The 22-Year-Old Woman Having Creepy Sex Dreams

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Once a week, Daily Intelligencer takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the 22-Year-Old Woman Having Creepy Sex Dreams: Female, 22, London, writer, bisexual, in a relationship.

DAY ONE

8:30 a.m. My partner, who I've been dating for almost six months and living with for almost two, and I have been at the conference for sex writers. Now we're back home and I’m obviously having convention drop. So is my partner, but I think he’s accepted it already. He’s fast asleep and I’m up, my brain buzzing with words and sentences and things that happened during the weekend. I feel odd, almost fully erotically charged. Do I want to wake him up and fool around? I think I do ...

10 a.m. This is going great! Con-drop, what con-drop?

2 p.m. I definitely have con-drop. I realize this on the way back from the supermarket, when I start to hyperventilate and cry. I come home and sit at the foot of the bed as he strokes my hair. I haven’t even eaten breakfast yet.

6 p.m. We wake up from a nap. I needed that nap, and I think I need several more. I’m horny, but in the most distant way possible. It’s like my clit is there, but on a break from any sexual proceedings.

8 p.m. I want to sleep and I want to have sex. Or just hold him. Smell him. Remind myself of his scent and the feel of his skin.

DAY TWO

8 a.m. He’s back at work today. He still feels like utter bollocks, but he’s a tough one. Must be the hints of Scotsman that run through him. It’s the porridge, as he says.

11:40 a.m. I wake up. Read my e-mails and discover something shattering. A note from an editor. It’s not a good one. I bollocksed up, big time. Error of judgement. But my head doesn’t want me to cry, which is a first. I send her an e-mail back and set to writing other stuff.

1:40 p.m. He arrives back from his first shift (he's a teacher) to find me in bed. I stroke his hair and hold him. Again, I am intoxicated by his scent.

3:44 p.m. We wake up from another nap, deciding that we both have stuff to do. My desire for him isn’t waning.

8:45 p.m. I do eventually have that wank. It feels like a massive relief.

10:45 p.m. We’re in bed. We’re both tired, but I still want him, badly. I touch him, taste the nape of his neck, and let my fingers drag over his body. The desire in me is sky-high, but eventually I fall asleep.

DAY THREE

8 a.m. I am barely awake, with the duvet wrapped around my naked body as he leaves for work. I want more sleep ...

Noon I finally settle down to add bits to my new story, fueled by a ton of coffee. This is turning out to be one of those less-than-exciting days where coffee is the highlight of your morning. In a way, it kind of reminds me of the opening scene in American Beauty where the highlight of his day is jerking off in the shower. But less severe, of course. I mean, my life is anything but a Sam Mendes film.

11:30 p.m. Images swirl through my mind. My vagina hurts with a desire that doesn’t dare to speak. I don’t dare to speak. And I don’t see why I can’t. The fact that I’ve suddenly gone mute in the ability to communicate what I want in bed worries me. He knows there’s something up. He asks me several times to talk to him about it, but every time I try, I need to choke back the tears because … I don’t know why. I fall asleep and dream about having an orgasm while throttling someone. My dreams are getting darker.

DAY FOUR

8 a.m. He wakes up to go off to work. I murmur something about having weird sex dreams. I don't remember them exactly, but I know I get caught several times and get off in the dream on things like choking. In the dreams, I'm being too damn horny for my own good. He understands. I don't tell him exactly what's going on; I will elaborate to him later. I just need to get this confusion out of my head.

Noon I’m confused enough to realize that I’ve forgotten my debit card at home. This happens while trying to pay for Reese's peanut butter cups at the local supermarket. What the hell is going on with my brain?

11 p.m. I am so desperate for him that I lower my voice to a mere whisper and start speaking nothing sentences in his ear, while playing with his penis. He doesn't react. He just lies there, trying to fall asleep, so I don't continue.

DAY FIVE

7:45 a.m. We have a lovely banter before he leaves for work. He does tell me that last night with my weird whispering, I was being extremely creepy, but that's behind us. I’m reminded that I can’t really take myself that seriously.

9 p.m. We lie in bed, entangled and naked and talking. It feels so good. I play with him until it’s hard and slowly start jerking him off. I remind him to tell me when it feels too much and I should stop. Relishing the feel of him, I go slowly until it becomes too much for him.

9:20 p.m. Afterwards, we talk about how pleasure feels. We come to the conclusion that there is no general definition for what an orgasm feels like, nor is there one (well, a non-biological one) for what an erection feels like. I fall asleep contemplating the mysteries of sex and the human body.

DAY SIX

8 a.m. I’m up. Why am I up?

Noon Suddenly the fight has left me. I give over to the slivers of dark depression in my head and collapse. He holds me and tells me that he believes in me, that I need to relax.

2 p.m. I decide to relax and slip under the covers and read an erotic novel. After pages and pages of foreplay in my head, I finally decide that the best way to cure this darkness I’m feeling is to have orgasms and lots of them.

2:05 p.m. My new new pink and buzzy rabbit vibrator comes out and I let myself slip under the spell of orgasm after orgasm until my legs no longer feel present and my body is in that space that the author might describe as the Ether.

2:30 p.m. I decide to take a walk and stumble on a supermarket nearby. As if I’ve forgotten what a proper supermarket looks like, I wander in and gasp at all the fresh food. And have a tiny, tiny foodgasm when I see a fruit salad bar. It shows how much I miss actual sex. I can't actually remember the last time we had sex. I don't think it's been too long, but it seems that way because we've both been so busy.

3 p.m. After that wholly uninteresting but exhilarating moment of food perfection, I go back home. My legs are back in form and my brain seems all right.

10:30 p.m. If we have sex tonight, I think my body might fall apart.

DAY SEVEN

10:30 a.m. My mood isn’t good. Tiny fragments of the past swirl through my brain as the day goes on, and eventually I sink into them letting them take me. But he doesn’t allow it. He holds me until I feel better and tells me that it’s going to be all right.

10 p.m. We decide to take a shower together. I’m feeling better, playful and incredibly horny as I slather him in Snow Fairy shower gel.

10:15 p.m. After I dry my hair, I sit on the bed pondering about what to do. And then it happens. He pushes me onto the bed and smirks. “May I take advantage of you?” he asks. And I gladly let him. I let him eat me out and fuck me until the speech has left both of us and we are rested in each other’s arms. Sex. Sex is. I don’t know what it is, but it’s amazing, I’ll tell you that.

TOTALS: 1 act of oral sex received; 4 orgasms together with him; 9 solo orgasms; 1 vibrator given a warm welcome.