Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Single Girl Supplementing Her Sex Life by Having “Orgasmisms” at Work: female, marketing assistant, 22, East Village, single, straight.
DAY ONE
12 p.m.: Wake up hung over in BK. Get excited for a second before I realize that I just crashed at my friend’s place. Sigh. It has been two months since I last had sex, and I have been hurting ever since.
12:30 p.m.: Hung over summit in living room. Decisions are made: brunch then bowling. Wipe off last night’s makeup (God I am so sexy the morning after), borrow shoes sans heels and head out the door.
1:15 p.m.: While studying the menu in the waiting room at Egg (to candied bacon, or to not?), my Gingey-senses start tingling, and I look up in time to see Red, a 28-year-old I hooked up with a few months ago, heading my way with a cute girl in tow. We had sex in lieu of a second date, and it was just so dirty that I knew I’d never see him again. I mean, guys don’t ask girls they want to bring home to their mothers to suck on their balls the second time they hang out, right??! Wonder what this girl did to get brunch the morning after … Hide behind my menu and whisper, “OHMIGODOHMIGODOHMIGOD,” while my friends stare at me in horror.
4 p.m.: In food coma and getting denied a lane at Brooklyn Bowl. Apparently every child in the entire borough is bowling here today. Trying not to think about Red and how I must be cursed since it seems like everyone I’ve hooked up with recently is now in a relationship. Am I the female Good Luck Chuck? Hope not, because that movie blew.
5 p.m.: At Gutter instead. This place is much less family-friendly and therefore more my speed. We end up taking shots with the cute bartender instead of bowling, but I make a mental note to actually come play sometime.
DAY TWO
7:40 a.m.: The sound of my alarm makes me literally want to kick puppies and punch babies.
2 p.m.: Maybe it’s just because I haven’t gotten laid in so long, but I am having serious orgasmisms at work. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term: orgasmisms (n) pulsing sensations of the climactic variety that occur randomly and without reason (or physical stimulation), usually at very inopportune times. G-chat friend to tell her about this distracting development. Seriously hope that HR doesn’t read my G-chats.
9 p.m.: Sitting on the couch watching TV with my new roommate, B, a 28-year-old straight Jewish lawyer with blue eyes. When my other roommate and I interviewed him, I could practically hear my Nana yelling “MARRY HIM” in my head. But now that he is actually my roommate, I know I can’t touch him. His friends, on the other hand …
9:30 p.m.: Get a text from my Life Partner (just a close friend, we call each other Life Partners because we essentially are, minus the sex) telling me that her 33-year-old bartender friend from work wants to have sex with me. Try to act normal as B is right next to me. I told LP I thought the Bartender was cute awhile back but that I felt weird about it since her roommate (and my friend) had already hooked up with him. But the fact that both LP and her roomie told me to go for it, and that I just got a bikini wax I don’t want to go to waste, leaves me oh-so-tempted.
11 p.m.: Now both LP and Bartender are texting me to come to the Woods, where they’re hanging out. Make an excuse because I have to be up for work in a few hours and we make tentative plans to go out later in the week. Am slightly shocked about how open this sexual arrangement is, as I can’t tell if LP is pimping me or the Bartender out. Does it matter?
DAY THREE
6:40 a.m.: Wake up early for no reason and can’t go back to sleep. Break out my vibe and rub one out before work.
3:30 p.m.: MORE ORGASMISMS! What is going on here?! Does this happen to all women? Discuss with my gay friend, who tells me he gets a similar sensation, only his is around the backdoor. Contemplate going to the bathroom at work to “take care of business,” and then remember that there is actually business to be taken care of.
DAY FOUR
6:30 p.m.: Karaoke happy hour at Planet Rose! Try to get drunk enough to perform Bonnie Raitt’s “Something to Talk About” and (thankfully) do not succeed. Retreat to Caracas for arepas with my ladies.
8:40 p.m.: Get a text from LP saying that she is going to dinner in the EV with a coworker, and they will probably be meeting up with the Bartender after. I tell her to keep me posted.
11 p.m.: Home and in an arepa daze. Decide to shower in case this actually happens. Lie in towel watching shitty TV and waiting for my text.
12:30 a.m.: It’s on. Throw on gauzy white top over my lacy black bra and go to meet LP and Bartender at Elsa on 3rd.
2:30 a.m.: Back at my place with the Bartender. He usually has a beard, and I am thrilled that he doesn’t at the moment. Although I love the look, my face cannot handle the feel. I’m excited because LP promised that the Bartender loves to go down on girls.
3 a.m.: Holy shit — how can someone be so bad at oral?? I mean, it’s pretty basic, right? He is actually hurting me but won’t stop. I thought someone eleven years my senior would know what he is doing, but I actually have to fake — twice — before I can convince him to get down to business.
3:30 a.m.: Oh, joy — he tells me he takes a long time to finish. And since I haven’t cum even once, I am dry and it is miserable. Make a mental note to never do this again.
DAY FIVE
6 p.m.: Cringe when I think about how horrible the sex was last night and wonder where D, my long-term fuck buddy, has been the past few months. We dated briefly for a few months two years ago, but it turns out the only thing we did well together was sex. We’ve been hooking up whenever we’re both single ever since.
9 p.m.: Friend has a Black Board Eats coupon to Zampa in the WV, so four of us head over to drink too much wine and eat too much food.
10:30 p.m.: Unbelievable. Text from D! He’s going to be in my area tonight and wants to know how late I’ll be up. Quick powwow with the girls about whether or not I should have sex with two guys in two nights. Considering how shitty last night was, the unanimous decision is YES.
11:30 p.m.: Am showered and waiting for D. Have sexy underwear on under my sweats when I go out into the living room to warn B that I have someone coming over. “Again?!” he asks. Lie and tell him it’s the same guy.
12 a.m.: D is here and wow does he look good. I’d say he’s put on twenty pounds worth of muscle in the last three months since I’ve seen him. He instantly goes down on me. God, I forgot how good he is at this. Literally see stars when I cum fifteen minutes later.
12:15 a.m.: Giving D a BJ. I actually love giving him them because he is so appreciative and, after two years, I know exactly what to do to him. He starts fingering me, then pulls me up so he can take me from behind.
1 a.m.: Cuddling with D and realizing how comfortable I am around him. He always tells me how tight I am. I wonder if I feel less tight since I had sex last night? God, I hope not, since I think I’ll always be a little bit in love with him and secretly hope that one day he’ll wake up and realize that we should be together.
DAY SIX
11 a.m.: At work almost purring with satisfaction. I always feel really warm and happy the morning after I see D, and this is almost always immediately followed by a sense of hollow sadness since, well, I kinda love him.
1:30 p.m.: Yep, here comes the sadness. Actually start crying a little at my desk and am thankful that I didn’t have time to put on makeup this morning. I feel like a complete idiot because this always happens, but I just can’t seem to stay away from him. I hate playing the dumb girl to his sexy jaded older man.
3:30 p.m.: Listening to Beyoncé’s “Why Don’t You Love Me?” and wondering how she can speak straight to my soul like that. Mmmhmmm, sing it, girlfriend.
DAY SEVEN
10 a.m.: Realize that I promised to go out uptown tonight. Fuck me. I hate the UES with a passion.
6 p.m.: Find out that LP’s roommate had sex with the Bartender again last night and can’t help be weirded out. She told me to sleep with him and then fucks him again two days after I do. I have zero interest in sleeping with him again, but I feel like she is pissing all over him to mark her territory. You can have him, lady. My condolences to your vagina.
11 p.m.: Back downtown, thank god. B comes and meets up with me and some friends, who all tell me how cute he is the second he walks away. I know I will most likely end up hooking up with him before our lease is up in a few months, but I have to at least try to be good. He probably thinks I’m a slut now anyways.
2 a.m.: My friend lives two blocks from me, so me and B go over to her house to smoke. While she’s talking with her roommates, B leans over to tell me that he could hear me having sex the other night. Awkward.
2:30 a.m.: Stoned, freezing, and walking home with B. He makes a stupid joke about body heat in our cold apartment, but I tell him I’m excited to have my bed to myself tonight.
3:30 a.m.: Fall asleep thinking about D and humming Beyoncé to myself.
TOTALS: one act of early-morning masturbation, one awkward Ginger run-in, two acts of intercourse, three acts of oral sex (two received, one performed), one realization of unrequited love, and several unexplained fits of orgasmisms.
Would you like to take part in the glorious tradition that is the New York Magazine sex diaries? Just send an e-mail to sexdiaries@nymag.com with your contact information and why you think you’d make a good diarist. If you’ve got what it takes, we’ll be in touch!
