Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Single Advertising Guy Who’s Working on Self-Marketing: 30, male, Hell’s Kitchen, gay.
DAY ONE
7:15 a.m.: Alarm has gone off and I’m dreading going to work for the day.
7:20 a.m.: Contemplate yesterday’s brunch with an ex, where I got drunk and met his new boyfriend. I don’t know how I always get myself in situations where I am the entertainment for the ex’s new guy.
8:20 a.m.: Walk nineteen blocks and three avenues to work. In the middle of a crosswalk is Commute Man, a guy I know is straight, but want to kiss anyway. I say in my head, “One day he will realize that we are meant to be together and we will have this amazing life.” This insane thought goes on for two blocks and then a good song comes on the iPod and I am distracted.
1:15 p.m.: Proceed to e-mail a co-worker about the previous Friday night, which included making out with my “straight” friend on a dance floor and cuddling and holding his penis through the night. It was the most sexual activity I have had in several months; I’ve been single since my last relationship ended two and a half years ago. I love the chase of curious straight males. I know it’s not healthy, but they’re so masculine.
6 p.m.: Daily call to mom. Answer her daily question as to why I am single. I love my mom but she just doesn’t get how hard the dating life is — it’s like looking for a job right now. Not easy.
7:52 p.m.: Get a text from a random hookup who felt the need to tell me his cholesterol results are good. This, of course, after he confessed to wanting sex like a paraplegic even though he is not one. Delete.
10:30 p.m.: Wash the face, brush my teeth, apply the nightly creams and wish one day to wake up with that youthful face I once had. Can’t believe I’ve lived here thirteen years.
DAY TWO
8:30 a.m.: Straight Commute Man again. Just before eye contact is to be met … I trip. I didn’t look back for fear he would be laughing at me.
12:32 p.m.: At work, earphones in. Jamming out, in the zone. Look to my left and there are clients looking at me like I belong in a zoo.
3:32 p.m.: Think I got caught looking at a co-worker’s crotch during a meeting. Maybe he didn’t mind. This city is just filled with so many “questionable” men it is insane. And I feel like they gravitate toward me and I am their guide through their sexual exploration.
10:32 p.m.: Discuss with the roomie what constitutes the act of having sex. Blow jobs are not sex, according to him and most friends. I have always considered giving head to be sex. I must be slow.
11:35 p.m.: Go to bed with the thought of how nice it would be to give head.
DAY THREE
9:45 a.m.: Get an e-mail from an ex calling me a “bitch,” a “jerk,” and a “control freak” for not wanting to see him this weekend. He told me to not respond because he is putting me into spam. Delete him from BlackBerry and e-mail.
11:52 a.m.: Get back to desk to check personal e-mail, only to be greeted with a message from my roommate that he hooked up with a man who lives in Queens and has an 11-year-old daughter. Nice one. I am amazed at his sex life. At times I wish I had it.
7:15 p.m.: Friend’s house. Find out that his “go-to” position with his boyfriend is reverse cowgirl. I find it strange that your “go-to” position is not facing each other. Then he got me stoned and we laughed our asses off about it.
DAY FOUR
7:30 a.m.: Awake to crazy e-mail on the BlackBerry. Decide to save it for work so I can focus more on it.
8:25 a.m.: Straight Commute Man. Maybe I’m seeing things but I swear there was a bit of a smirk/smile in there.
9:32 a.m.: E-mail from the curious straight guy from Friday. He says he might not be able to see me this weekend but that it is weird for him to sleep with someone else next to him unless they are holding his penis like I did. I do not respond. Let him come to me. Guys love the chase.
6:30 p.m.: Fight with my gym over money. Win, and then work out hard-core. And I think for the first time there … someone actually cruised me. No one EVER cruises me. It was a nice ego boost.
8:15 p.m.: Text curious straight guy about the cruising. He’s jealous. Just the reaction I wanted.
9:36 p.m.: Chat with roommate over wine about his sexual encounters over the week. Very hot. Makes me want to make my own this weekend. I keep saying in my head, “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.”
Midnight: Pass out from my few glasses of wine with weekend anticipation.
DAY FIVE
6 p.m.: Leave work in a rush to meet up with my girlfriend. We have a mission in Brooklyn: Meet a guy and have sex. The plan, I think, is genius.
8:45 p.m.: In a cab heading to Brooklyn to some beer garden for a birthday party. The plan is for her to flirt with this guy she has been wanting, and me to find a straight curious guy to flirt with, since I doubt there will be any gay guys at a beer garden in Brooklyn. But surely there will be a guy that is questioning his sexuality.
2 a.m.: Drunk off my butt on a subway platform. Used to take cabs at the end of drinking nights, but trying to cut corners. Girlfriend ended up going to another bar with her guy.
3 a.m.: Eating Wendy’s on my bed and starting to think how sad I am at this very moment eating fattening greasy food, drunk, and no one sleeping next to me. Pass out.
DAY SIX
11 a.m.: Wake up surprisingly not hung-over. Have to be “on” today, for a play and then friend’s birthday party.
12:02 p.m.: Get the lowdown from my friend. She was successful in getting her man, and he knew what he was doing and they had sex like champions. She cancels going to the play because she’s sore.
2 p.m.: Sit alone at the play. In my head I keep thinking how nice it would be to be watching this with a nice guy. This leads to me telling myself to stop chasing “straight curious” guys, because either they come out and move on, or tell me what a great friend I am. Mind spinning.
7 p.m.: In West Village friend’s apartment for pregame. Dancing, drinking, and talking about boys. Felt like I hadn’t done it in ages, but the reality is, I do this every single weekend.
11:30 p.m.: Buzzing hard-core at a birthday party filled with tall, attractive men. Ask my friend to introduce me to a guy. Introductions are made, conversation is flowing. Later my friend asks the guy if he thinks I’m attractive. And the guy says, “No. Not cute and not interested.” That stings a bit. I think about leaving and throwing myself in front of a cab, but tough it out and proceed to get wasted.
4:30 a.m.: In a cab going home, alone, again. Am so wasted I pass out with my clothes still on.
DAY SEVEN
11:32 a.m.: Wake up. Hate myself for being hung-over and wasting a day.
2:30 p.m.: Surfing online-dating website. Resist the urge to join. I will continue the search for that amazing guy, and in the meantime, remind myself that at least I am employed.
TOTALS: Zero acts of intercourse; zero acts of masturbation; two encounters with Straight Commute Man; a half-dozen texts from former hookups and partners; one straight-friend-makeout and penis holding; one stinging party rejection.
