Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, we bring you the Single Brooklyn Bartender: 23, female, Williamsburg, straight.
DAY ONE
8:30 a.m.: Turn off alarm to try to stay in erotic dream involving current commitment-free fling I haven’t seen in awhile. Lost it. And no time to shower before my gofer job at an ad agency. Great start to the day.
11:58 a.m.: Bored in line at the bank, so make eyes at the only remotely good-looking guy there.
11:59 a.m.: I think he interpreted “Hi there” as “Let me peek at your PIN number.”
6:24 p.m.: Receive long-awaited text from fling. Try to play it cool in return text. Fail miserably.
8:33 p.m.: Invited to party hosted by a distant family member (non-blood-related) in town from Europe. I’m inclined to go, remembering that his last visit brought on a series of long nights and multiple orgasms.
8:59 p.m.: Texting success! Tentative plans with the fling for this week.
10:23 p.m.: On a whim, meet up with a boy from high school for drinks before the party. Has he gotten a lot better-looking since high school or am I just less picky?
1:22 a.m.: Blow off party/sex with family member to go to boy-from-school’s house. Heavy petting and a BJ ensue.
DAY TWO
10:40 a.m.: On subway back home listening to whiny girls complain about shallow boys who only want sex and avoid relationships. What’s wrong with that?
5:23 p.m.: Show off bruises from last night to a friend. I love sexjuries!
7:48 p.m.: Friend one-ups me with a story of a coked-up five-hour BJ resulting in her not being able to close her mouth for two days. My regaling her with tales of a foursome doesn’t beat it. Damn.
9:03 p.m.: At weekly hang-out enjoying the usual free beer and underage hipsters. Checking out an extremely androgynous yet somehow incredibly attractive guy. Is this why American Apparel is so fucking popular?
10:53 p.m.: Friend and Mr. Androgynous hook up in the bathroom. It might be the cheap beer, but I’m feeling kinda green. Go home alone.
DAY THREE
10:34 a.m.: Wake up and take a long shower in which I pleasure myself and wish for a removable showerhead.
4:24 p.m.: Consider texting fling but can’t decide.
7:18 p.m.: Find an old DVD of anime porn. Save for later.
1:35 a.m.: Go visit a random friend where he’s bartending. He’s hammered and pulls me behind the bar for a sloppy, slobbery kiss. I had pizza in my mouth. Ew.
4:48 a.m.: Pass out in bed with a friend and wonder for the millionth time why I have to be the only girl on the planet who’s not attracted to other girls. It’d be so much more fun if I was.
DAY FOUR
Asexual day. I have those sometimes. Work, sleep. Really, nothing to report.
DAY FIVE
12:20 p.m.: Wake up really horny. Go home with the intention of watching my anime but my roommate is around. He makes me the female equivalent of flaccid.
5:30 p.m.: Disappointed in my ebbing social life, I go to Free Friday at the MoMA to wander alone with my thoughts, and wander right into hot-sex relative and a girl who’s apparently sleeping with him. Doesn’t really bother me, so I agree to meet them for late dinner.
9:23 p.m.: Meet them at same bar as the other night, where my friend’s working again. No surprise, the friend doesn’t remember the slobbering from two evenings ago.
9:30 p.m.: Am pleasantly surprised to find four really good-looking European guys with them, in town for three days.
10:45 p.m.: Narrowed it down to two and am sitting between them at dinner. One looks like a model who would definitely be fun to fuck, but I’m weirdly attracted to the other, less impressive one. Sigh.
12:24 p.m.: Head to a bar to dance. Find out the less impressive one has a girlfriend. Of course that makes me want him more.
4:08 a.m.: Hop in a cab to go back to the house they’re all staying at. I ride in the way back with the model type. He talks the whole way back and is actually interesting. I decide I’m moving to Europe.
4:35 a.m.: Get back to the house where the Europeans are staying. There are bright lights and (ugh) breakfast. No beer. I wasn’t planning on ending my night, but I guess it’s over. Frustrated, I make the hour-long trek home.
DAY SIX
12:35 p.m.: Wake up, play with myself for a bit, and watch non-sexual anime. Order delicious Mexican-food delivery and read all day.
5:02 p.m.: Get e-mail from good friend of mom’s new husband. Nothing sexual, but I still get turned on just thinking about him. Has being surrounded by scenesters made intelligent conversation a turn-on?
10:50 p.m.: Meet up with Europeans at a gay bar so one of them can try his luck. No luck.
12:40 a.m.: At typical shitty-music-overpriced-drinks spot in Upper East Side. Sit very close to the less impressive guy I like on the couch and talk about the culture and sexuality of women. He’s sweating from dancing and smells a bit, but it turns me on so much. My nipples are noticeably hard.
4:50 a.m.: Back at the same house and the boys learned their lesson, ‘cause they stopped and got beer on the way home.
6:34 a.m.: Most people have drifted off to bed, and I’m left alone with the less impressive one. I’m drunk, lascivious, and delirious, and I think he’s about the same.
7:02 a.m.: Go out on the porch for sun and silence. He holds me and he tells me he can’t — the girlfriend — and I tell him I know, and I’m a few caresses away from coming. We kiss for a few seconds and the feeling is locked in my body.
8:40 a.m.: Go to sleep alone in house.
DAY SEVEN
5:12 p.m.: Play soccer with the Europeans and get inappropriate thoughts when touching the one I like.
7:40 p.m.: Go home and pleasure myself to the memory of how turned on I was that morning.
8:55 p.m.: Get text from friendly fling inviting me over. Finally.
10:20 p.m.: Send text-message good-bye to my European.
12:20 a.m.: Have really great time with fling, as usual. Great 69 and then another hour of sex. He came and I came close.
TOTALS: Two acts of masturbation, one in shower; one act of fellatio; one act of intercourse with NSA fling; two nights of erotic build-up to nothing with non-single European; one one-upped attempt at showing off sexjuries.
