Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Gal Who Looked for Love (or at Least Sex) Through a Computer Screen: 27, female, Crown Heights, straight, single, ticket-sales administrator.
DAY ONE
9:16 a.m.: New e-mail from my latest Craigslist buddy. He answered my ad wondering if it’s possible to meet a real guy on CL. He’s 27, doesn’t drink and doesn’t smoke, and has lived with his annulled wife for twelve years. Does that mean they’ve never had sex? I’m turned off. Computer freezes. Hit Ctrl + Alt + Del and go eat breakfast.
10:32 a.m.: I write porn reviews to make some extra cash on the side. Log on to Adult Maven and pick a movie. Big Black Wet Asses 2. I get wet watching it. Maybe because I can identify with the actresses.
11:36 a.m.: Construction-worker acquaintance texts that a girl who watches porn is priceless. I wonder if it’s priceless enough for him to stop by over lunch.
1:04 p.m.: Finished writing my porn review. He texts that he wishes my pic were a scratch-n-sniff. I let him know that I’m eating lunch but would like something else in my mouth. Gonna keep the play above the waist (it’s that special monthly tradition, and I’m not willing to ride the red tide).
3:28 p.m.: Browse Xtube. Get horny. Use my vibrator over my panties. Head to the shower to wash my hair.
7:04 p.m.: Bored and my computer freezes. I get off using my pocket missile on my living-room floor.
9:49 p.m.: Annulment guy invites me on a family vacation to Vegas in August. Red flag! Turn down invite.
DAY TWO
7:14 a.m.: Anchor on the radio wishes us a Happy Hump Day. No humping for me today.
12:44 p.m.: Slip my arm around sexy co-worker’s waist. He’s the one who invented European Wednesdays — kisses all around! His body feels so good.
1:02 p.m.: Flirt with guido co-worker when he comes over to my desk. Rub his head and notice the stubble on his chest. I ask if he shaves his chest. He says he trims. Everything? I joke, and make a crack about sucking balls. He admits I just put his mind in the gutter and has to make a quick retreat. Thank God we work in a casual office — most of us would be fired for sexual harassment.
8:38 p.m.: Annulment guy e-mails and asks if I cook, what’s my best dish, can I cook oxtail. I’m convinced he’s interviewing me to be his next wife. Obviously I fit his criteria; black, no kids but want them, have a degree, and can cook.
DAY THREE
7:13 a.m.: Almost panic when I can’t get on to the Internet. Should’ve masturbated last night, wouldn’t be so high-strung.
10:18 a.m.: Annulment guy asks me if I have pets. WTF?
1:08 p.m.: Doe-eyed co-worker gives me a picture she drew of me with a banana in my thought bubble. How apropos.
10:28 p.m.: MySpace buddy, who e-mails me but weirdly refuses to flirt, calls me. We set up a date for the next night and then listen to his roommate and his girlfriend have sex. She’s a screamer.
1:19 a.m.: My phone dies!
DAY FOUR
8:38 a.m.: Eye this really cute, thick-pink-lipped guy with dreads on the train; we play the look-look-away game. I think how good his lips would feel on me, upstairs and downstairs.
9:18 a.m.: Lick my lips at the sight of my sexy boss. He asks what’s new and exciting. I wanna say he is but bite my tongue. I watch him walk away.
11:01 a.m.: MySpace buddy e-mails suggestions on where we could go. I make sure he knows I’m in no mood to be in Times Square on a Friday night.
6:30 p.m.: Shit, shave, shower, and Simpsons. My period is over but not prepping for a hookup tonight. I only shave my arms since I’m wearing a sleeveless top. No Nair tonight.
9:12 p.m.: Meet MySpace buddy in Union Square. He taps me on my shoulder and waves. He’s got a preppy/Poindexter look. I can stomach a meal sitting across a table from him. We hop in a cab to Old Homestead Steakhouse. I let him order for me, something I never do.
11:50 p.m.: Head over to Arthur’s Tavern. He holds my umbrella over my head. Not sure what to do with all the chivalry. I take my umbrella back.
1:53 a.m.: Still drinking. Cocktail waitress is looking extra sexy. Fantasize about watching her and the guitar player together. He agrees that would be hot. I ask to see the tattoo on her stomach. She shows me a tat I didn’t even know she had.
2:36 a.m.: He hails a cab for me. I thank him for the evening and I give him a hug. He didn’t make any sexual advances all night. I felt safe drinking like a fish with him. Plead with the cab driver not to drive too fast if he doesn’t want a mess in his back seat.
3:01 a.m.: Rush into my apartment, kneel at the porcelain throne. Text MySpace buddy that I’m home. Strip down to my thong right there in the foyer, and decide to crash on my couch propped up on pillows. Don’t wanna risk choking on my own vomit.
DAY FIVE
3:00 p.m.: Spend all day on the couch. There’s no point putting on clothes now.
6:26 p.m.: MySpace buddy calls me to talk business. He thinks he can make money off me and wants me to get my writing out there.
9:12 p.m.: Scoop up my married guy friend on 14th Street platform. Head uptown for dinner at Mofongo Depot. Tell him about MySpace buddy. He’s impressed.
11:30 p.m.: Get complimentary dessert from chef and get to meet him. Can’t help grinning like a Cheshire cat. He’s so cute, well spoken, and his food tastes so good.
12:54 a.m.: Resist urge to text MySpace buddy to see if he’s up.
1:09 a.m.: Watch Katie Morgan on Sex Toys on HBO. Distracted by her bad boob job and squeaky voice, but still turned on.
1:35 a.m.: Masturbate using my G-spot vibrator. Attempt to watch Shop Erotic to see the latest toys but too tired. DVR it instead.
DAY SIX
10:21 a.m.: E-mail from annullment guy. He’s glad we’re enjoying our weekends, and maybe one day we can enjoy them together.
11:30 p.m.: Slow day. Blast booty music (Flo Rida, Petey Pablo, Missy Elliot, Chingy) and old school (Love Hangover, TSOP) and dance around. I get turned on looking at my reflection.
DAY SEVEN
9:43 a.m.: Get e-mail from Adultmaven.com. They ask my porn preferences so they can send me DVDs.
12:06 p.m.: Chat with co-worker about my weekend. She tells me I deserve to be treated like a queen and to go for it with my MySpace buddy. But I think he’s just a friend?
2:03 p.m.: MySpace buddy e-mails me about hopefully going to a show next week.
4:23 p.m.: Finally get outside to breathe. Been crazy busy all afternoon at work. DHL guy hugs me and my fashionista girlfriend. Cute.
TOTALS: Zero acts of intercourse, fellatio, or cunnilingus; three acts of masturbation with a vibrator; one platonic date in Union Square; one vicious hangover day spent on the couch.
