Skip to content, or skip to search.

Skip to content, or skip to search.

The One-Paragraph Memoirs

ShareThis

Illustrations by Jean Jullien  

Public Sex:
We were at the Brooklyn Bridge Park. It was sunset, a summer evening. My girlfriend was on my lap, and I just decided we could get away with it. She didn’t object.


Every time we take the Amtrak train to visit his parents in D.C., my boyfriend would touch me under a blanket. Once, we arrived in D.C., and it was taking me forever to get off. Everyone left, and we stayed put for an extra ten minutes in an abandoned train. His parents kept calling to see where we were.


My ex-boyfriend and I worked hard to find this one spot near our offices where we could lean into this little nook and fool around while standing up. Five feet away would be throngs of Rockefeller Center tourists. We’d kiss for ages, and then I’d put my hand down his pants and he’d try to “aim” away from his work suit and mine. Soon, we had to start bringing napkins.


It was one of those all-you-can-drink Halloween parties, and I met a guy dressed as a flasher. The weird thing was he had a freakishly long penis. I kept asking to see the hose, and soon enough, the hose was inside me. On a pleather couch. In some sketchy bar-lounge. The next day, I took Plan B.


My girlfriend loves Catholic churches, even though she isn’t Catholic. One night, we were walking past a church in Brooklyn, and she dragged me inside. She was insisting on blowing me inside the confession box, behind the curtain. We gave it a try.






Affairs:
I met her outside our kids’ school. One night, someone threw a fund-raiser at their loft for the school. We were both there without our significant others. She looked incredible. Both of us had to use the bathroom, so we waited in line together. Then we went inside.


I had just bought my first apartment in New York, and my boyfriend of five years was about to propose. Then I took out the trash in my little hallway and I met Michael. He had just remodeled his apartment and invited me over. I mentioned that I had a boyfriend, but I played it way down. Nothing happened that night, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I’d hear him coming and going. I’d see him enter the building from my window and strategically wait for the elevator, looking as good as I could. In the two years it took for me to plan a wedding, I was sneaking over to Michael’s for wine, laughter, and sex. My boyfriend never found out. And then we got married. Eventually I sold the apartment.


I had an affair with a female associate. My husband knew we had gotten drunk and made out a few times—he chalked that up to my being a “free spirit.”


I’m married, but for the past three years, I’ve been seeing this artist, always in his studio. I try to stop at just kissing, but I leave with bite marks.


My boyfriend doesn’t have a huge sexual appetite, so I started flirting with strangers on Craigslist. I agreed to meet one guy at a hotel in midtown. He’s crazytown in bed. We meet a few times a year, but I still don’t know his name. He’s in my phone as “Dry Cleaning.”



Sexting:
I started seeing this guy. We had kissed, but I had only “petted” him on the outside of his jeans. No nudity. Then he straight-up sent me a picture of his balls at, like, 2 p.m. Just balls. He didn’t even send it in Snapchat. And guess what? I’m still dating him.


My ex-fiancé, who left me at the altar and broke my heart, sends me the filthiest sexts when he’s drunk, but they are interlaced with all this emotional, super-heavy shit. Like, “I remember how it felt to be deep in your mouth.” Then a second later: “I made so many mistakes … can we start over?” One said, “I’ll never love anyone the way I loved you.” Five minutes later: “Must cum in your ass tonight or will die.”


I briefly dated a man with a bad penis problem. The thing was, he would sext me as if we had the most outrageous sex life: “I’m at work, rock hard, thinking of you.” Or, “Lets go upstate and break some fucking beds.” It was completely delusional! Like, hel-lo, our sex life sucks?


After I slept with an older man, he sexted, “I want to stick my hard rod into your wet pond!” That was the end of that.


I’m a straight female with a serious boyfriend, but I like meeting crazy, slutty women on Craigslist and then G-chatting or BBM’ing until we both cum. I’ve never even kissed a woman.


Related:

Advertising
Current Issue
Subscribe to New York
Subscribe

Give a Gift

Advertising