This week’s cover story delves into Sex Diaries of the past. Now, here’s a new one: The Software Analyst Who Prefers Men Who Don’t Inform Her of Their Asian Fetishes: 25, female, Connecticut commuter, straight, single.
DAY ONE
8:15 a.m.: IM my Awkward Co-worker who may have a crush on me. I’m not interested, but appreciate his friendship. I’d probably be more interested if he didn’t dress like a PGA golfer with his pants pulled up to his nipples.
8:16 a.m.: Feel slightly ashamed for being superficial. I broke up with my boyfriend of three years last year and changed from your typical boring girl next door to a shallow commitmentphobe. When it is time to settle down, then I will go back to dating the nice guys, but for now, I am having fun occasionally hooking up with only very attractive men.
8:45 a.m.: Cute new hire walks in 45 minutes late. His new seat is directly across from me, facing me, so I get to look at him all day and fantasize.
10:30 a.m.: Cute New Hire starts singing that stupid “Birthday Sex” song out loud. That song is up there with “Jenny From the Block” on my list of dumb songs that should never have burned my ears on the radio.
2:10 p.m.: Pretend the Creepy Older Man standing next to me at Borders isn’t eye-fucking the shit out of me.
2:13 p.m.: Creepy Older Man attempts to strike up a conversation about the music book I am perusing. I have to get back to work immediately.
2:45 p.m.: “Birthday Sex” stuck in my head. Fml.
5:30 p.m.: Sit next to the most attractive guy I can find on the train. No wedding ring? Check. He whips out a comic book and starts reading. Ugh, FAIL.
9 p.m.: I rarely partake in self-loving, but am feeling frisky in the shower.
DAY TWO
5:45 a.m.: Commuter train. Listening to music, about to fall asleep when a man taps me on the shoulder and asks if I have a pen. I’m so tired that I can barely see what he looks like, but I fish through my bag and hand one over to him. Apparently crossword puzzles warrant bothering a stranger for a pen at 5:45 a.m.
6:30 a.m.: Wake up and notice the man is no longer on the train. Think to myself, “That piece of shit stole my pen!” Look down and see my pen sticking out and a little piece of paper with a phone number on it. Does this seriously happen in real life?
6 p.m.: Meet up with some single girlfriends on the LES for happy hour. Very likable bar except for the fact that it is strangely full of women. Pretend the lone group of unattractive middle-aged businessmen staring at us doesn’t exist.
9:35 p.m.: Hop on a train to go back home to Connecticut: where fun goes to die.
DAY THREE
9:25 a.m.: Awkward Co-worker asks me to get lunch with him. He’s incredibly awkward in what he calls “real life” — hands always shaking, fumbling around, knocking into me while we’re walking. I tell him I brought lunch from home.
1 p.m.: Sneak out to get lunch by myself and head over to Battery Park. Large, middle-aged construction worker yells out, “Hey there, beautiful!” and rubs his belly as I walk by. Ew.
5:30 p.m.: Go to Friday happy hour with male co-worker friends, and see the guy I was sleeping with this past winter. I think this is very bizarre until I remember that he works down the street from this bar, unlike myself. He’s hotter than I remembered and dressed professionally. I love ties on men.
7:15 p.m.: Ditch the co-workers to get food and barhop with Winter Guy.
12:30 a.m.: I am quite drunk and tell him I have to leave soon so that I can catch a train home. He offers to let me stay at his place. I pretend to not want to “inconvenience” him, but agree pretty much two seconds later.
12:45 a.m.: Cab. I tell him that I’m really good at tying ties, and pull his off. As I’m tying it back around his neck, we start making out. He breathes into my ear, “You better stop doing that otherwise I’m going to fuck you right here in this cab.” He keeps trying to finger me, but I push his hand away — I’m only drunk enough to make out in the cab.
1 a.m.: We stumble into the apartment. His roommate is spending the night at his girlfriend’s, so we have the entire place to ourselves. He is suddenly all about the delayed gratification, which frustrates me in a good way. Big. Orgasm.
DAY FOUR
11 a.m.: He wakes me up with a massive erection, and we have loud sex in the daylight.
11:30 a.m.: Feel slightly embarrassed when I walk out of his room and see his roommate, his roommate’s girlfriend, and two of their friends hanging out. Not sure what they’re doing inside on such a nice day, but clearly, they heard us having sex.
1:45 p.m.: On the train, heading back. Have plans to go out in Connecticut with my best friend.
9:30 p.m.: Get a text from an old friend from high school asking me what I’m up to tonight. The last time I saw him, I was shitfaced and asked him for a ride home (not the good kind). He tried to kiss me, but I awkwardly turned away. I don’t respond to the text.
11 p.m.: Head downtown with my friend after spending way too much time getting ready for what will likely be a two-hour night out since bars here close early
11:15 p.m.: These men are either super-drunk and -horny, or I look especially good, because I’m getting catcalled all over the place.
12:55 a.m.: Two shots and one Long Island later, a man says to me “By the way, I have a thing for Asian women,” as if that fact will make my panties drop. Telling an Asian woman you have an Asian fetish is not a turn-on. Stop it.
1:45 a.m.: Sometimes I really, really hate Connecticut. Not even drunkenness can make this crowd attractive.
2:17 a.m.: Catching cab home. One guy stops me and says, “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you, are you Chinese?” I tell him I’m black and start to walk away. I probably could have been a little nicer, but I was annoyed and didn’t feel like explaining to a moron that not all Asians are Chinese, and I am only half.
DAY FIVE
8:30 a.m.: Hung-over and still have makeup on my face from the night before. Gross.
1 p.m.: Feel a little better, but have no desire to leave my room.
11:15 p.m.: Debating whether or not I should text Winter Guy to get drinks again this week. Decide to figure it out tomorrow.
DAY SIX
7:30 a.m.: Walk into the office with a little spring in my step. Sometimes my own cheeriness makes me throw up a little in the back of my mouth.
1:15 p.m.: At Pret, buying a piece of carrot cake. Attractive man at the register next to me, also buying carrot cake, tells the cashier that he’s there pretty much every day buying cake. I blurt out “Me too! They’re my favorite!” He smirks at me awkwardly and walks out. FAIL.
2:30 p.m.: Cute New Hire asks me if I’m feeling hot. Yes?
8:15 p.m.: Notice new personal trainer at the gym. Tall, dark hair, light eyes, and amazing arms. Possibly gay. I sign up for a free introductory training session anyway, and know that gyms know this.
DAY SEVEN
1 p.m.: Hot manager (not mine) walks over to my desk to say hello. I am extremely attracted to him. He asked me out once, two years ago, when I was still dating my ex. We also had an inappropriate conversation at a happy hour once, about my desire to “experiment” and his desire to know if I’ve ever been involved in a ménage à trois.
1:20 p.m.: Awkward co-worker asks me to get lunch with him. I tell him I can’t — too much work. I should just tell him I like taking my breaks by myself, but that’s a lie, too.
2:45 p.m.: The guy next to me yells out to Cute New Hire, “Hey, do you want to hold my burrito? No? Do you want to look at it?” I work with a bunch of 13-year-old boys.
4:15 p.m.: Winter Guy sends me a text, asking if I’m free for happy hour tomorrow. Hell yeah, I’m getting laid in the middle of the week. Feel slightly disappointed I can’t add it to my sex diary.
TOTALS: One cab make-out session; one act of masturbation; two acts of intercourse with casual flame from last year; two lunch-date rejections to awkward office guy.
