My Friday-night company is a box of saltine crackers and a bottle of ginger ale.

Total: One act of naked groping in the park with a stranger, one blow job, two acts of masturbation, one escape from subway stalker, one solicitation to be a body-rub girl.