sex diaries

The D.J. With a Day Job and a Flair for Fantasy

Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week: The D.J. With a Day Job and a Flair for Fantasy; 26, Female, LES, straight, very involved.

6:50 a.m.: Wake to recall last night: orgasm in my room, which was one-sided (mine), lights on, from a Barney. ( Barney: noun, man procured from bar for the purpose of detached sexual gratification.) His midtown attitude translated into discomfort when I asked him to roughly cover my mouth.
7:19 a.m.: Sixty-second orgasm with massage showerhead.
8:55 a.m.: Text from Married Guy, unrequited love of my life with whom I have had an inappropriate, incessantly textual relationship for the past year. We have not yet slept together.

10:15 a.m.: Share uncomfortable elevator silence with very wedding-banded man with whom I had an extremely hot one-night stand. Recall his delighted exclamations, e.g., “look at that,” said in whisper while I removed my underwear.
10:38 a.m.: MG’s texts have become overwhelmingly hot. Today’s contain specific requests for obedience on the part of me and the imaginary girl with whom we are having an imaginary threesome.
11:05 a.m.: Receive phone call from MG, and sneak into vacant office. “Though sort of pedestrian,” he would like for one of us to lick the other while he has sex with her.
11:20 a.m.: Receive follow-up call. Informed that I will be tied up and made to beg. Stare blankly at my computer for ten minutes. Fail to do anything for remainder of day.
2:30 p.m.: Co-worker shows off his new cell phone by accessing I scroll over video titled “my first interracial threesome.”
5:15 p.m.: No additional text messages from MG. Begin to worry that he did, as he had suggested, drive off the road in a sex-crazed frenzy.
9:15 p.m.: Read portions of Hemingway’s Garden of Eden, from which MG’s recent obsession with threesome was born. Marathon of self-pleasure. Have orgasms, sleep on towel.

6:30 a.m.: Wake to alarm. 4:11 a.m. texts from guy whose number is stored in my phone as “Rando French Guy.” A Barney.
8:50 a.m.: Last day of the year. Run in my tights. Briefly entertain possible punishments for bad behavior.
9:35 a.m.: Co-worker with whom I had brief affair comes to visit. He tells me about his plan to attend a house party with college-age friends of his college-age girlfriend. Walks away. I am left with the image of him continuing to do me while I answered my cell phone at his Tribeca apartment.
12:50 p.m.: MG receives my holiday gift, Ayn Rand’s Anthem, 50th-anniversary edition. Texts me “thanks.”
2:15 p.m.: Receive instructions from MG to send him a list of things I would like to have him do during our planned encounter. Head is spinning.
10:55 p.m.: At bar New Year’s Eve party. Explain to male friend that we should stand apart so as not to repel potential suitors. Drink four glasses of whiskey.
12:01 a.m.: Wish Happy New Year to the man smoking outside the bar. He says my friend let him finger her in the taxi here, and is she now making out with a very unattractive man. We have a brief, friendly kiss and he takes off in a taxi.
12:30 a.m.: Text “Happy New Year” to MG, to which he responds only, “You too.”
7:05 a.m.: Arrive home with British Barney. Say hello to roommate and friends who are still drinking in the kitchen. Escort him to my bedroom where I allow him to get me off without removing his pants.

11:25 a.m.: Wake with incredible hangover, alone. Stare at ceiling in attempt to recall detail of prior evening. Nothing.
12:40 a.m.: Text MG a picture of the grotesque, nearly deforming hickey dead-center on my neck.
2 p.m.: Review text messages received during prior evening/morning Including, but not limited to: “Happy New Year, slut,” “You suck,” and “When the fuck are you coming over?” Move to couch for continued recovery time.
4:50 p.m.: Watch documentary. Entertain thought of MG coercing me to bend over. Return to bedroom.
7:50 p.m.: Receive call from D—, my high-school sweetheart with whom I have a boringly domestic relationship, despite our mutual disinterest. He represents my parents’ first choice in suitors, owed to his technical status of “Jewish.” Fight over whether it’s my turn to come to Brooklyn. Decide to meet the following evening, out of sheer laziness.
9:12 p.m.: Begin erotic texts with MG on topic of sharing shower during imaginary threesome.

7:40 a.m.: Having slept through alarm, choose to take a personal day.
1:14 p.m.: Continue naughty text barrage. MG commands me to send an account of my vision for our threesome to him by Sunday evening. I accept.
2:25 p.m.: En route to gym, receive call from MG. He tells me abut a woman who once took him home and then changed into a “sexy” policewoman outfit. He admits to having been entirely uncomfortable and that, to her disappointment, none of her props were used.
8:40 p.m.: Am bored at concert. D— has decided to emphasize our coupledom to his friends by publicly hugging and kissing me. I watch the lead guitar’s bicep through his hipster shirt.
10:30 p.m.: Having finished watching Kung Fu Panda, D— and I climb into bed and I explain, half truthfully, that I am not “feeling sexy.” I despise myself for using this terminology, and him for accepting my rejection.
11:45 p.m.: Reading and snuggling lead, inevitably, to gentle, lights-off sex during which I force orgasm by masturbation.

8:45 a.m.: Wake to alarm and scent of D— sweating. Extract myself and hide in shower.
9:20 a.m.: Feeling cheered by my multiple shower orgasms, head to family brunch on Third Avenue. Leave D— asleep in my bed.
11:25 a.m.: Feeling shunned by happily coupled siblings, retreat to couch to text MG.
12:29 p.m.: Call from MG. He’s en route to return bird feed to the pet store. I stand on the street, freezing, and learn about his first-ever orgasm at age 16 on a beach with his then-girlfriend. Cradle this image in my mind.
6:20 p.m.: Spa. Pruned from steam and hot tub. Receive excellent hot-towel massage while Brad tells me about surfing in Peru. He leaves me his contact number and e-mail.
9:35 p.m.: Drink in B—‘s kitchen with his roommate, an exceedingly short and squat Asian girl who is deciding on an outfit for the evening. I wonder about what sorts of men she picks up at East Williamsburg bars, and whether any of them have midget fetishes.
12:40 a.m.: Finish vocal track with B—, an ex with whom I am recording an album. Though I have not slept with him in months, he continues to attempt, fervently, to coerce me.
2:20 a.m.: B— and I get into bed to watch a Woody Allen movie while he aggressively pets my hair and rubs himself against me. One of a great many ways he continues his attempt to resume our sexual relationship, which was punctuated by our realization of role-play fantasies and a spanking fetish. I announce that my eye is hurting (partially true) and am relieved when he falls asleep.

11:11 a.m.: Wake in a panic without access to BlackBerry, which reads only “battery too low for radio use.” Immediately get taxi back to the city.
11:40 a.m.: Arrive home to review texts of prior evening. One from the Professor in typically undecipherable garble: “you were just the greatest thing you did sweets.” He’s a college professor I dated until his alcoholism and concurrent violence became unlivable.
1:30 p.m.: Climb into bed to complete story for MG. Have three very intense orgasms around the idea of being held down and pounded forcibly in a hotel room. Change sheets.
6:24 p.m.: Run at the gym while imagining scenarios. Commit to losing ten-plus pounds before allowing MG to see me completely naked.
8:15 p.m.: Receive text from MG reading “quite hot.” Am dismayed by his lack of enthusiasm so do not respond.
8:25 p.m.: Receive follow-up text from MG inquiring as to lack of response. I text that his review was glib.
9:30 p.m.: Try on clothes for event while male roommate entertains an unusually unattractive choice. She is pudgy with bad glasses; he seems extremely intoxicated.
11:44 p.m.: Read favorite loss-of-virginity passage from Edwidge Danticat novel and try to get off.

7 a.m.: Convince myself that shower masturbation is, legitimately, a necessary aspect of a morning routine. Justify lateness by telling myself that I am actually multitasking by using the time to also soak in my conditioner.
7:22 a.m.: Remember that MG may join me at event tonight, and shave every inch of my body just in case.
9 a.m.: Read cover article in amNY on the topic of binge drinking and how it relates to STDs. Read aloud to my co-worker, who shares my amusement at the suggestion that “women limit themselves to one drink per night.”
11:25 a.m.: Ride elevator with a man I went to dinner with once. He admitted that he was more than twice my age, and so we parted ways. MG is exactly twice my age.
7:30 p.m.: Book reading and party. MG arrives in a cashmere-blend coat and scarf. We drink wine and listen to the reading.
9 p.m.: MG reminds me to wear my seat belt and initiates hand-holding. He gives the name of a woman he had a MMF threesome with years ago, and says she wanted to marry him, and tells how she begged him to touch the man, but he refused.
9:12 p.m.: I invite MG up to my apartment “for a minute,” and he agrees. Parking’s not readily available.
9:30 p.m.: MG removes his watch, and remarks that he would have felt strange with it on. He holds my hair while I go down on him from my knees.
9:50 p.m.: After only a minute or so of begging, he agrees to have sex with me. A brief search for condoms ensues, after which I toss on a nightgown and bother my roommate for one of hers.
10:05 p.m.: We have very good but uninventive sex, ending in simultaneous orgasm.
10:15 p.m.: I give him a follow-up blow job, which is pleasantly effective and thoroughly enjoyable for us both.
10:35 p.m.: Having begun to receive calls from the missus (“I’m supposed to be at a reading!”), MG dresses and replaces his watch. He asks if the first time was disappointing. Leaves.
11:15 p.m.: Spend 30 minutes or so googling his former lover, with no results.
11:30 p.m.: Assume that his post-coital question means, in fact, that he was disappointed. Cry.

TOTALS: Four acts of intercourse with four partners; two acts of cunnilingus; two acts of fellatio; six acts of masturbation, three with showerhead massager and one with Edwidge Danticat passage; four phone-text fantasies with Married Guy, including beach fantasy, policewoman, MFF threesome (on bed and in shower), and hotel hold-down; one post-coital cry.

The D.J. With a Day Job and a Flair for Fantasy