Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Woman Who Can’t Resist Post-Shower Sex: Female, 23, Ontario, freelance writer/editor, queer, in a relationship.
5:40 p.m. My lover comes home from work wearing a blue button-down that always makes me melt. We are both femme, but I am attracted to lots of gender presentations and I love the way she dresses for her new office job. She has brought me flowers. Who brings flowers? I kiss her dramatically and wish I’d thought to greet her at the door with a scotch.
6 p.m. I am starting to make dinner when she comes out of the bathroom, dripping wet from her shower and wearing only a towel. She leads me to the living room and pushes me down onto the pullout couch we’ve been using for a bed since we moved in together two months ago. The people in the street sound like they’re in the room with us, but their voices fade away with the feel of her skin beneath mine, cool from the shower. I love the goose bumps that form across her breasts every time the fan turns towards us. I go down on her and she tastes a little like her and a little like soap. She comes quickly, with only two of my fingers inside her.
6:52 p.m. We lie in bed facing each other but trying not to touch because of the heat. I am about to get up when she kisses me and drags me into the middle of the bed. I tell her I still have my period a little. She tells me she doesn’t care. I ask her to go get our strap-on, and she does. We have sex with her towel beneath us, my vibrator between us, and wetness everywhere.
7:40 p.m. We make dinner — salmon and asparagus. We both decide that sex and then dinner and then dessert is the right order. We have frozen blueberries with maple syrup that I lick from her fingers.
11:30 p.m. We watch a surprisingly sweet movie, Away We Go, about a pregnant couple. Afterwards, I notice my lover is teary. She is one year older than the woman in the movie, and I know she wants kids. I’m teary too, but it’s because I am ten years younger than she is, and don’t.
9:30 a.m. I wake up to my lover gnawing on my shoulder, and when I try to move, she spanks me. I have recently discovered I really like being spanked, but she doesn’t do it hard enough. We make out for a little but it’s already too hot to want to touch and I have a lot to do today. She says I look distracted. I don’t say I was thinking about work.
10:15 a.m. I make coffee (me) and tea (her) and go into the office to work while she gets dressed and makes pancakes. When she wanders in to check her e-mail, I reflexively hide the smut on my screen, and then remember she knows I sometimes write about sex.
10:25 a.m. I abandon work to help with breakfast, which is burning. My lover is not impressed with the stove — her old apartment had a gas one, and ceramic top does not cut it. We eat on the balcony, in the sunshine. I convince her that the new apartment is better. I don’t say that even though my last apartment lacked both a proper stove and more than one room, I miss it sometimes.
Noon In the office, I change into a bikini and pack up to work on the balcony. My lover ogles me, but I make her turn back to her laptop. I hate when we both have to work on weekends, but she has a project due.
12:35 p.m. To procrastinate, I check the IKEA website to see if the bed we want is in stock yet, and discover that it will be tomorrow. I can’t tell if I feel relieved or stressed. Our rent is also due tomorrow.
3:40 p.m. She comes out onto the balcony and shows me pictures she’s taken of me through the screen door. In most of them, I look topless. She says that was the idea.
9 p.m. We get home from dinner, she takes her laptop into the living room to work and I go outside to finish working. The chair is still warm from the sun and I notice I’m starting to feel wet, but I don’t feel like sex and my lover is occupying the only soft surface inside.
9:45 p.m. I take an evening shower and masturbate using the jets. I loved doing this when I lived alone but now that I live with someone having some time to myself when we’re together feels even better. I work from home and even though I am technically alone for most of the day, it’s not the same. I wonder what I’ll do when the heat wave ends and showering twice a day is less of an option. When I come out of the bathroom, she raises her eyebrows at me until I blush, and then turns back to her computer.
11:30 p.m. Spooning and bed.
12:45 p.m. We blow off IKEA for groceries, laundry, and spending the day outside. We argue off and on throughout the morning, which started happening only since we’ve moved in together and which feels alternatively banal and devastating. Most of the time, the things I worry about — the move, our jobs, our age difference, monogamy, the future — don’t matter, but sometimes they do. When we make up in the kitchen an hour later, they don’t again.
10:15 p.m. It is a holiday weekend, and so there are fireworks. We planned to skip them and the accompanying hordes of zombie tourists, but when we notice we can see the show through a gap in the trees we stand on the front balcony to watch. The lights are off in every building around us. I stand behind her, run my hands under her shirt, and kiss the back of her neck. I start to unzip her pants when the show ends and the sudden traffic in the street reminds us that we’re in full view.
10:40 p.m. We go inside and remember that the bed-couch isn’t made. She pours each of us a glass of wine and says she needs a shower.
11 p.m. I make the bed up with clean sheets and she gets in, dropping her towel on the floor behind her. She says she’s tired but pulls my mouth to hers anyway. All I want is my fingers inside her and to go down on her. We get to work wrecking the sheets all over again.
9:30 a.m. Wake up on my side in my lover’s arms with her fingers on my clit. It is a supremely good way to wake up. She turns me over, orders me to keep my hands above my head, and uses three fingers. She knows I usually need my vibrator to come and makes me beg before she lets me use it. I love when she gets toppy. Long-weekend Mondays are delightful.
11:24 a.m. I go into the office to work. When she walks by to make tea, I ask her if it’s too early to want another orgasm. She says yes. Sometimes our sex drives are less well-matched than other times. Every so often I think about introducing a conversation about a “don’t ask don’t tell” arrangement, but I know she is into monogamy and now is not the time.
1:14 p.m. I go out to get coffee and ogle everything female or queer-looking on the way, which, admittedly, is only three people. The barista at the coffee shop is my favourite, as much for her eyes as for her espresso. I feel gratified when she ogles me right back.
10:30 p.m. Shower orgasms and bed.
8:01 a.m. I jump awake in a panic, thinking the alarm didn’t go off. I realize that my lover isn’t in bed next to me, and it must’ve done off, I just couldn’t hear it over the construction down the street. I get to the door as my lover is about to leave and kiss her good-bye.
8:03 a.m. I arrive at work sans shirt and pants. The home office, which I use every day and she uses when she has to work on weekends, catches the morning sun, and it won’t be cool enough to bother getting dressed until late morning.
3:19 p.m. I am on a deadline, but contemplate taking a break to masturbate. Getting off will help my focus, right?
3:21 p.m. Right. It takes me less than two minutes to come.
7:45 p.m. We lie on the tester beds in IKEA, completely ignored by all the straight elderly people around us. Looking at my phone, I discover that you’re supposed to lie on a bed you might buy for fifteen minutes in the position you find most comfortable. I suggest trying this, but my lover says it would be inappropriate to have my head between her legs in the middle of the store.
9:30 p.m. I check the mail on the way home and am greeted by a paycheque and a new sex toy. She goes to shower. I am officially terrible at not having sex with people who have just showered.
10:39 a.m. The bed arrives, and even though it’s still in pieces, I am already eyeing the box like it’s one great big sex toy, which, in a way, it is. I decide that it will be fun to ignore my deadlines and put the bed together. It has a lot of bars (the better to restrain you to, my dear) and leaves barely enough room for us to get in and out of the room. Maneuvering the mattress onto it seems to involve a new dimension, but it is here, and it’s my lover’s and mine, and it finally feels like we’ve moved in.
5:45 p.m. My lover comes home and sees first the boxes everywhere, and then the bed. She asks whether it is hip-height like we suspected. I slip my hands under her skirt and we go to find out.
7:25 a.m. I wake up with the explicit feeling that I was just having a really good sex dream, but I can’t quite remember it. I do remember the person’s eyes, which were brown, and their tongue, which was talented. I try to make out with my lover on her way out the door, but she is already late. I go back to bed immediately and masturbate with my g-spot vibrator twice, thinking about someone who is not my girlfriend. I am not fully convinced the toy ever actually hits my g-spot, but it holds a charge for hours and is delightfully purple.
5:35 p.m. It is too hot for sex. It is too hot for thinking about sex. I luxuriate in the sun, the feeling of superiority I normally get from working outside ruined somewhat by the sounds of construction season.
5:50 p.m.: My lover comes home, and kisses me, and for just a second, nothing else matters.
TOTALS: Three acts of post-shower sex; two in-shower orgasms; one almost-act of balcony sex; one barista ogled; one sex dream.