Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Bisexual Finance Marketing Guy Recently Out of a Straight Relationship, 26, male, Gramercy, bisexual, recently single.
6:38 a.m.: Take out the computer to get some inspiration. Roaming through files and deciding over straight porn or gay porn; my collection is 40 percent to 60 percent, respectively.
6:40 a.m.: I go for two guys and a girl. I was gay in college; I messed around one night and discovered I liked pussy. It was one of the best sexual experiences I’ve ever had since I’d only fooled around with guys in the past. Vaginal sex is much easier than anal sex, since it’s self-lubricated.
12:10 p.m.: Lunch at Bryant Park by myself. Bracing myself for the final exchange (leftover clothes, stuffed animals, pictures) with the ex-girlfriend of four years. Haven’t seen her since she moved out three months ago. We were working toward marriage until one day she informed me she needed her space. I got home and all her stuff was gone, most notably the flat-screen TV. I want her back so badly and want to continue our life together. Haven’t had sex since then.
4 p.m.: Starting to get an anxiety attack about the final exchange. Should I give a hug? A kiss? My hair is a bit long, maybe I should leave work early to get my hair cut. I do.
4:23 p.m.: Receive e-mail from ex that says, “Please respect my boundaries. After today’s meeting, I don’t want to hear or see you indefinitely.” Bitch! You’re the one who wanted to move out and called me an unbearable housewife. So bitter.
6 p.m.: Union Square. Ring doorbell. Gorgeous loft space, and she is gorgeous too. We exchange bags. We shared clothing, and I’m upset that I’m losing four T-shirts.
6:40 p.m.: We start making out. I think I initiated the first kiss. I am fully hard and ready to go in. She says she’s on the pill. My body says yes, but my brain says no. I say I have to go. I’m so proud of myself for having self-control because if I did go all the way, it would’ve made things worse.
7:20 p.m.: Grocery shopping at Trader Joe's. The cashier asks me where I got the badass teddy bear from. I say it’s from a breakup. Leave Trader Joe's with two bags of groceries and no more baggage. Feel hopeful.
2:23 a.m.: Cannot fall asleep. Wonder when she went on the pill. Been trying to convince her to go on birth control for years. She’s probably fucking other people.
3 a.m.: Five new messages from OK Cupid. I’m “gay” here. No one really believes me when I say I’m bi. Most people think I’m confused. Set up two dates. This online dating thing is a full-time job.
6 a.m.: Reach for the computer. Let’s go for gay porn today. Masturbate in bed.
7 p.m.: Gym. I’ve been working out hard-core since the breakup to get my body back in shape. New York has a hypercompetitive dating market and you need to be at your tip-top shape to compete for the good ones. Go for a steam. Spot a cute guy and we quickly (really quickly) jack each other off.
8 p.m.: Meet up with J, a lawyer and guy from OK Cupid. I’ve been seeing a new person every week, a good rebound technique. He’s cute, with long-term-relationship credentials (good family; enjoys the outdoors; likes drinking, food, and bad television).
9:20 p.m.: Four drinks. Am starting to get drunk. Start stroking his leg. I’d love some tonight. I never sleep with anyone on a first date, though — a bit conservative.
9:23 p.m.: Find out J is going to the same charity event I’m going to tomorrow — with another guy I’ve been seeing for two weeks. Need to be strategic.
10:45 p.m.: Go for kiss, but get a hug. Bad sign. He says we should hang out again.
11 p.m.: Call my safety, a close friend, to confirm that I am alive and did not get murdered from my online date.
6:15 a.m.: Hung-over. Masturbate in shower.
6:30 a.m.: Eat breakfast over the sink. Still getting used to living alone. I hate sitting at the dining-room table eating by myself, so I recently started eating this way so I don’t have to do dishes.
7 a.m.: Horny and checking everyone out on the subway. I need to have sex. Still adjusting from having sex every day to having no sex at all.
10:47 a.m.: Starbucks. Strike up a conversation about advertising with a girl while in line. Buy her a tall skinny vanilla latte and give her my card. Men are so much easier to date than women because there is less fuss.
12:10 p.m.: Receive a text from Starbucks girl with contact info. Score!
7 p.m.: At charity event with date. Spot J. Go up and say hi. Say I’m going to enjoy the night with friends, but we’ll see each other next week. He says yes! I go to the far side of the room, hoping he won’t see me.
9:26 p.m.: Out-of-control drunk, making out with date. At open bar I always drink like I’ve never seen alcohol before. Hungry and leave event.
4:53 a.m.: Regain consciousness. Wonder how I got home. Pants, wallet, cell phone found.
6 a.m.: Muscles are so sore. Dehydration or working out?
6:10 a.m.: In shower. Decide against jerking off. Flashbacks always surprise me: Made out with date. Had dinner at Thai restaurant. Made out with date again. Cab.
6:25 a.m.: More online dating messages. I hate the back-and-forth. Just meet me and let’s talk.
12:15 p.m.: Meet up with Starbucks girl for lunch date. She reminds me of my ex and I really dig her. She’s skinny and petite. I’d never date a masculine woman, because then I’d just date a guy.
1 p.m.: She does a pause. Forgot, I need to pay for the meal. That’s the difference between gay dates and straight dates. The guy always pays for the meal in the straight world. Fifty-fifty in the gay world.
10:30 p.m.: Drinking at the apartment with gay boys. I’ve known them for years, and gone through so much with them. My ex never appreciated my gay friends. Decide to break the code and have sex tonight.
11:37 p.m.: A boy starts dancing against me. Cute. We start dancing.
12:15 a.m.: Light up a cigarette outside, and we start talking. He’s in town for an internship. He asks when I graduated. I answer, and he says, “Oh, that’s when I graduated high school.” Scene. Moving on.
6 a.m.: Not sure if I can work a full day. My liver is dying from alcohol consumption.
7 a.m.: Eating breakfast. BlackBerry shows back-to-back client meetings until lunch. Masturbate to help me focus.
Noon: Gym. Spinning class to sweat out the alcohol. Strike up conversation with guy next to me. Gaydar says not gay.
1 p.m.: E-mail J to set up a date for next week.
1:10 p.m.: He responds that he’s not interested. He must’ve seen the makeout session with the other date. Decide not to send him a response with an apology.
8 p.m.: Dinner with M, a guy from speed dating two weeks ago. Yummy, his muscles are bulging out of his shirt today.
11:30 p.m.: Opening my apartment door, M starts grabbing me. Lights not on yet, rips off my clothes. Grab condoms from bathroom and have bathroom sex. Drought over, hallelujah.
10:30 a.m.: Slept for eights hours for the first time in three months. Sex and a cuddle buddy is the best sleeping aid ever. Fall back asleep.
11:10 a.m.: M rubs my hard-on and we have another go.
1 p.m.: Shopping with the boys.
3 p.m.: Peer pressure gets the best of me. Drinking begins again. I’m starting to wonder if I’m drinking because I’m sad.
3 a.m.: Eating wontons in Chinatown. Spot a group of 40s Gaysians. We all wonder if we’ll be 40 and still dancing the night away. I miss being coupled. I hope I’m back in a long-term relationship soon.
1 p.m.: At a parade, with water bottles full of alcohol. Screaming like 12-year-old girls.
7 p.m.: At a pier dance in Chelsea. Drunk and dancing. Grab five asses on the way to the bar. Everyone is so hot and without their shirts on, but I’m not interested tonight.
10:30 p.m.: Feel hopeful and optimistic to be in love again, whether it is with a man or woman.
TOTALS: One tortured makeout session with ex, one hug, one promising drunk makeout session, one act of bathroom sex, five asses pinched.