Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Sexually Adventurous Brooklyn Dad: 36, Clinton Hill, editor, married with two children.
DAY ONE
7 a.m.: Fondle Wifey’s boobs in bed, pleasantly suprised she doesn’t slap my hand away. I’ve got morning wood but we have a day trip planned. Much to do.
7:45 p.m.: Back home. Couldn’t pitch a tent if I wanted to. Looking at all the haggard, fat people in the I-87 rest stops may have damaged my hormones.
7:55 p.m.: Wifey gives me soliloquy about how old (not) and fat (not) she is, asks me if I want to have sex. I say yes. She says, “Pretend I’m a cougar and you’re 20 years old.”
8:05 p.m.: Taking off her clothes, Wifey’s glorious boobs get me worked up. I grab her ass, and we actually kiss. I’m getting laid tonight. Our last romp was three days ago… I guess we still have it.
10 p.m.: Did it. Very nice.
11:30 p.m.: Wifey asleep, I’m up working. I think about masturbating. Zen realization that I’m actually satisfied washes over me.
DAY TWO
9 a.m.: On train, conducting further research into the probability of discerning women’s ethnicity by the shape of their asses.
11 a.m.: Get an e-mail from old friend/unrequited booty call in another city. I had e-mailed her about upcoming business trip. She writes that it “will be awesome” to see me.
2 p.m.: Wifey IMs me about her career woes and the various schoolyard afflictions of our daughters. Self-prognosis: an acutely sexless day.
3:15 p.m.: Get an e-mail from escort review site that my subscription expires in nine days. Expensive hobby.
9:30 p.m.: Annoyed that Wifey, who says she wants another threesome, won’t just go on Casual Encounters. She expects me to do it.
9:44 p.m.: Wifey tells me about a hot mom from the neighborhood playground. “I’d do her,” she says.
DAY THREE
4:35 p.m.: Caught myself clicking on an American Apparel ad for leggings (on Bartelby.com, of all places). I wish the models were a little meatier.
5:30 p.m.: Wifey emails to tell me she started her period. Lovely.
10:30 p.m.: On the train, catch the eye of a young bespectacled hapa in a tight, striped sweater sitting with her boyfriend. She’s very sexy, very 25. Ten years ago, I would have ached seeing her kiss her boy. I’m too tired for that now.
11:55 p.m.: Wifey asleep when I got home. Decide to do my part for self-love.
DAY FOUR
6:10 p.m.: Too caught up in my half-assed search for a better job to think about any other kind of ass. Leave work to get a couple drinks with a friend.
7 p.m.: Walking down 6th Avenue, give a knowing glance to a woman I’m nearly convinced is an escort. She looks at me back, but what am I going to do, offer her money on the sidewalk?
11:30 p.m.: Drank a bottle of cheap French sparkling with Wifey. Now she’s asleep. Think about masturbating, but I can hear our youngest stirring in her crib. Notorious timing. I go to bed.
DAY FIVE
3:30 p.m.: Read about NYC massage parlors on a travel website. Realize there’s a happy-ending place right around the corner from the office. My back is killing me…
3:31 p.m.: I stay seated.
11:45 a.m.: I have lately started smiling more in the hallways at work, on the way to coffee, etc. I tried it with the short badonkadonk blonde who always wears light bouncy skirts. Too bad she can’t see me smile when I’m walking behind her.
DAY SIX
1 p.m.: Working from home. Two job interviews that I thought I had lined up fall through. Day is shot. Decide to relieve my stress the way I used to in college.
1:30 p.m.: Still stressed. Decide to leak some internal e-mails to a biz gossip blog.
DAY SEVEN
10 a.m.: The woman who cuts my hair gives me a shampoo. I get an erection while she massages my scalp. She says we have the same astrological sign.
9:30 p.m.: Out for drinks, Wifey and I both get sprung on our cocktail waitress. Wifey leaves her a good tip.
3 a.m.: Wifey and I have sloppy sex. I had too much whiskey.
Totals: Three spontaneous erections; two acts of sexual intercourse; two acts of masturbations; one online venture to find a threesome partner.
