Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Williamsburg Travel Editor Who Thinks Hipsters Are Sexy: Female, 25, Williamsburg, travel editor, straight, single.
9 a.m. Roll out of bed. Step over expired glow sticks, black light shoelaces, and dime bags of molly remnants. Fun weekend.
10:15 a.m. Admire my nails for a few minutes — Pretty Edgy by Essie. Can’t wait for summer neons.
1 p.m. Laugh out loud at my desk. My friend emails me that she’s holding in her pee all day, she’s too scared to walk to the bathroom. She’s having sex with her coworker. Laugh again because I slept with her coworker’s best friend this past weekend. Smile because we’re a good tag team.
4 p.m. Deciding whether to go to yoga after work or lay on my couch.
4:05 p.m. Roommate asks if I want to get the Greek pizza at Brooklyn Bowl tonight. Done.
6:45 p.m. Two text messages, a missed call, and a voicemail from friend’s coworker’s best friend. Red flag. Too much contact in too little time. Ignore for now. Label him in my phone as FB No. 2 (fuck buddy No. 2). Re-label FB No. 2 as FB No. 3. He lives in Jersey. Sorry dude, the five boroughs take priority.
6:50 p.m. Wonder why FB No. 2 couldn’t stay hard. Hate when that happens, such a waste of my time. Blame it on the alcohol and molly. Make a mental note that we need to have sober sex.
8:30 p.m. Bouncer at Brooklyn Bowl greets me with his usual “go right in, honey.” Not sure what his intentions are besides an excuse to flirt, but it makes me feel like I’m VIP. Scope out cute indie boys, find a lot (as usual). Dance to a completely unknown band but enjoy their sound, it’s Vampire Weekend-esque. Around ten people are going wild in the front (out of about 25 people total at the show). They are clearly the band’s friends. Jealous. Hang out with the band members after the show, tell them they sound like Vampire Weekend. They tell me that’s their favorite band. Where is VW? When are they going to come out with a new album?
11 p.m. In bed thinking about FB No. 1, East Village hipster I met at an underground Daft Punk dance party. After having sex four times in one night, he got my number and told me I was “fun.” I think hipsters are sexy. As long as they pay rent and their jeans aren’t tighter than mine (though it’s nothing I haven’t seen before), I dig the glasses, plaid, and I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude. Maybe I’ll see him this week.
8:50 a.m. Wake up all hot and bothered from a sex dream about FB No. 1. Seeing him tonight is a must.
3:30 p.m. Decide to call back FB No. 2, tell him I’ll see him Thursday. Is his suggestion of wine and cheese a date? I don’t date my fuck buddies.
3:45 p.m. Loving my new LCD Soundsystem Pandora station.
4 p.m. LCD reminds me of ex, so I stalk him on Facebook. Seeing his pictures still hurts. Hope I can get over him soon.
6 p.m. FB No. 1 and I make plans for tonight, meeting up at his apartment. He says my apartment is too far, even though Williamsburg is one stop from him on the L. I know it’s BS. His texts are short and down to business. It turns me on.
9 p.m. After drinking beer and ordering in pho, FB No. 1 and I head to his room. His apartment is tiny and old; there are empty beer cans everywhere and the sink and trash are overflowing. I try to control my anxiety and appreciate my brand new building. I’ve been dying to pounce since last night, so it doesn’t take much time to get my pants off. He tells me he likes how wet I am already. After he fingers me, I flip him over and give him “grade A head.” He gives me compliments like this frequently, including “this is the best head I’ve ever gotten.” He tells me he doesn’t know how I do it. Talk about ego boosting. I lick my lips, look him right in the eyes, and take him all the way to the back of my throat. I think it’s a nice surprise so early on. When he can’t resist any more, we shift and he enters me from behind. It drives me crazy. I can’t get enough of him, which for me is hard to accomplish. I try to keep quiet but it’s hard. This is some of the best sex I’ve ever had.
7:30 a.m. Do people really wake up this early for work? Thank God I work in media.
7:45 a.m. We hop in the shower, for cleaning purposes only. Don’t get me wrong — I love sexy showers and frequently suggest them — but not this early when I’m cranky and rushed. But a little touching here and there never hurt anyone.
8 a.m. FB No. 1 and I talk about me making a pit stop during lunch at his office; we’d do it on the ping pong table in the common area. Both of us know it won’t happen today, but at least it gives me something to fantasize about during the workday.
11 a.m. Clench my inner thighs thinking about last night. If only my coworkers knew how unprofessional my thoughts were right now.
3 p.m. The afternoon hits me hard. I can’t express how much I dislike sharing a bed, especially one that isn’t even my own.
9 p.m. Dive ecstatically into my heavenly bed, shut my eyes, and I’m out like a light.
1 p.m. Make plans with FB No. 2 for tonight.
2:30 p.m. Do I even want to see FB No. 2 tonight? Pump up my Robyn Pandora station to get my mood just right.
7:45 p.m. Late, as usual. Make a mental note that I need to work on my time-management issues. Walk over to FB No. 2 as he flaunts two bottles of wine. I’m unimpressed. He’s unemployed and subletting for the month. Does that count as paying rent? Will decide later. Either way, I doubt this wine is anything to write home about.
8 p.m. Waiting on the Endless Summer line. I guess this is as good as it’s gonna get with FB No. 2. He says he’s going to get a drink and he’ll be right back. Odd.
8:05 p.m. He comes back just in time to order. As we’re strolling to McCarren Park (it’s a very nice night out), he tells me he actually went to the pharmacy to pick up empty pill capsules. It’s how he sells his molly to rip people off. I’m currently walking next to a broke, unemployed drug dealer. Turnoff.
8:15 p.m. We take turns swigging from the wine as I listen to him jabber on … and on … and on. Wow, FB No. 2 does not shut up. Decide I will take two swigs every time he takes one. Our intermittent make-out sessions help too.
8:30 p.m. He wants to hang out with a group of people sitting nearby on a bench. They are homeless. Seriously? Ugh.
9 p.m. Light up the jay he brought and relax into the grass. Feeling buzzed, full, and high as a kite. This is fun.
9:30 p.m. We walk back to my apartment and get down to business before my good, horny feelings wear off. As we’re putting our coats away, I drop down to my knees and take his penis out. I like being kinky and doing things in places besides beds. As I look at him while I’m giving him head he seems surprised, in a good way. I manage to get him nice and hard (score! compared to last time at least) and we clumsily stumble into my bedroom. We’re fooling around, and although he takes too long to take my pants off, he loves eating me out so I can’t complain. FB No. 1 never goes down that route; rude. When the moment comes to have sex, FB No. 2 can’t seem to keep it up. WTF? He says he’s been out drinking for a while, since before he met me tonight, and getting high didn’t help either. He then goes into one of his rampages about how he needs to get his life together, stop doing drugs, and find an apartment and a job. Frankly, I don’t care. I’m not his therapist. All I see is a soft dick and a puppy face. I’m done for the night.
11 a.m. Text from RB (Rich Banker). He always says “Hi” in the beginning of texts, signs his name at the end, and uses too many periods. He’s 31 and we have mutual friends, two factors that save him from being a complete weirdo. We make plans for tomorrow night. Get excited thinking about being wined and dined, something I definitely need after sitting in the grass with burritos and cheap wine only to be disappointed later in the night yet again.
7:30 p.m. Have my usual peanut-butter-and-jelly unsatisfying Friday night dinner. Paint my nails You Don’t Know Jacques by OPI.
10 p.m. Drinking with my roommate. Stoli blueberry and lemonade. Best drink ever. Dance around the apartment while making glow stick necklaces, bracelets, and ankle bracelets.
10:10 p.m. Head out to Santos Party House where one of our favorite DJs is playing.
10:30 p.m. Text from FB No. 1. “Are you out?” Down to business. Like.
Midnight Dancing on stage with my friends, someone dressed up in a dinosaur costume, punk lesbians, and cute, skinny hipster boys. Someone comes around with a tray of cupcakes. Now this is a party.
1 a.m. We’re all craving Veselka.
2 a.m. Friend runs to the bathroom after scarfing dumplings and pukes everything up. She has a weak stomach and a really low tolerance for any alcohol.
2:15 a.m. Meet FB No. 1 at his apartment. He lives in a fifth floor walk-up. Not fun when I’m this drunk.
2:30 a.m. We barely make it to his room before we’re going at it. He turns me around and pins me up against the wall to do me from behind while holding my hands above my head. He kisses and bites my neck, squeezes my nipples hard and asks if I like when it hurts. I say yes. I like finding minor wounds the next day; hopefully these will last.
10 a.m. Hungover. Need my bed. Now.
10:30 a.m. Not before we have a morning quickie.
Noon Head to the farmer’s market on my way home. I’m going to make myself a nice, big breakfast before I go back to sleep. I also like checking out cute, eco-friendly boys.
8:30 p.m. Meet RB at his impeccable, huge, beautiful, incredible Gramercy Park apartment. Make a mental note that I need to live like this one day.
8:40 p.m. As we’re sipping champagne and talking about art, traveling, and mainstream house music, I notice he’s playing David Guetta throughout the apartment. Is he trying to impress me with his music taste? Fail.
9:30 p.m. I’m two glasses of champagne deep on an empty tummy. I suggest we go to dinner.
9:45 p.m.: RB checks his phone and says the car will be downstairs in two minutes. I make fun of him for ordering a car service when there are literally thousands of cabs on the streets in New York City.
10:15 p.m. For some reason, though we have nothing in common, the conversation with RB is always easy. He makes me laugh (though most of the time I’m laughing at him, not with him) and he’s confident. Turn on.
10:45 p.m. The wine is flowing and food is delicious. Am I having a good time with someone who openly admits to me that he’s scared of Brooklyn and pays people to pick up his dry cleaning for him?
Midnight After telling him for the third time that the restaurant is closing, he finally agrees to leave. He suggests a bar nearby, and because my judgment is thoroughly impaired at this point, I agree.
12:10 a.m. I try paying for drinks, but he won’t let me. Sad that I’m not used to this. Turn on.
12:15 a.m. He is telling me how sexy he thinks I am. He wants to do dirty things to me back in his apartment. I ask him what dirty things he has in mind, and he says I’ll have to find out. I have a feeling that RB usually gets what he wants, so I decide to play the game a little more and keep him waiting. After we finish our drinks, I tell him I’m going to head home. Though he pretty much begs and pleads, I resist. I mentally pat myself on the back.
12:30 a.m. He cannot believe I am going to take the subway home this late at night. Turn off.
11:30 a.m. So happy to wake up in my own bed and have the day to myself. Plan to spend the day cleaning my apartment and downloading music.
3 p.m. Text from FB No. 2 asking what my schedule looks like this week. Ignore.
4 p.m. As I make a grilled cheese, I decide I need to have two rules for everyone I sleep with: must be employed and must pay rent. Sigh. It’s for the best.
7 p.m. Watch Kim and Kourtney Take New York as I wind down for the week ahead.
TOTALS: Two acts of intercourse; two acts of fellatio; one act of cunnilingus; one sex dream; five sex daydreams; one soft penis.