The Fashion Freelancer on the Prowl

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Once a week, Daily Intel looks behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Fashion Freelancer on the Prowl; 31, female, Park Slope, straight, in an open relationship that probably shouldn’t be open.

DAY ONE
10:32 a.m.: Numbly stumble into the bathroom upon waking up. Open the door to find a complete stranger toweling off in my bathroom. Am so tired that I don’t even consider the fantasy attached to this occurrence, and wander back into my room, unaffected.
11:01 a.m.: Talking with cute mystery man, who is a friend of a friend who crashed last night, and is gay. I’ve just woken up and barely know my name, but somehow my three-way tryst from a few months prior has come up in conversation. The boys are impressed.

11:02 a.m.: Realize that my vibrator and lube are in plain view on my nightstand, along with a condom wrapper from the night before with the Current Man I’m seeing who, for all intents and purposes, is my boyfriend-except-when-I-have-that-non-monogamous-desire.
2:37 p.m.: Run into an old friend from school in the middle of a bookstore. There is no one whom I wanted to fuck more during my last semester. Naturally, he looks better than ever.
4:03 p.m.: Good God, this city makes me so fucking horny. Walking through the LES, I can t keep my eyes in my head.
4:35 p.m.: Meet Current Man at work. Sit down in my short dress and that problem where he gets hard at the drop of a dime surfaces again.
7:14 p.m.: Back in Park Slope and have to be on the other side of Brooklyn in fifteen minutes, but I want to fuck. Take off my panties and lie on the bed, dress and heels still on, and demand that he takes me.
7:42 p.m.: Oops, look at the time.
10:31 p.m.: Come home to a very poorly executed flirtation IM from the 31-year-old ex-boss whom I sleep with on occasion. Best sex of my life, easily. Thank you, would cum again.

DAY TWO
10:01 a.m.: Current Man's alarm is going off (will never forgive him for a Rick Astley wake-up call) so I grab him under the sheets and start stroking to jolt him to attention. He’s always a zombie upon waking up, but I still haven't let go of the idea that I can rouse him to morning sex.
10:02 a.m.: Oh, fuck this. He went into the shower. I’m an independent woman, so I will take care of myself.
10:14 a.m.: He walks in as I’m coming. That’s what you get, boy.
9:40 p.m.: Check an online profile I keep on a site from which I've met good people. Return fewer than 10 percent of messages I get usually, but reply to a cute 27-year-old to keep me busy.

DAY THREE
8:58 a.m.: Find myself fantasizing about a 34-year-old with whom I have intermittent, mind-blowing phone sex (I had no idea that there was such a thing) and to whom I gave the best blow job of my (and his) life. Get turned on while riding the train.
2:55 p.m.: Find myself fantasizing about sleeping with Mr. 34 and being completely controlled by him ... again. The open-cubicle floor plan drives a girl crazy with dirty scenarios.
3:31 p.m.: If I watch that 40-something from advertising check out that blonde intern one more time today, I think my head is going to implode.
5:30 p.m.: Home early from work. Checking my e-mail and start idly touching myself until friend comes over and we go out to dinner.
9:14 p.m.: Horny, as usual. Call Current Man, who is at his place in Brooklyn, and have quick phone sex with him, finishing at the same time.
9:33 p.m.: Still throbbing post-orgasm.
9:42 p.m.: Still still throbbing post-orgasm.

DAY FOUR
9:13 a.m.: Shower. Think about how many men I’ve had in showers. Can come up with three names, but not sure if it’s the real number.
9:32 a.m.: IM from an ex-hook-up-almost-boyfriend-but-bad-timing. It has apparently become the week of long-lost hookups and Interweb flirtation?
5:26 p.m.: Lay my head down for a nap and start to fantasize a little about a television character of a series I’ve recently started watching. Would like. To fuck. Him hard. Have never done that before in my life ... am I 12?
8:25 p.m.: Meet Current Man in Williamsburg and head back to my neighborhood.
10:10 p.m.: Realize that all of the condoms are at his place, save for one in my wallet, a brand of which he doesn't approve. Perpetually awkward couple-purchasing-prophylactics-together scenario in T-minus ... oh, yep, there it goes.
12:22 a.m.: Tell him I want him. Clothes off, oral sex given and received.
12:45 a.m.: IM sound from my computer. I'm currently busy, but I have a feeling who it is at this hour. Continue deliciously illicit activities which turn into both intercourse and mutual masturbation.
1:50 a.m.: After we finish, check IM. I was spot-on; it is Mr. 34. And we all know what 2 a.m. IMs mean.

DAY FIVE
9:28 a.m.: Took a personal day at work and Current Man is off.
10:30 a.m.: Look up an alternative porn star who was Current Man’s recent client at work. Watch a few of her videos, mostly die laughing.
11 a.m.: After food, I want sex again. Drop my clothes on the stairs while descending. We fuck longer and louder than usual.
2:30 p.m.: After outdoor activities, shower together. It’s totally casual and nice. And he looks particularly gorgeous today.
4 p.m.: Lunch and then long, romantic walk in park. We get strangely emotional, talking about what we’ve meant to each other since we’ve met. Truly makes me feel fortunate to have him in my life, and wish I could stop behaving like a selfish 9-year-old and fully commit to him.
6:15 p.m.: Back home and I want it again. Slip panties off under my dress, start touching. He starts to go down on me, but we are called to dinner.
8:35 p.m.: On the train. He’s sitting and I grab the bar and hang in front of him. See him get hard. Family of 15 billion get on the train.
10:10 p.m.: We both express intentions to have sex with each other, but he’s out like a light by 10:30. I fear I am married.

DAY SIX
9:12 a.m.: Ever since that subway flirtation on the train turned me into the subject of a Missed Connection a few weeks ago, I can't help thinking I m going to run into the guy every day on my commute to work.
5:11 p.m.: Conversation with my female best friend over AIM turns to sex. Informs me of the correct terminology for my subway etiquette: Eye-fuck. Take note.
5:14 p.m.: As per the nature of the chat, she promptly sends a message to her boyfriend that says "FYI we're having sex when you get home," and I realize that this is among the reasons why I love her.
12:14 a.m.: After two episodes of watching gorgeous TV star have sex with gorgeous TV girlfriend, I retire to my bed, in which I essentially haven’t slept alone in almost two weeks. Cuddle the living Jesus out of my body pillow.

DAY SEVEN
8:15 a.m.: Short, high-waisted black skirt goes on. Vaguely recall that I had a dream about Mr. 34 last night. Hope he signs on today for round two (million).
12:25 p.m.: Web comic inspires an IM discussion with an old friend/hookup about the perpetual mystique of undoing a woman’s bra. I've come across perhaps three men in my entire sexual existence that can do the one-and-done one-handed, blind snap-off.
4:20 p.m.: Call Current Man about our evening plans. He has had a severe allergic reaction to something, and the steroids treating him are making him perpetually tired and cranky. Cancel dinner and sleepover partly because of his medication-induced demeanor.
9:41 p.m.: Massive headache. Tomorrow night is record-release show for 27-year-old hipster ex-hookup’s band. Played strip Wii Tennis with him a few weeks ago (have not told anyone about this detail, because frankly, it’s fucking embarrassing), which ended in good oral, so crawl into bed with book to rest my brain, for tomorrow’s a new day.

Totals: Three acts of intercourse; two acts of cunnilingus; one act of fellatio; two acts of masturbation; one act of phone sex.