Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Horny Suburban Mom on a Field Trip to the Big City: female, freelance copywriter, 44, suburban Philadelphia/NYC, “sexual libertine,” single.
DAY ONE
6:15 a.m.: Wake up Thing One for school. She groans. We both snooze.
6:25 a.m.: Try again. Turn on bathroom light for emphasis. Get back in bed with Thing Two.
6:40 a.m.: Thing One enters room crying. Says she barely slept. Decide to drive them both to school so we can all catch another hour. It’s my last Mommy morning for a week. I’m in no hurry to get rid of them.
8:45 a.m.: Kids tucked in to school. They’ll go with their dad tonight, and tomorrow I’m NY-bound. I’m feeling anxious, and I don’t know why. Granted, I haven’t lined up a place to stay this week. But I don’t think it’s because I don’t know where I’m sleeping … it’s because I don’t know who I’m sleeping with.
9:37 a.m.: For the last week, M has been texting. Haven’t seen him in months. Got a lame e-mail once, apologizing for not being in touch. I never responded. Even when we were lovers, his contact was sporadic. Invitations to become part of his life never came. Like trying to light a fire with damp wood, we just never caught. Still, the sex was off the charts with him. So I lob one back this time.
10:32 a.m.: He asks where I’m staying these days. We once had a threesome with my friend J. I wonder if he hopes I’m staying there again.
10:38 a.m.: Oh my, he’s actually offering me a place to stay. In the eight months we dated, I stayed with him once. I ask if the amenities include him in or out of bed.
10:52 a.m.: “Amenities include me in bed and a cooked breakfast.”
12:34 p.m.: I’m booked at M’s “B&B” for my last three nights in the city. I’m sure it should matter to me that we haven’t talked for months. It doesn’t. It’s one of the benefits of being over 40. You finally have your priorities straight.
6:47 p.m.: New assignment comes through — yes! Going to set me back a day, but worth it for the extra cash. Time to suck it up and be a big girl.
DAY TWO
7:30 a.m.: No lunches to make or buses to catch! Tempted to sleep in. Work wins.
3:35 p.m.: Get e-mail from hot Play Party Guy I met a couple weeks ago. Says it’s a busy week, no time to hang out. Has two free nights but needs to sleep and run errands on those. Assures me he still wants to see me. Whatever. Maybe I’m just being cocky now that I’m booked at M’s for three nights, but I want to rank above sleep and running errands.
7:58 p.m.: Reread PPG’s message too many times. Have to admit that I liked him. Note to self: Having sex with a guy at a party before you know his name rarely results in a get-to-know-you date later. You know better than that.
8:30 p.m.: Decide to text G instead of getting morose about missing the kids and my perceived rejection by PPG. He’s still at work. I remind him of my under-the-desk blow-job fantasy. “I could really use that right now.” I can feel him get hard through the phone.
9:17 p.m.: I bitch to G about PPG. They met. G was my play-party date, and we had a threesome. I secretly want G’s sympathy. Instead, he tells me I would get hurt less if I didn’t have so many expectations. “Is it possible to love what is?” he texts. And then he signs off and climbs into bed with his wife. Sure, I guess anything is possible.
1:23 a.m.: Not a tired bone in my body, and my mind won’t quit, either. Masturbating would definitely relax me, but I’m not feeling it. It’s like the side of my brain that calculates getting sex doesn’t coexist with the side that actually has it.
DAY THREE
8:10 a.m.: Text tone wakes me up. It’s M. “Thinking about being inside you.” During our hot and heavy phase, this is how almost every morning began. I start thinking about him being inside me, too. When I reach down and touch myself, I realize I haven’t been anywhere near my own erogenous zones during my entire Mommy week. No wonder I’m feeling anxious and plotting sex …
8:58 a.m.: It takes awhile. A couple times I think I don’t even want to climax and almost stop. But then I imagine PPG under me, M behind me, and G in my mouth … of being completely filled by them … and, well, the trifecta sends me over but good.
3:16 p.m.: FINALLY! Laundry done, packed, and I’m off!
5:34 p.m.: A miracle. Only four minutes late to interview my trans-friend, L. Bummed G isn’t here since he’s editing the film. I know he’s hot for her, and thinking about them together makes me a little hot.
5:48 p.m.: L talks on camera about how her gender and sexual expression changed as she went from male to female. She describes her unique combination of genitals — how she has a little of each — and the freedom she feels being neither fully male nor fully female. I’ve turned down her advances for over a year. But I have to admit, I’m curious.
6:15 p.m.: I ask her to do something sensual for the camera. For a girl who likes to take her clothes off, I’m surprised when she doesn’t. Instead, she plays the cello. I say, “Play the way you wish someone would play you.” She smiles, seems shy for a moment. Then, with eyes closed, muscles taut, she begins. Those strings don’t stand a chance against that bow. Not a chance.
6:22 p.m.: I catch a glimpse of us in a mirror off to the side. I am no typical suburban mom, and she is no typical classical cellist. This is what I love about New York. Everyone who comes here is home.
7:58 p.m.: Bushwick sushi dinner with play-party crowd. Everyone looks different in clothes. PPG not here. Knew he wouldn’t be but can’t help thinking about him.
9:16 p.m.: I’ve apparently become known as the DP girl from that night. I almost was, but there wasn’t enough hardness between G and PPG to get the job done … a fact I keep to myself. But parts of me still tingle at the memory. I realize it wasn’t rejection I was feeling about PPG after all … it was desire.
10:17 p.m.: Text G about our DP rep and tell him we are definitely invited back. I admit to him what I liked most about PPG: He came home and slept with me — actually cuddled and slept — in addition to fucking me three more times.
11:28 p.m.: G finishes hourlong rant about my expectations again. While I’m grateful his marriage is open, it makes our relationship definition challenging. I can’t make him my girlfriend any more than I can make him my boyfriend. I don’t need a therapist. And he’s not available as a lover as often as I’d like. I sign off, take a hot shower until I can feel my freezing cold feet again, and go to bed on friend J’s living room futon.
DAY FOUR
8:25 a.m.: Perform ritual street-cleaning car dance. G texts apology. Admits he’s never lived alone. Doesn’t know what it’s like. I didn’t think I was mad, and yet I feel better.
12:23 p.m.: Waiting in lobby to pick up keys from M. Wishing there was an alcove where he could take me and fuck me now. No such luck.
12:35 p.m.: M apologizes profusely for keeping me waiting. He explains each key to me, but I can barely follow … the throbbing in my pants is drowning him out. “You look good,” he says. I want him to pin me up against the wall, put his hand around my throat and press himself into me. Instead, he hugs me goodbye. “I’ll see you when I get back tomorrow night. Make yourself at home,” he says in my ear, and disappears back into the ant colony of dark-suited bankers.
9:45 p.m.: C isn’t dressed yet. She and I are always at the same parties, but this is our first time hanging out together. I walk in and feel instantly shy, like it’s a date.
10:14 p.m.: She rejects most of my original outfit in favor of better cleavage and more glitter. Her apartment looks like a theater dressing room. I happily surrender.
10:23 p.m.: C strips down and showers. We’re already late and still have to drive to Brooklyn. But the shower curtain is clear, and I can’t stop watching her heart-shaped ass and her perfect tits. She asks if I have a boyfriend — no. Girlfriend? Um, nope. Didn’t see that one coming.
DAY FIVE
12:04 a.m.: Crazy traffic to the Brooklyn Bridge. Wish we’d stayed at C’s place. Wish I was better at making the first move on a woman.
4:37 a.m.: Party was very boring and nothing happened, alas. Didn’t get up the courage to make a move on C. Maybe next time. Finally get to M’s. Lug stuff upstairs, strip, shower off as much glitter as possible and - finally - slip into his bed. Ah…
10:40 a.m.: Wake up totally turned on. Imagine him taking me the minute he walks in. Throwing me on the bed, pulling my hair, hungry for me. Within minutes, I’ve soaked the towel I’m still wrapped in.
3:35 p.m.: M finally home. We are comfortable and awkward at the same time. Strange combination.
3:52 p.m.: We eventually kiss. He presses into me and grabs my ass. The bedroom is behind me — just three short steps backward. But I don’t pull and he doesn’t push. We leave our desire right there, at the doorway, and go our separate ways into the evening.
6:10 p.m.: Have holiday kvetching catch-up dinner with K. Had hots for him in high school but we never fucked. We both still think we should one of these days, but that high-school chemistry is long gone.
10:30 p.m.: Knowing M won’t be home for a few more hours, I go home for another drink with K. He tells me he wants to fulfill my gang-bang fantasy. But the way he describes it doesn’t even resemble my gang bang fantasy. It’s his. I tell him so.
10:53 p.m.: K and I make out a little. It’s actually hot because I’ve been so turned on about M all these days. I tell K all about how I’m going to go home and fuck M, knowing it would turn him on. He pulls my shirt down and sucks my nipples. Hard. I almost climax right there.
11:04 p.m.: K hands me cab fare and we laugh at how a gentleman used to drive his date home. Now, he just puts her in a cab.
DAY SIX
3:07 a.m.: M finally slips into bed. We hold hands, touch toes, ask each other about how the night went. His breathing changes within minutes. The sweetness of the intimacy surprises me, and I fall into a deep sleep, too.
10:30 a.m.: M still sound asleep. I try to send his cock the vibe to wake up and enter me. It doesn’t work, and I surrender to sleeping in together instead.
1:05 p.m.: “I’ll be right back,” says M. I assume he’s making a quick bathroom run and will be heading back to bed to — finally — fuck me. Until I hear him cursing in the next room. He’s overslept … big time … and let down his fantasy football league.
1:20 p.m.: He’s preoccupied, and I feel ridiculous waiting for him to fuck me like this. Time to get on with my day.
8:30 p.m.: Been back at M’s working for a couple hours now. It’s my last night here … and my last night in NYC before I go back to being Mommy in PA … and I still haven’t gotten laid. Fuck G and his “no expectations” coaching. I want the sex.
12:43 a.m.: Done working. Done waiting. What is the male version of a cock tease? Decide I need to go find a dirty martini.
1:30 a.m.: The lights are off and he’s sound asleep. Been gone less than an hour. He couldn’t have made a big effort to wait up.
2:10 a.m.: After tossing and turning, I head for the couch. I never was able to figure him out. Not then, not now. Maybe G has a point on this expectations thing. Fucks me up every time.
DAY SEVEN
7 a.m.: Both our alarms go off, but I hit the snooze button. He comes to the couch, sits beside me, starts rubbing my back and hair, caressing my legs. He asks why I’m out here, if I was uncomfortable in the bed. I lie. I say I just couldn’t sleep.
7:08 a.m.: He has three fingers full force on my G-spot and his tongue not far away. I can barely breathe, and I’m afraid I’m going to squirt all over his sublet suede couch and cost him a fortune. I get up to go to the bathroom. I tell him there are condoms on the windowsill, and that he should put one on and meet me in the bed.
7:11 a.m.: He sits me down on the bed, next to the still-wrapped condom. I take him into my mouth and remember how much I love his cock. I swallow the whole thing, squeeze his head down my throat, and hold his balls until I almost pass out.
7:16 a.m.: He rolls on the condom and — finally — sinks himself inside me. Starts telling me how he wants to be inside me without one, how he thinks about fucking me in that bed every day. “You motherfucker,” I say. “You made me wait for three days. You better fuck me hard.” His is just dirty talk, but I mean mine. And he does. Oh, does he.
7:25 a.m.: He decides he’s going to cum on my face, and I worry about being ready in time to move the car at 8 a.m. if I have to wash cum out of my hair. I tuck it back the best I can … and wait.
7:28 a.m.: This guy puts out so much fluid, it’s crazy. Luckily, it goes everywhere but in my hair.
7:32 a.m.: I hit the shower. We’re back to polite chitchat.
7:48 a.m.: I’m dressed and ready to go … he’s still naked. We kiss good-bye. He asks if I need help carrying my bags out. “Like that?” I say. He laughs. We both know chivalry is dead during post-sex recovery. Besides, I don’t need it. I got what I came for. More or less.
10:40 a.m.: Meet G to hand off film footage. He asks how my night went. I tell him I got exactly what I expected. Then I admit that if I had expected nothing, I probably would have gotten more than I could have hoped for. He looks compassionate instead of smug, and I remember why I love him.
11:48 a.m.: I hit the tunnel. No traffic. I’ll make it back in time to meet the kids off the bus. Easy.
TOTALS: two masturbation sessions, two make-out sessions, two acts of oral sex, one act of intercourse.
