sex diaries

The Lesbian Music Producer in an Often Sex-Free Relationship

Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week: the Lesbian Music Producer in an Often Sex-Free Relationship: 27, female, Washington Heights, gay, in a long-term relationship.

7:48 a.m.: Wake up to an infuriating e-mail from friend who can’t bring herself to apologize for appropriating a photo of my very naked body for personal amusement. Girlfriend, Jen, is still in our bed sleeping soundly. Jealous. Shower.
10:34 a.m.: As I sip my morning coffee, my boss e-mails to inform me that she’s taking the day off. I could have slept in. I’d much rather be in my warm bed with my warm girlfriend and retarded cat.

6:30 p.m.: After work, Jen meets me on subway platform. We joke about train sex. Sadly, these fantasies reside solely in her head, and she has no intention of ever turning them into reality. I found this out only recently. Our relationship was founded a year ago on an intense dose of sexual attraction and fantasy, which I had every intention of actuating.
7:48 p.m.: As dinner cooks, we goof around, dancing with one another to music. She’s slowly starting to come around to my tastes.
1:11 a.m.: She doesn’t want me to touch her breasts. When I ask how I can do it in a way that she’d like, she says she doesn’t know. She can never commit to an answer when I ask questions like this.
1:45 a.m.: Reconciliation comes in a brief but hot make-out session. She whips out our little silver bullet vibrator, we denude ourselves and go to town, grinding it between us until we climax together.

2:30 p.m.: Wake up, shower. I can’t get “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” out of my head. I realize this will take all day unless I focus. Fantasize about a boy I dated for approximately 30 seconds once. My attraction to men lies solely in the sexual realm. Masturbate, calming my nerves for a fast-approaching work session with my favorite rock star.
6:05 p.m.: As the singer and I chat backstage at a venue, we talk about her hometown. I tell her how Jen and I had our first date in a club there a year ago. Of course, we didn’t call it a date because she was still engaged to a man, and I couldn’t figure out why she was paying me any mind if she was so happy. Turns out, she wasn’t.
9:05 p.m.: I leave after sound check, passing through hundreds of rabid fans. Hop a train to another show across the city. Two gigs in one night? Possible bad planning on my part.
9:30 p.m.: The show’s opener has mastered a balance of electroclash, hip-hop, and performance art. She’s mostly naked and has a bangin’ body. I’m surprised I even notice; mostly Jen generally keeps 100 percent of my attention with her own bangin’ body these days.

12:30 p.m.: Wake up to snuggles. We’re spending the whole day together, just doing house stuff.
8:30 p.m.: Taco night! Always my favorite. We spend the next several hours snuggling up to one another on the couch in front of the TV.
2:30 a.m.: Jen has a random allergy attack, which results in a thwarted attempt at sex. I’m frustrated because, for a while there, it seemed like she’d get sick every time I attempted to seduce her. Things have been better recently, and I realize I may have been a bit neurotic over it all. I’m exhausted anyway. She offers a rain check.

8 a.m.: We wake up late. I can’t decide which I hate more: the days we BOTH have to get up or the days when I leave her in bed and make the trek alone.
9:15 a.m.: Incredulous expressions from fellow passengers when Jen kisses me good-bye as I exit the train? Check.
1:45 p.m.: Ethically ambiguous coffee date with a friend I slept with three years ago (but have only seen twice since). It’s only ethically ambiguous because, when I told Jen I was going out for lunch, I didn’t mention that we’d been intimate in the past. I didn’t have time, and she can be weird about those sorts of things. She is oddly, and not endearingly, possessive sometimes.
1:46 p.m.: Make mental note that I have a seriously guilty conscience.
2:30 p.m.: Exchange cute texts with Jen about how much we miss each other. We rarely get to spend an entire day together, so when we do, the day after is typically a bit of a downer.
6 p.m.: Home early. Alone. I fish out the dildo, pack some fresh batteries into the bullet, pull up my favorite lewd still photo, and come in 30 seconds. Nap?
6:45 p.m.: Reconsider. Masturbate again. Fantasize about Jen’s tongue, which I haven’t felt in … a long time.
9:30 p.m.: Jen arrives home and, while slaving over a pot full of Spaghetti-O’s, says she didn’t recognize the name and asks who coffee friend is. When I give her a brief rundown, including the fact that we’ve had “relations,” she makes a passive-aggressive statement about how sex must be a prerequisite for being my friend. This irritates me for a number of reasons. I decide to let it go.
11:30 p.m.: She voices a random desire to watch Stick It (some inane movie about gymnastics), which causes “Girl, I’ll stick it anywhere you want me to!” to fall out of my mouth. I am a 13-year-old boy. In perpetuity.
2 a.m.: She’s too tired for sex. Did my rain check just get rain checked?

1:50 p.m.: Annoyed because I can’t get ahold of Jen. Plotting ways to get my boss fired. Ruminate on Things That Suck in My Life, focusing all my crankiness on resentment about our sex life. It is something wholly different than what I thought it would be, and I worry that change will never come. I wonder how to reconcile being madly in love with someone who often shows no sexual interest in me. Do I have a lack of self-esteem?
8 p.m.: We order pizza and watch I Love You, Beth Cooper, all tangled up on the couch under a blanket.
9:14 p.m.: Jen makes an apt observation: She thinks her diminished sex drive is linked to her career. She is a New Age bodyworker, and spends her days making people feel good. Thus, the lack of desire to continue doing so in her off hours. Luckily, she’s in the process of a career change. I’m trying to be patient and supportive.
2 a.m.: We’ve moved to the bedroom. I tell her that I’m tired of sex with TV as background noise. At my request, she switches to one of the music channels, but we end up spending nearly three hours talking about music. Even though I’m dying for a release, I’m okay with it. I love it when we can talk like this.

8:41 a.m.: E-mail my boss telling her that I’m dying and will not be in to work, then promptly pass out again.
12:37 p.m.: Roused by Jen. Proceed to shower and head to Cowgirl Hall of Fame with Jen. Just the kind of kitsch I love.
3 p.m.: Overhear a friend ask Jen how work is, and she again articulates her theory on daily seduction, acknowledging that it is ruining our sex life. Acceptance is the first step and all …
7:52 p.m.: I’ve spent nearly two hours on a red carpet, at arrivals for an awards show. Some observations: Ben Gibbard is exceptionally smug; Jack White is quite unsavory looking; Mary-Louise Parker is walking sex. A brief conversation with Pete Wentz has me shaking my head at the ridiculousness that is my life.
8:15 p.m.: Covertly gawking at MLP. Everything she does is sexy.
1:23 a.m.: Editing on the couch. Suggest sex to Jen, who whines, “Nooooo, I’m tired!” Brain-to-mouth filter fails, and I mention that my sex diary is completely devoid of sex. Argument ensues.
1:45 a.m.: I’m doing the silent thing, while trying to get through my work, when she grabs my hand and leads me into the bedroom.
2 a.m.: We’re in bed. She says I’m hot when I’m angry. I wish she thought I was hot when I’m just being me.
2:48 a.m.: A slow start turns into an amazing orgasm for both of us. This woman has the perfect body, a dirty, pretty mouth, and she knows just how I want it. I think the problem is that committing to the act sometimes seems like more effort than it’s worth, which is clearly not the case.

9:12 a.m.: On the way to work, sitting on the train across from Jen, I get lost in highly visual memories of last night. She’s cranky from lack of sleep.
8:30 p.m.: While I wait for her to get off work, I hang around with a band. They apparently follow my Twitter feed. I hadn’t been aware that people actually pay attention.
9:30 p.m.: Jen arrives and I introduce her to the band. We’re invited to an after-party in a fancy penthouse downtown, but we have a midnight date for a movie premiere.
12:45 a.m.: She’s got herself sprawled out across her seat and myself and every time a particular lead makes an appearance onscreen, she makes the sexiest noise.
3 a.m.: I can barely keep my eyes open. Jen rubs my back as I fall asleep.

TOTALS: Two acts of sex; three acts of masturbation; one coffee date with former flame.

The Lesbian Music Producer in an Often Sex-Free Relationship