Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Manhattan Girl Wondering If New Jersey Sex Is Worth It: Female, 27, West Village, event planner, straight, single.
11:15 a.m. I have to pick the spot for a second date, though in my head I consider it a first date. The first one I thought was just dinner, as friends and former colleagues. It got mildly flirtatious at the end, but very mildly; he said I looked cute no matter what I wore when I complained about the winter weather ruining my fashion sense. Still, I went home utterly uncertain whether it was a date, until we flirted for real via e-mail. So this is like the one-and-a-halfth date. I spend twenty minutes looking at restaurant ideas but can’t figure out anything.
1:30 p.m. Don’t want to look flaky or like I can’t make a decision, so I pick the same random Thai restaurant we went to the first time. Maybe that’s boring, but it was quiet and warm and spacious and the food was good, so that bodes well, right?
1:35 p.m. He tells me he thinks it’s a sweet choice.
7 p.m. Somehow manage to leave the house on time, even though this time I’m more nervous, hence more fussy about what I wear. I change my dress three times until settling on my first choice. All would probably work fine but I can’t seem to decide.
9 p.m. Even though I know it’s a date, it feels more like talking to a good friend who I’m also attracted to. There’s a difference; I don’t feel that sense of “what if I say the wrong thing?” that I tend to feel on dates. We hold hands after dinner.
10 p.m. We go to Starbucks even though he doesn’t drink anything they serve. I drink tea and we hold hands, and even though it’s a totally unsexy environment, I’m glad we can extend our date by another hour. We kiss lightly once we leave, but it’s starting to sleet and not that conducive to PDA.
11:30 p.m. He texts to tell me he got home okay. I thank him. I don’t have butterflies in my stomach assaulting me like I sometimes do when I like someone, but I do like him.
3 p.m. We’ve spent so much time e-mailing today I have barely gotten any work done and it’s a little stressful, but also exciting. I check my Facebook mail to look for one of his e-mails and see over 100 e-mails exchanged in the last week.
10:30 p.m. We talk on the phone. Last night, I wasn’t totally sure what I wanted from him, but the more we talk, the more I know I want to go on another date. I feel more intrigued by him than want-to-take-my-clothes-off horny, but the former seems like it’s feeding the beginning stages of the latter.
8 p.m. It’s freezing out again. We meet near the West 4th Street subway so go to Market Table because it’s close. The cold is affecting my brain too much to think properly. I was craving a burger and don’t see one on the menu.
8:10 p.m. Order chicken, but feel weird because I know he’ll want to pay for dinner and while some girls would love that, I don’t want him to think he has to pay every single time. I’d feel better about it if the food weren’t so expensive.
8:45 p.m. Food is good, but I’m more interested in holding hands across the table. I pick at my dinner and take the bulk of it to go.
9:10 p.m. Making out in his car and literally steaming up the windows. I’ve now officially moved into the being-horny stage. He lives in New Jersey, hence the car. I can’t remember the last time I made out in a car. Makes me feel like a teenager, although I used to go farther as a teenager. He stops me from unzipping his pants because he wants the first time to be special. I half admire that, am half frustrated by that.
9:50 p.m. The first time someone walks by, I break away and look around guiltily. Even though we’re not doing anything wrong, I still feel like we’re going to get “caught” by someone and not in a sexy way, but in a “I’m in trouble” way. It takes the next three people loudly walking by and utterly ignoring us to calm me down.
11 p.m. He finally drops me off at my train, saying that he either had to take me home to his place or drop me off. We did pretty much all we could with our clothes still on.
12:45 a.m. We’re sexting and he’s jerking off; for some reason, I feel like I want to wait to touch myself to build up the excitement. Things are getting progressively more heated and he asks if I want to hear him come or wait to do so in person. I do, so I call him and mostly listen and whisper so as not to wake my neighbors.
9 a.m. Already frustrated that I have to wait a whole week to see him because of our conflicting schedules.
10:30 a.m. Lucky break! His weekend plans are canceled because of the weather. We’ll be able to see each other Saturday night for our first sleepover date. That makes me relieved. Sometimes I worry that going too long between such early dates will kill my interest, or the other person’s.
1 p.m. I am having a stressful day and while I am hesitant to put that stress onto anyone else, I like the idea of seeing him one day early. I ask if he’d want to see me tonight, even though we already have plans for the next day. It’s impulsive, but he volunteers to drive an hour into Manhattan and pick me up. I ask twice if he’s sure he doesn’t mind, because I probably wouldn’t do the same in return (I’m lazy), but he says he’d be happy to.
8 p.m. He picks me up and we head to central Jersey. I’m from New Jersey, so any time I return, for whatever reason, I feel a little bit like I’ve been demoted. I don’t hate the state or anything, but it doesn’t feel “me.” I don’t drive, and it seems like a whole other culture full of strip malls. I’m trying hard not to judge my date, who I like a lot, by his state.
9 p.m. I’m always tempted to poke around any new home I visit. I used to do it as a teenager when I babysat, and I do it with friends and especially with people I’m sleeping with. What secrets are tucked away in their medicine cabinets and closets? This time, I manage to resist, but just barely. There’s always next time.
9:15 p.m. We head right to his bedroom, which helps thwart my nosy tendencies. His bed is one of the most comfortable ones I’ve ever been in, and I sink right into its depths. He goes to take my clothes off, but I beat him to the punch and take his clothes off first. Sometimes I like to be the more naked partner, but sometimes it’s hot to have most of my clothes on while the other person is naked.
9:30 p.m. Eventually my clothes come off, but I still feel more comfortable being in charge than letting him go down on me. Even though he wants to, I don’t let him. I kind of like telling him no. Instead I distract him by playing with his nipples, which works instantly. I love playing with a guy’s nipples if they’re sensitive; they’re like a magic toy, but for adults. I can’t tell if his moans mean he likes it and wants me to do it harder, or if it’s too much but he’s not saying anything. I don’t ask, just keep going, with breaks in between in case it is too much and he’s being polite.
10:10 p.m. He’s not making a move to have intercourse, so I start to give him a blowjob. I’m into it for the first fifteen minutes, and then start to wonder how I can make him come faster, so I ask, and he gives me instructions. I also take breaks to use my hands so I don’t suddenly quit in the middle. Finally he comes, and I’m so tired that I fall asleep soon after.
9:30 a.m. He is learning that I’m not a morning person. I have to get up and head back to New York for a meeting. Wish I could stay in his bed. I wonder if being in the suburbs makes me more lazy than usual. I’m being grouchy and maybe that’s not a great way to behave so early in a relationship, but I’m so tired and his bed is so comfy. Eventually I manage to get up.
10:45 a.m. I am shivering in the cold waiting for a delayed train, and when it finally arrives, it’s standing room only. WTF? Is getting laid worth it? Earlier this morning I would’ve said yes, but now I’m not so sure.
1 p.m. Brave the snow for the meeting, which goes well, then meet friends for brunch. Another bonus of city living — it’s so much easier to get together with people. Would this happen in Jersey?
7:30 p.m. The ride back is thankfully smoother. Back at his place, with no plans to leave. Once again we make a beeline for the bedroom. I still haven’t figured out exactly what I want us to do together. Sometimes I’m on the more submissive side, sometimes the more dominant, but it usually tends to be one or the other with a given lover. Now that I’ve started down the dominant road, it would probably be weird to switch all of a sudden — for me, if not for him.
8 p.m. I straddle him, but he’s a lot bigger than me, so it’s challenging. We achieve penetration for a few minutes, but it’s an awkward position and I don’t feel that comfortable, so I move to the side. That’s the one main thing I want, so if we can’t do that, my Plan B is going down on him while he fingers me. I like it, especially when his fingers push my body forward, but eventually I move his fingers aside so I can concentrate better. Sometimes multitasking just doesn’t work in the bedroom. After he’s done, he gets me off.
10:15 p.m. He makes us grilled cheeses, and mine is the most gooey, delicious thing ever. All food tastes better after sex.
11:30 a.m. We were able to be lazy today, which is my preferred state on the weekends. After an extended make-out session, I give him a hand job–blowjob that seems to go on forever, with stops and starts. I’m not sure if there’s going to be a “happy ending” but finally he jerks himself off and comes. I wish I’d been able to achieve that response, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
11:50 a.m. He draws me a bath, which to me is a total luxury because my apartment just has a shower. I soak in it until my skin is pruny and I’m totally warm, but am reluctant to get out once the water starts to get cold. I could probably take a bath all day.
12:30 a.m. We’re on his couch, each on our computers, but I’m starting to get hungry. I’m craving hard-boiled eggs and he’s already cooked for me and bought me meals, so I would feel ridiculous asking him to make me the most basic meal. I tell him I’m going to make some and ask if he wants any. He says yes, and I realize it’s been at least five years since I’ve cooked anything for someone I’m dating. Eggs count, right?
12:55 p.m. I test out the eggs. They’re soft-boiled, which is how I like them. I walk my opened egg over to where he’s sitting on the couch to make sure it’s to his liking. I am so hungry I wolf mine down over the sink. He’s more civilized and puts his in a bowl and sops up the runny yolk with bread. It turns me on to watch him eating something I made, even if it is just eggs.
3:30 p.m. He drops me off at the train after more making out. Part of me wishes I could stay longer, but part of me is looking forward to being back home.
TOTALS: One steamy car make-out session; two New Jersey sleepover dates; three blowjob–hand job combinations; one act of manual penetration; one brief attempt at intercourse.