sex diaries

The Single, Hopeful, Unemployed Guy

Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Single, Hopeful Unemployed Guy: male, 24, Park Slope, straight.

12:01 a.m.: Attend a college friend’s welcome-home party. Flirtatious encounters with at least four different girls. I get one number. I recognize one of these girls from college, but she has had a breast reduction since the last time I saw her, so I didn’t place her at first. I feel slightly dirty about this.
3:00 a.m.: Walk back home through Prospect Park with another guy. Tell him that I have a crush on his roommate Emily in hopes that he’ll set me up. She just broke up with a longtime boyfriend. Then I complain about recently losing my job and how I have plenty of time to be bitter and sexually frustrated.
10:45 p.m.: Text longtime friend/crush Emily to see if she wants to meet me at a bar.
11 p.m.: She does!

3 a.m.: Take an awkward F train back to Brooklyn with Emily. She gets off at Carroll Street; I get off at Fourth Avenue.
10:15 a.m.: Wake up. Powwow with my roommate about a girl he met five days ago. He called, and she didn’t call back. I suggest he call again.
4 p.m.: Think about calling girl who gave me her number but chicken out.
11:30 p.m.: Masturbate.

11 a.m.: I see that last night I got a repeat text from Emily, the same as the one she sent two nights ago. I wonder if this means anything. Decide that it does not. Probably a phone malfunction.
10 p.m.: Discover new porn Website. Masturbate.

Noon: Decide that I’m just not going to call the girl whose number I took. She was two years younger, still in college, and her flirting probably didn’t mean anything.
3 p.m.: Have Gchat exchange with a female friend that includes the phrases “spring fever” and “animalistic sex.” We discuss the joys of losing oneself in the sexual act. I point out that it’s no longer spring. We make tentative plans to hang out sometime soon.

6 p.m.: Pubic-hair maintenance with beard trimmer, just in case.
7 p.m.: My roommate gives up on the girl who never called back. Has dinner with his ex-girlfriend.
9 p.m.: I watch Knocked Up on my computer. It does not make me want to have children and settle down. I miss my ex-girlfriend, who worked for Planned Parenthood and surely hates this movie too.

6 p.m.: Meet my friend and his new roommate for dinner. New Roommate has a very sexual way about her and seems cheerful and intelligent.
9 p.m.: Go back to their apartment, begin drinking a bottle of gin. I have vague plans to stay the night now.

3 a.m.: Pass out on New Roommate’s floor.
10 a.m.: New Roommate calls in sick; the three of us go to Rockaway Beach for the day. It is quiet and relaxing, if eerily deserted there.
5 p.m.: Hug New Roommate good-bye as we part ways. I’m certain I’ll see her again, and I feel a wonderful lack of anxiety about any kind of future sex we may or may not have.
10 p.m.: Head to local bar and discuss flavored condoms and sexual positions with the female bartender.

Total: Lots of frank talk and flirtation. Two masturbation sessions. One possible prospect.

The Single, Hopeful, Unemployed Guy