Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week: the Busy Consultant Spreading Her Sexual Wings, 23, female, Upper East Side, straight, single.
DAY ONE
7 a.m.: Wake up to dirty text message sent at 2 a.m. last night, from an Older Client that I have been sleeping with since we met at a work-sponsored function last week.
7:45 a.m.: Get to work, feel bad for not responding, but after too many vodkas last night, I just passed out.
10:30 a.m.: Receive follow-up message from Older Client. He is worried he might have gone too far with the last text message and that is why I didn’t respond. Tell him not to worry. I am pretty new to this whole racy-messaging thing, but I have to say, I like it.
1 p.m.: Lunch with No. 1 Friend who also happens to be male, a co-worker, and the only person with whom I share the details of my sex life. I’ve recently left a four-year relationship with a very nice, very sensible banker whose idea of a fulfilling sex life was lying down and saying “hop on.” He was, for all intents and purposes, my first, and since it ended I’ve been actively trying to find out what I’ve been missing. I’m calling it my “sexperiment.”
7:30 p.m.: Leave work. Think of sending another dirty text to Older Client but I pass out instead.
DAY TWO
2:30 p.m.: Text from Older Client. He is out of town, but wants me to sleep over at his place when he’s back this Sunday. Seems a little early on to be planning for that, and he does live all the way downtown, but I give in.
7 p.m.: Obsessing about own life. I’m coming into my own, by sleeping with people as far out of my house as possible. It’s a very classic NYC story.
8 p.m.: I think the Older Client is exactly what I need. Someone I actually like, who is nice and can push me to try new things. Still have that nagging worry that he wants a relationship, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.
DAY THREE
10 a.m.: Get a text from Ex’s Best Friend. When things went south, I somehow managed to keep all the friends. I like to think I am just more fun, but more likely it is because my ex works all the time. [Ex’s Best Friend] is coming into town from D.C. tonight with three of his friends and wants to hang out.
9:30 p.m.: Dinner at home with No. 1 Friend. We cover the usual topics: Why are women so crazy? Why am I so shitty at showing my emotions? How exactly can he get a girl to wear a ball gag? As usual, useful suggestions all around
10:30 p.m.: Change and come out showing some boob and a lot of thigh. No. 1 calls me out and asks if it is going to be one of those nights? Deny it. But yes, it will be.
11:30 p.m.: Head downtown to meet Ex’s BF. He must be happy to see me because he is touching my leg under the table. Must admit that lately I have caught myself wondering what it would be like to sleep with him.
2:30 a.m.:After far too many drinks, end up back uptown at my apartment with Ex’s BF and another one of his friends. Somehow I have gotten myself involved in a bizarre ménage-à-dance party.
3:15 a.m.: Ex’s BF awkwardly decides that he and the other guy are going to leave and get another beer. A little disappointed after all the leg touching, but figure it is for the best and get into bed.
3:30 a.m.: Before I can even turn off the lights, get a call from Ex’s BF: He is downstairs, alone, and wants to spend the night. I let him in and he makes a big show of wanting to sleep on the couch. Apparently that just meant he wanted to have sex on the pullout, because two minutes later he is pulling all my clothes off.
3:45 a.m.: Proceed to have drunk sex. It’s rough, somewhat unpleasant, and silent. Really silent.
DAY FOUR
10 a.m.: Wake up in the morning next to Ex’s BF. It’s awkward. Especially seeing as he is heading out to the Ex’s vacation house that afternoon.
10:15 a.m.: Relieved when he leaves. Thank God he had the tact to leave quickly. Lie in bed deciding if I should feel bad about what happened. Decide not to.
Noon Walk across town for lunch with No. 1 Friend. He finds the whole situation hilarious, further confirming my decision not to feel bad about it.
9 p.m.: Decide to stay in and avoid potential sex-with-three-guys-in-one-weekend scenario.
DAY FIVE
Noon: Get up, shower, dress. Realize I am nervous about afternoon date and sleepover with Older Client. That is a lot of quality time.
3:30 p.m.: Take the subway downtown, meet him at a bar. He looks better than I remembered and I’m feeling better about the whole quality-time thing already.
4:30 p.m.: Head back to his place to drop off my things; within minutes he has me pushed up against the kitchen sink and is pulling my clothes off. He finishes loudly; I don’t. He seems disappointed. I take that as a good sign that hopefully he will be willing to make it up to me later.
5:30 p.m.: Get dressed and go for a walk. He wants to hold hands. Not my thing, but he’s so damn nice I feel like I am an asshole if I say no.
8 p.m.: After a drink and a discussion of his past relationships, I get the distinct sense he is looking for a girlfriend. I decide the best thing to rectify this situation is to head home and have sex immediately.
8:30 p.m.: Even hotter the second time, this time on the floor.
11:30 p.m.: After some TV we get in bed. He seems genuinely surprised I want to go again. I guess this is where the age difference shows.
12:30 p.m.: Ready to fall asleep, happy and satisfied.
12:31 p.m.: Shit. He wants to spoon. While I can appreciate the ten-minute postcoital embrace, anything longer just seems uncomfortable. Settle in for a long sleepless night, as I just can’t bring myself to have a look-but-don’t-cuddle talk. Seems to freak guys out.
DAY SIX
7 a.m.: Wake up early to get to work, he walks me out.
7:30 a.m.: There are far more hot guys on the uptown train than I usually see on my downtown train. See at least three guys with suits and side parts that are totally my type. Remind myself that the last person that I dated who was “my type” thought that foreplay was watching HBO before bed. Not so attracted anymore.
10 a.m.: Get up from my desk to get some much-needed coffee, realize I am little sore, and smile to myself remembering last night. Perhaps I should start a yoga regimen to coincide with my more active extracurricular life.
7:30 p.m.: Out for drinks with friends, get a text from very attractive guy from out of town that I hooked up with about a month ago. He is going to be in town tomorrow for work and wants to hang out.
DAY SEVEN
Noon: At work, looking at handsome Out-of-Towner’s Facebook profile. Realize this makes me either a stalker or pathetic, so I stop.
2 p.m.: Occupy myself thinking about last time he was in the city. I broke my no-sex-in-the-morning rule (I know, I know, I’m a work in progress) and we went at it three times. I haven’t seen that rule since.
7:30 p.m.: Go home to change before meeting up with him. Remember he is a boob man and put on a lower-cut shirt.
9 p.m.:Still waiting for him to call. What the hell. Try to figure out at what point it becomes a booty call.
10 p.m.: He calls and sounds drunk, asks me to come meet him at a bar. Consider not going. Remember how hot he is and get in a cab.
11 p.m.: Show up at the bar. He is in fact drunk, and with three equally drunk friends.
1 a.m.: They decide to head back to their hotel suite for a nightcap. I’m the only girl in the group, but damn it, he is attractive.
1:15 a.m.: The two friends go out on the balcony to smoke. Out-of-Towner starts kissing me and pulls me into his room.
1:40 a.m.: I realize he is drunk and I am sober and this is not going to be fun. Start to mention that I really should be getting home. He is not convinced.
1:55 a.m.: Crap. Now we are half-naked. Not sure how I am going to get out of it at this point. Start putting my clothes back on before it really is too late.
2:10 a.m.: He doesn’t seem too happy, but at least he is a gentleman and walks me downstairs and puts me in a cab. He later texts apologizing for being so drunk and says that I was right to leave.
TOTALS: Zero acts of genuine communication with lovers; dozens of acts of texting potential partners; one aborted sexual encounter with drunken Out-of-Towner; four acts of intercourse, one with Ex’s Best Friend, three with Older Client.
