Once a week, Daily Intel looks behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Polyamorous Paralegal: 26, female, East Village, single(ish), straight .
7:50 a.m.: Wake up inappropriately excited for Friday. Have no definite plans but am hoping for a booty call from B, my lover from the Bronx. He’s been a lover for nearly six months and we have no desire to date each other. But the sex is oh-so good.
10 a.m.: Make plans with work friends to go out for happy hour. Which usually turns into happy six hours.
1:03 p.m.: Receive a text from a guy I’m seeing, the One Who Cries. Seriously. I’m really not into him at all, but I have trouble telling people I don’t like them. Ignore his text.
5:38 p.m.: Beer! At last! Quickly down a few pitchers with co-workers. Bartender buys us a round of tequila shots. Unattractive dorky guy at the end of the bar sends over another round of tequila shots. Am feeling pretty good.
10 p.m.: Head to another bar. Some decent-looking guys here, although many give off an overgrown-frat-boy vibe. Totally not interested. Considering going home.
11:45 p.m.: At last! A text from B. He wants me to come up and meet him at a bar. I quickly agree.
2:30 a.m.: After some barhopping in the Bronx, we go back to his place. Clothes start coming off immediately. He’s such a good kisser. I remember how much he likes to be dominated. We’re both really drunk. After three hours and two broken condoms, we finally decide to go to sleep.
9 a.m.: Wake up to B kissing my neck. He knows my weakness. We have amazing sex and go back to sleep.
1 p.m.: Wake up. As I’m gathering my clothes I notice the pile of condom wrappers on the floor. Can’t help but giggle.
2:30 p.m.: Arrive home. Decide a nap is in order.
7 p.m.: Head to Brooklyn for a party at a friend’s apartment.
10:15 p.m.: Chat with male model who, it turns out, is from my hometown. He’s beautiful, but dumb. I know, cliche. I decide I’m too sore from the previous night to pursue anything.
2:55 a.m.: Am happy to be in my own bed. Alone.
1:30 p.m.: Make plans to spend day with the One Who Cries. I wish I could fall for him.
6:30 p.m.: After hours of walking around the city together, we finally get home. Am annoyed that he kept trying to hold my hand in public.
8 p.m.: The One Who Cries keeps pestering me for sex. I finally oblige. It’s average at best. I think of B the whole time.
Midnight: Fall asleep wishing I had my bed to myself. The One Who Cries keeps trying to cuddle. I want to punch him. Decide that I must tell him that I don’t want to be with him. But afraid he will cry.
7:50 a.m.: It’s rainy and gross and I don’t want to go to work. I hate spring.
1:15 p.m.: See my work crush at lunch. He’s adorable and has great hair. I’ve never said a word to him.
8 p.m.: Home. Start watching Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Javier Bardem reminds me of my ex-boyfriend. I decide to call him. End up telling him I miss him. Stupid.
11:40 p.m.: Dust off the ol’ vibrator and think of ex the entire time. Orgasms come easily just by thinking of him.
11:52 p.m.: Lunesta-induced coma.
9:10 a.m.: See totally hot guy on train. He keeps looking at me. I wonder if I know him. Decide I would remember someone that attractive. Still looking at me. I smile. He smiles. He gets off train. I wonder if he’ll look for me on Craigslist “Missed Connections.”
1:12 p.m.: See work crush again. He walks in the room just as I’m laughing hysterically. I wonder if this is a good thing or a bad thing. He probably didn’t even notice. I am suddenly excited about after-work function next week. Maybe I’ll actually have a conversation with him.
2:14 p.m.: Receive a text from my former stalker. He wants to have sex. We always had good sex when we were dating, but then we stopped dating and he went crazy. He claims he’s better now. I shudder at the thought of actually considering saying yes.
5:11 p.m.: Check Craigslist “Missed Connections” for train guy. Immediately realize how sad this is.
8 a.m.: I wake up from a hot dream about work crush. The reason I don’t talk to him is because I think the fantasy has to be better than reality. He’s probably a total douche. But a hot douche.
1:30 p.m.: Leave work to meet up with my roommate to have drinks. In the middle of the day. On Wednesday. Yeahhh.
5 p.m.: Go to taping of cable comedy show with roommate. I kinda wouldn’t mind making out with the comedy-show employee who keeps giving me dirty looks. What did I do to him? Decide his anger would probably translate into some hot sex.
11:56 p.m.: Can’t fall asleep. Lunesta is failing me. Log into IM and chat with ex-boyfriend. End up sending some not-so-innocent photos to him, upon his request. Ugh, I miss him.
10:08 a.m.: Decide today is the day. I have to get rid of the One Who Cries.
1:39 p.m.:Tell friends at lunch that I’m getting rid of him. They tell me he’s going to cry. I do not want to deal with this today.
8:20 p.m.: Chatting with friend online. We hooked up when we were both home for Christmas. It could have been great if we had been sober. He is suggesting that we both meet up in our hometown this summer. I consider this only because he slightly resembles John Mayer.
8:45 p.m.: Somehow the instant-messaging convo with the Christmas hookup turns into full-on cybersex.
11:30 p.m.: Trying to fall asleep but distracted by thoughts of sex with John Mayer. I wonder if he makes those horrible/sexy faces during sex.
Midnight: Realize that I forgot to break up with the One Who Cries. Tomorrow. Seriously, tomorrow.
TOTALS: Three sessions of intercourse with two partners; one act of masturbation with vibrator; one act of cybersex; two interactions with ex-boyfriends; zero real-life interactions with work crush.