sex diaries

The 23-Year-Old Intern Getting It On With Her Parents’ Loaded Banker Friend

Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the 23-Year-Old Intern Getting It On With Her Parents’ Loaded Banker Friend: Female, 23, paid intern, Alphabet City, single, heterosexual. 


11:30 a.m.: Wake up after a long night. Turn to my right and hope to see a man next to me. Instead, I see my roommate across the room. Yes, I’m so poor that I have a roommate. An actual roommate.
2 p.m.:
Finally get out of bed and go to the shower. Masturbate with the head, which is usually one of my favorite ways to get off (see above, re: roommate). Water gets too hot all of a sudden and scalds my ladyparts. Morning ruined. Alphabet City plumbing strikes again.
3 p.m.:
Guy from last night I was hoping to bring home agrees to have brunch with me after he gets an impromptu sext (works like magic). He had nice hair … for a Staten Island émigré.
4 p.m.:
Crammed inside an East Village brunch nook listening more to our neighbors’ conversation than the fledgling one between Staten and me. I never thought I’d be the girl having brunch at 4 p.m. Never thought I’d be the girl enjoying a pet under the table either, but there’s a first time for everything.
6 p.m.:
Go home with him. Decide to pet back.


9:30 a.m.: Time for my Effexor fix. Can’t find it. Worry I left it at a hookup’s place the other night. Doubt he’ll notice; his medicine cabinet was packed enough as is.
3 p.m.:
Dragging and want a coffee. Swing by the V.P.’s office on purpose to get his daily request. I hope I don’t smile too much when I first see him. When he gives me the money our fingers touch, and the only thing stifling a thrill is his wedding band.
7 p.m.:
Happy hour with an old college roommate. She tells me about this guy she’s dating and asks me if I have any stories of my own. I debate whether or not to tell her about the Island. Choose not to. Maybe I would’ve if I had taken my Effexor.


7:30 a.m.: Drag myself to the gym, but I’m not sure if I feel this crappy because of Effexor withdrawal. Hot guy on the treadmill perks me up though. His abs ripple like Gerard Butler’s in 300.
2 p.m.:
Fuck Buddy texts now that he’s back from vacation. Maybe I’ll get one off tonight.
11 p.m.:
I’m in luck. FB takes a cab over and we immediately get to work. My roommate is coming home at midnight so we have to hurry and finish before then. That’s never a problem for this guy; at least I know what to expect. He jumps me in the doorway and pushes me onto the kitchen counter. I wish I had scrubbed the salmonella off beforehand. We’re done in plenty of time.


6:30 p.m.: Parents are in town for business and take me out to Gramercy Tavern. They bring along their Loaded Friend, a silver-foxed Wall Street banker who got out just before the crash and who pulled out just before my climax five years ago. Despite our history, somehow things have never been awkward between the two of us, even in this situation; it’s kind of hot, in fact. His white collar looks good tonight.
9:30 p.m.:
Three hours and three bottles of wine later we get up to go. Loaded pulls me in for a kiss on the cheek that won’t arouse suspicion. His hand slips too low but he doesn’t do anything about it. I twist my neck to try and make his lips land on mine. He doesn’t ace the landing.


8:15 a.m.: Wake up horny after an S&M dream about Loaded Friend. Don’t have time to masturbate, so have to just deal with the sensation. Cross my legs on the subway all the way to work. It doesn’t help much.
9:00 a.m.:
Stop by the single-person stall on the way to my desk. Take care of the morning’s unrealized potential. I can’t work in that state.
2:30 p.m.:
Swing by the V.P.’s office. Get his coffee order. He seems to appreciate the shirt buttons I unfastened before I paid a visit, and I’m not above a little appreciation.
7 p.m.:
Dinner with the parents again. Pretend that I’ve picked up a sudden interest in finance and ask for Loaded Friend’s number. They’re all too happy to give it to me.
10 p.m.:
Text Loaded Friend saying we should grab a drink without my parents. He responds immediately, telling me he’s happy I made his BlackBerry vibrate.


12 p.m: Can’t concentrate on anything but Loaded all day. Even when the V.P. pays a visit I’m fantasizing about Loaded and I five years ago. It was good back then. I expect it’ll be even better now that I know what I’m doing.
7:30 p.m.:
We go to Bar and Books on the Upper East Side. I see a bunch of other young girls there … all with older men. I fit right in. Loaded tells me that college has done me well. I smile in return.
10 p.m.:
After a few hours of flirting, we head back to his place. He pins me to his door and pretends like we’re Don Draper and Bobbie Barrett. I like it just as much as she did.
11:30 p.m.:
Five years after he pulls out he puts it in. He’s gotten better with age, too. Maybe Viagra deserve some credit?


10 a.m.: Morning blowjobs with Loaded lead to afternoon delights. He is more than ready for several rounds. It’s made all the better by the windows overlooking Central Park (yes, he deserves the Loaded title). Whether or not people can actually see us, we can see out, and I’d like to think someone is watching. Yes, I’m a shameless exhibitionist. So what?
2 p.m.:
Take a shower at his place to wash his smell off. After the scalding from earlier in the week, my ladyparts are finally feeling healed. Hope this means they’ll be getting more action.

TOTALS: one under the table petting session; one kitchen quickie; one dirty dream; one Mad Men-style groping; one morning blowjob session; three acts of intercourse.

The 23-Year-Old Intern Sex Diary