The Nonprofit Worker Navigating Sex and Dating During Election Week

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New York’s Sex Diaries series asks anonymous city dwellers to record a week in their sex lives — with comic, tragic, often sexy, and always-revealing results. This week, a 40-year-old nonprofit worker who dumps a guy for not voting: single, bisexual, Prospect Heights.

DAY ONE

10 a.m. It’s the Saturday before the election and I’m just waking up at my new guy’s house in Red Hook. Ryan is sexy, southern, and quiet. He has an “eh” job at a start-up. He’s kind of old to have an “eh” job. (We’re both 40.) He’s quiet, and I can’t figure out if it’s because he has nothing interesting to say or because he has a rich inner life. Too soon to tell. We got wasted last night, which is what we’ve done on each of our six dates. We had sex last night, too, but both pretty much passed out before either of us finished. We’ve only had sex three times.

10:45 a.m. I suggest we smoke a bowl to fight the hangover.

3 p.m. We are stoned and well-fed (thank you, Carla Hall’s fried chicken). I hop in the shower to feel sexy, or at least sexier than I do now. I can’t tell you what we’ve been talking about all day, but I know it’s comfortable and fun.

4 p.m. I tell him I’m heading home and he gives me a really long, sweet kiss. I feel him erect in his sweatpants — um, super-erect. But he doesn’t try to have sex with me; he didn’t try to have sex with me all day. I wonder what that’s about.

6:30 p.m. I crawl into bed, not even kidding. I masturbate to some porn site, watching one little white woman get double-teamed by two monstrous black cocks. Fun fact: I am biracial. My dad’s a Jew, my mom’s from the Caribbean.

DAY TWO

8 a.m. Wake up refreshed and watch a little more porn. Is it just me, or does almost all porn revolve around anal these days? I have no interest in anal on- or offscreen.

9 a.m. Making breakfast (egg and kale scramble) and watching CNN. I text Ryan about coming over to help me rearrange some furniture. My roommate just moved out, and I’m taking over the whole place; it’s a really big deal that I can afford the place by myself. Besides needing help with the heavy lifting, I want to drink wine and celebrate the change.

2 p.m. It takes him until now to write back. He says something about having a rough night. That makes two hard-partying nights in a row for him (but who’s counting). It turns me off and yet I still want him to come over.

5 p.m. Ryan does come over. We have a few beers and smoke a bowl. He is so quiet! I mean, he’s very smiley, but he barely says a full sentence. Is he scared of me? Painfully shy? Is it the weed? Is it me? Why do I even like this guy?

For one, his physical appearance reminds me of my first true love — someone I never got over. Kind of a less-femme Taylor Kitsch look. Second of all, he is age-appropriate, and has said he’s strictly into monogamy and that he wants kids and marriage in the near future. It’s not that he necessarily wants those those things with me — it’s that he appears to be ready for that stuff. Those are good signs.

9 p.m. We ordered food and drank some wine, and I am horny AF. I try to make out with him by straddling him on the couch, but CNN is on and I can tell he’s watching the news. I’m avoiding talking about politics too much (boner killer) — I already know we’re Hillary-supporting liberals. I’m not the type of person who says, “Wanna fuck?” But I’m horny! Still, I don’t say anything.

10 p.m. I tell Ryan I’m tired and to go home, in a nice way. Decently hot make-out at the door. What’s with this guy’s sex drive?

10:30 p.m. Read a million Facebook election posts and go to bed. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as anti-Trump as the next person, but I can’t lose my mind over politics all day. I think I might have to go back to online dating and meet someone new once the election is over.

DAY THREE

9 a.m. I work for a nonprofit that involves minorities, so nerves are high today. It seems wrong to think about dating when our country is about to have either the best or worst day ever tomorrow; nevertheless, I browse Happn on the bus on my way to work. I have my profiles set to men or women. I’m ready to explore both. I don’t really want kids, so that’s out of the way. I’ve been single for four years. Being alone is not ruining my life, but it’s not fun and I’m often lonely. It’s cool, it’s all good — I’d just like to be done dating and searching.

Noon Now I’m just stress-Tindering. Haven’t heard much from Ryan.

3 p.m. Work involves a lot of paperwork today and the office vibe is off because we all know the election is tomorrow. We’ve decided to close so everyone can vote and assist others in getting to their voting booths. There is a big thrill in the air, undercut by a looming, dark fear.

8 p.m. Randomly, I sat down at a bar I like in Fort Greene and ended up talking to a stunningly beautiful, extremely tall, whip-smart woman for about a half-hour. Laura is also mixed-race, also works for a nonprofit. She was on pins and needles about the election, hinting at needing extra comfort these next 24 hours. I felt really, really connected and attracted to her, one of those hard-core I could love this person things. I was ready to ask her about getting another drink, or to meet up tomorrow during the day, when her phone rang and she said it was her … boyfriend. Why would she wait a half-hour to mention a live-in boyfriend? I hate that shit but gave her my card. Went home alone.

10:45 p.m. Laura texted about watching the election results together. I can’t meet up with her tomorrow night because I’m watching with my colleagues, but wow, this is interesting.

DAY FOUR

7 a.m. Election Day jitters. Stomach is a mess. Heart is palpitating.

8 a.m. I spend a few hours at a coffee shop I love, just to be near people. The excitement is real: Every single person I know in New York is voting for Hillary. I know the rest of the country is divided and not made up of New York liberals; however, I refuse to think there’s any chance he’ll win.

1:30 p.m. I vote and take a selfie with my “I Voted” sticker. I send it to Laura and Ryan, go sit at a bar, and wait for responses.

1:45 p.m. Laura sends me a selfie with her “I Voted” sticker. She is posing all sexy?! How am I thinking about kissing some rosebud lady-lips on the most crucial day in America’s recent history? Laura, you’re killing me!

You know what? Anything to get through today. I text her something super-flirtatious: “Your beautiful pink lips give me hope.”

2 p.m. No response. Did I push it too far? Another beer, please.

3 p.m. Ryan calls just as I’m paying the bill. He sounds very normal, like it’s any other day. I’m scared to ask if he voted, but I do. He says he’s having a crazy day at work but “will get there” if he “can.” WHAT A FUCKING LOSER. BYE.

10 p.m. I’m with my colleagues at a little office “party” and our emotions are so up and down I actually feel carsick and might puke. Dinner was some kind of nasty Frito Pie, and I’ve been drinking since 2 p.m.

1 a.m. I actually don’t know what time it is, but I leave in a taxi feeling horrified, sad, and alone. I vomit when I get home.

DAY FIVE

I am not going to cheapen this monumentally horrific day by talking about dating. It is painful to be alive today. My parents are crushed and scared. My fearless mother, shaking. My colleagues are stunned, in tears. I know intellectually it is not the end of the world (unless, you know, those nuclear codes), but it is a cruel stab in the heart for everyone I love. That devastates me.

DAY SIX

8 a.m. It feels slightly more appropriate now to mention that Laura and I offered each other comfort via texts all day and night yesterday (she was despondent once the results were in) — and that I cut Ryan off completely. I want to see Laura, but I don’t want to be insensitive; no one knows how to be today. Will we ever know how to be again?

Noon I’m trying to get back to work. People need me and my colleagues. It is our responsibility to provide care and stability to those in need. I’ve never felt like my job was my “calling,” but today I do feel it’s on me to somehow make my small world a better place. So, I work. I get organized. I make calls and check on people and genuinely listen, genuinely care. Everyone I speak to is genuinely numb. I am numb … and also thinking about Laura. Is that okay to admit?

I text her about having a drink to get our minds off things for a few minutes. We agree to meet tomorrow after work.

8 p.m. I spent the whole night calling friends and family back home in Boston. A long phone call with a loved one feels really good. Why don’t we call each other more often? I tell my parents I’m crushing on a tall, sexy woman with a live-in boyfriend and they laugh, cheering me on. They are pretty amazing people. I hate that they’re scared.

10:30 p.m. Sad but no longer shattered, I masturbate in the bathtub with a glass of wine, mascara dripping down my cheeks like I’m starring in my own movie.

DAY SEVEN

9 a.m. My boss leads a pretty powerful meeting about everybody doing more. We go around the room and promise to ourselves and each other what we’re going to do to make the country safer and sweeter. Things get personal. I bring up my Arab-American neighbors and how I’d like to work with them and their community. It fucking kills me that their kids feel like no one wants them here. Lots of tears.

9 p.m. I am at the bar where I first met Laura. She looks like she hasn’t slept in three days. We consciously decide to talk about other things. She is in a really tough situation with her boyfriend. She isn’t happy, but he’s going through a difficult health crisis and she feels like she can’t leave him. She was with a woman for several years before this guy and wants to be with a woman again. There’s not much more I can say …

11:30 p.m. … other than that we had mind-blowing sex at my place. For a minute (okay, 42 minutes), life was good again.

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