Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Woman Reuniting With Her Well-Hung Long-Distance Boyfriend: Female, 29, writer, Manhattan, straight, in a long-distance relationship.
Noon Three days after my younger sister’s wedding, my parents drive me to the San Antonio airport. They’re still not sure why I’m not going right back to New York. My dad asks what I intend to do in L.A. Long-Distance Boyfriend, I think. I intend to do LBF. Instead, I say something about relaxing on the West Coast.
4 p.m. I arrive at LAX and slowly make my way toward the baggage claim, checking my mascara and reapplying lip gloss along the way. I used to joke that I was in a long-distance relationship with my ex-boyfriend in Brooklyn. But this three-hours-ahead, totally-different-climate change I’ve been doing since April is the real thing. The butterflies I feel each time I reunite with LBF are a perk.
4:05 p.m. I look around and don’t see LBF at first. Then I recognize his tall, skinny frame. We smile goofily on opposite sides of the conveyer belt. I remember telling him that I always feel a little nervous when we meet again. Would I recognize right away if LBF’s feelings had changed? What if I looked at him and felt heavier inside, or nothing at all? But I don’t feel that way now. I feel a little spacey and shy as LBF walks to me. We kiss before saying anything.
5:25 p.m. “Break the ice” sex isn’t my favorite, but it’s necessary. If LBF and I immediately go out, he eyes me like a fat kid in that famed Stanford psychological experiment with the marshmallows. So we go back to his place and start to make out. I won’t let LBF go down on me, because I just sat on a plane for hours. A week with my parents and spray-tanned Bridezilla sister hasn’t exactly left me hot and bothered. We try a few different positions, but I’m not getting close. When LBF comes in ten minutes, I don’t mind. I know it’s been a long time since he’s had sex. “When was the last time you masturbated?” I ask. “Today!” he says.
6:30 p.m. LBF and I go to the basketball court down the street and shoot some hoops. My game’s terrible, because (1) it’s always terrible and (2) I’m sore from sex. That’s one thing no one tells you about long-distance relationships: If your guy’s larger than average and you’re smaller than average, you might get out of sexual shape after a month of abstinence. LBF trounces me in a game of (hung like a) H-O-R-S-E.
10 p.m. After dinner and drinks, LBF and I come home. I strip down to my underwear and crawl under the covers. LBF joins me. I’m grinding against him when he remembers that his dog is still in the room. He gets up and locks her out. (She likes to watch. It’s creepy.) When LBF comes back, I ease him inside me. We try a few positions, but I’m still sore. I climb on top of LBF and can tell he’s getting close. I tell him to come inside of me. He does.
2 p.m. After a hike and against our better judgment, LBF and I shower together, adjusting the temperature and showerhead dramatically each time it’s our turn under the stream. He’s aroused as I lather him up and pinch his nipples, but even little people would have trouble laying the pipe in this bathroom. We retire to bed. LBF wastes no time going down on me. My body quakes as I come. LBF’s visibly relieved my libido wasn’t broken in transit. I pull him inside of me and come again.
4 p.m. Tomorrow LBF and I are flying to San Francisco for a few days. It’s our first time on a plane together. We pack everything in a carry-on, but there’s no way the gangbang-size bottle of lube will get through security. We decide to check the bag.
Midnight We return from a comedy show, repeating our favorite bits to each other. We start to kiss, and I ask for the lube and get it everywhere. I turn my back to LBF and he enters me from behind. Then I switch things up. I climb on top and grind against him until we’re pink and panting in the dark. Afterwards, we cuddle. “Have you ever heard anyone call sex a ‘beef injection’?” I ask.
10 a.m. I get gooey feelings for LBF at inexplicable times. One time it was the way he gestured with his chopsticks as he ate sushi. I feel it again as he packs extra toys and snacks for his dog to enjoy while she’s with the dog sitter during our trip.
3:30 p.m. When the plane lands, I’m starving. When we get to our hotel, I’m grumpy. And when LBF and I finally eat, I get hiccups. They plague me for hours. We walk seven and a half miles and it feels uphill both ways. I hiccup the entire time.
10 p.m. This getaway isn’t as romantic as either of us hoped. For starters, you can’t go down on a guy when you have hiccups. LBF and I collapse from exhaustion and watch part of a documentary about everyday people who enter a pornographic film contest. Amateur stuff is my jam, but I can’t stop hiccupping.
Midnight We try to have sex anyway, the sex of very tired people. I don’t come, but my hiccups go. Progress?
9:30 a.m. LBF climaxes differently when he hasn’t helped me there first. It’s a vicious circle. LBF feels bad and then puts the moves on me too soon, and we have sex again before I’ve recovered from the first time. Then I don’t come … again. With LBF, there’s an urgency, a finite period of time, an expensive plane ticket. He asks me what he can do so I enjoy sex more. I tell him to slow down. Really slow down. Slow down like I live in the same neighborhood.
10 a.m. One of the best things about sex with LBF, really anything with LBF, is that he listens. He starts touching me painfully slowly, until I ask him to get inside of me. I pull him closer, but he resists. I only want him more. The tension builds until we climax together. I hear footsteps in the hallway and wonder if we put the “Do Not Disturb” sign out the night before.
3 p.m. LBF and I go to House of Air, a trampoline park full of 10-year-olds. It’s more fun than you’d think. Also: tiring. After a break, I find my mojo and start jumping into mid-air splits and other cheerleader moves I learned from years as an unpopular girl at pep rallies. I do a particularly impressive split and feel a gush inside my yoga pants. Millions of LBF’s wayward sperm soak my underwear, and I can’t help laughing.
7:30 p.m. LBF has arranged a double date with a couple he’s known since his college days who now live in Berkeley. But this isn’t just any couple. LBF and his ex-fiancée used to go out with this couple all the time. I know I’m going to be compared. I’m shy when we all meet, but grow more comfortable over drinks and barbecue. Everyone’s talking and laughing. No one’s fighting or winning the unspoken Couple Awards I usually hold in my head when I’m on a double date. I could do this again.
11 p.m. We ride a cable car to the Tonga Room at the Fairmont Hotel for a completely unironic fit of dancing, tiki décor, and umbrella drinks. LBF reports what was said when I went to the bathroom during dinner. “They think you’re awesome. I told them the only problem is that you live across the country.” He doesn’t say it like it’s an insurmountable obstacle.
2 a.m. LBF and I return to the hotel. I get in the shower and come back to LBF packing our bag and listening to music. I crawl naked under the covers and drunkenly perform a quasi-Chinese dragon dance to “Pumped Up Kicks.” When I come up for air at the end of the song, LBF’s recording me on his phone. “No!” I protest. “You’ll never have sex with me again!”
Noon LBF was living in a fancy hotel for work when I first met him in NYC. This place is no luxury suite. I don’t even take any toiletries home.
4 p.m. Our flight lands, we get the car, and we’re back in L.A.! His dog runs around the living room when we’re reunited. It feels like coming home.
9:45 p.m. LBF and I are exhausted. We order a pizza and spend the night conquering the DVR. I imagine we’d have more nights like this if we lived together, and I hope it works out that way. I love the novelty and adventure and yes, even a lot of the personal space in this long-distance relationship. But it’s fun sitting next to LBF on the couch and watching terrible reality TV.
Midnight We get into bed, and I put my head on LBF’s chest and tell him, “This week’s going by too fast.” We start to kiss. LBF shoos the dog out of the room. He comes back with a huge erection. “If I were your dog, I think I’d bite that thing right off,” I say. “I’ll show you what you can do with it,” he replies. I slowly begin to ride him. I start ambitious, thinking, Let’s just do this all night. But it isn’t long before we’re both close. LBF tells me to hold on a second. I can’t. I move furiously and come when he does.
2 p.m. It’s our last full day together, so LBF suggests the beach. I’m Michael Jackson pale, but when in Rome … I try on my swimsuit and ask LBF to tighten the halter top. Surprise! He doesn’t. He fumbles with it for a bit, but I can feel his boner poking me. I grab at it from behind my back. LBF pushes me toward the bed and pulls my bottoms down. He licks me until I’m moaning and writhing. LBF resurfaces, grinning, and I push him down into me. I ask for it deeper and harder and come again. The sex is good, the kind of sex that people who know each other’s bodies have, the kind that we always get to right before one of us has to leave.
8 p.m. After the beach, we go back to LBF’s apartment. Before I know it, we’re in bed, and LBF’s back inside me. We take a moment to admire our tangled limbs in the mirrored closet door. The reflection looks more like an orgy than just us having sex. LBF and I manage not to get sand in any sensitive places. I lick his ears and neck and taste salt. I tremble and scratch him when I come. He pumps hard and I cry out in pleasure and pain, already missing this.
10:30 a.m. I’m flying back to NYC today. Mornings before one of us leaves are the hardest. I think of a time before we made this official. “I wish you every happiness,” I told him. “But I especially wish you every happiness with me.” I wish we could get sick of each other. I curl up next to LBF and lightly trace my fingers over his boxer briefs before sliding them off. I take him into my mouth, like he’s a delicacy. LBF stops me before he comes. He pulls me on top of him and tells me to lie down. LBF could be any man comforting any woman, except we’re naked and moving rhythmically and the room smells like sex. We come at about the same time. I look at LBF, and I know we’re thinking the same thing: “This is it for a few months.”
TOTALS: Eight orgasms; ten acts of intercourse; three acts of oral sex; one double-date; one trampoline squirting incident; one drunken naked video; countless disgustingly lovey-dovey moments; one very sore vagina.