Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Queer San Francisco Woman Having Group Sex in New York: Female, writer, 30, San Francisco, queer, in an open relationship.
10:15 p.m. I arrive home from a literary event to find twenty partially clothed friends in my apartment. It’s a mini bon-voyage orgy thrown by my partner, S. In two days, we fly to New York. This journey back to his hometown is an annual ritual since we moved to San Francisco. A mix of business and pleasure, I’ll be reading from my novel at a bookstore and wedging in as many dates with New York lovers as possible.
10:20 p.m. I drop my bag and my clothes. S. is delighted I ditched my event early and pulls me into a grouping with two other recent New York transplants. The three of them take turns eating me out, comparing my taste with their favorite Girl Scout cookies. I think they settle on Samoas. One of the girls straddles my face while my partner has sex with me. She tastes delicious. Her girlfriend lays on my partner’s back, a sensation he enjoys.
11:45 p.m. My favorite couple to play with isn’t in the mood tonight, so more making out, catching up, and cuddling with friends. Then sleep.
10:30 a.m. I wake up to the sounds of my partner’s lover laughing. Her laugh is like a bicycle horn, piercing and inescapable. It’s Sunday morning, and my partner is enjoying a threesome with two of the orgy hangers-on. I stumble bleary-eyed toward coffee. I resent his morning dalliances because, as a night owl, I’m always waking up by the time he and his partners are finishing up. I’m more of a brunch-sex person, I suppose.
7:15 p.m. We do laundry and my partner multitasks, touching me as he presses the quarters into the machine. In return, I stroke him.
7:45 p.m. We walk to the store for beer. Back at home he asks me to perform oral sex. I do. I straddle him in one of our favorite positions: a sixty-nine with me on top. Then I ride him while he holds the Hitachi Magic Wand against me. After I come, he adjusts the mirror next to the bed so we can both watch while he enters me from behind. When it’s his turn to come, his orgasm looks like a seizure and I catch my own pleasure in the mirror just as my own orgasm dissipates. He naps and I pack my suitcase, nestling my strap-on between layers of copies of my novel.
9:45 p.m. He wakes asking for cuddles, and I’m still juicy. The cuddles quickly escalate and he touches me again. I drench his hand almost immediately, then he walks me over to my desk and bends me over it to do me from behind. Our roommates are making cupcakes below my office and the mixture of smells is heavenly.
6 a.m. I send some final e-mails to our New York lovers before we head to the airport. We have more people we want to see than we can squeeze into my five-day trip, so we have to be choosy.
8 a.m. On the plane, partner and I are gropey, the memories of yesterday’s hot sex still vivid. I consider getting a blanket so that I can stroke him, but he balks. We’ll just have to stew a bit more.
1 p.m. S. and I name the lovers we want to see when we’re in town. I’m far pickier than he is when it comes to sex: I only play with women and genderqueer people, and only if they’re sane and non-monogamous. Amazing how those criteria can narrow down a list. Luckily, nearly half of my favorite lovers live in New York, so we’ll have no problem making dates.
5 p.m. S. and I head into the city to settle into our friend’s loaner apartment in Union Square before my bookstore appearance tonight. We meet up with C.J., a friend and lover who will be part of tonight’s reading, and it becomes clear that my increasingly cranky partner needs to be penetrated. We call pegging his “attitude adjustment” because it never hesitates to shift him from cranky to delighted. C.J. and I decide to try a modified “New York Quickie” to see if we can satisfy him before the coffee machine is done. With the kind of ease that belongs to great friends and long-time lovers, I strip and harness up as C.J. slips on a glove and digs for lube. She jerks him while I enter him with the strap-on dildo. C.J. and I kiss over his shoulder, and he even pauses to take a picture with his phone. The coffee finishes, and so do we, but now we’re even hornier and S. and I decide to jerk off. We lay head to foot, side by side, as he jerks himself off and I fiddle with a rather weak vibrator. C.J. grabs her sketchbook and draws us while sipping coffee. S. comes, and I flip onto my tummy to finish off with my hand.
8 p.m. We arrive at the bookstore and hug the many friends who have come in support. I read one of my novel’s sex scenes.
10:15 p.m. Beer with friends. Outside of the pub, T., a recent transplant from San Francisco to New York, one whom I was most sad to see go, tackles me, shoving her tongue down my throat. We make out feverishly, as idiot guys try to get our attention. It’s easy to ignore them, as T.’s touch floods my brain. S., T., and I try to negotiate a threesome, but she has class tomorrow, and we won’t have the apartment to ourselves. We settle, begrudgingly, on a rain check.
2 a.m. Home, after a couple more casual engagements, to find that our friend whose apartment we’re enjoying won’t be there after all. We could have had the place to ourselves for a hot threesome with T. Damn. S. and I settle on watching a DVD in bed instead.
1:10 p.m. We sleep in and work. I’m delighted to find a picture of me making out with a lover has surfaced online today. It’s the first time my nipple has appeared on the Internet, to my knowledge.
6:30 p.m. S. and I take the train to Jersey for a double date with our favorite butch–femme couple. We order in and we’re all expecting sex. R.’s uterus, however, seems to have other ideas. She’s in pain and the Benadryl S. took to ward off the cats is knocking him out. We all cuddle instead.
11:30 p.m. We get off the train a few stops early to walk in the rain. We pop into the Stonewall Inn for a cocktail and run into some friends from various poly community events. We’re surprise attacked by the passionate smooches of one of the hottest genderqueer people I know. We all had a threesome last year and I still get giddy thinking about it. Their lips are like silk pillows.
1 a.m. Side trip to an old friend’s loft. We enjoy cocktails and a visit from one of S.’s man-lovers. I have high hopes for some hot guy-on-guy action, but he has to leave early. Hopes, dashed.
3:45 p.m. We make up for last night’s blue balls with a rockin’ threesome with T., finally. She’s out of class for the day and swings by the crash pad. She and I talk about writing workshops on the veranda before we head inside to get naked. S. and I both use our hands on T., then he makes out with her while I finish her off with my mouth. Then T. takes us both on, one hand touching each of us. Soon, I capture all the attention and T. focuses her hand on me while S. watches. Then we switch things up and S. and I have sex, then T. and I 69, and finally S. has sex with T. as she gives me a hilariously distracted foot rub.
6:15 p.m. S. and I are feeling great afterward. He’s a far bigger slut than I am, so it’s rare for me to match his enthusiasm about our group sex. But with T., it’s just easy and fun and I throw myself into it completely. It helps that she’s really queer. Too often the girls S. likes are bi-curious or bi-sensual and that just doesn’t cut it for me. I slept with enough girls like that in college. You have to really love being with another woman to make me want to roll around with you.
11:45 p.m. S. and I enjoy our scheduled date night by wandering around trying to find one damn decent restaurant whose kitchen is open. New York City, you betray me. Finally, an hour later, we encounter success.
11 a.m. I wake to S.’s hard-on pressed against me. Yay for morning sex! I’m sore as hell from yesterday, but with a little lube and foreplay, it’s on. S. and I have sex without a condom, a rare but sweet occurrence. I squirt, while he comes on my tummy. We cuddle, taking care to avoid the massive wet spot.
12:45 p.m. I contemplate calling up an old make-out buddy to do some touristy things with me. I’m digging the idea of getting hot and heavy in a museum somewhere. But work beckons and I find myself whittling the day away e-mailing requests for book reviews and checking my sales stats.
9 p.m. S. and I meet our favorite triad plus two others for some sexy time in Brooklyn. At their gorgeous spot in Williamsburg, we all get naked on their couch and fiddle with each other. I don’t usually like to play with cisgender (non-transgender) guys, but J. is beautiful and a great kisser. So we make out while K. plays with my breasts. K. is his partner and a lover of mine from four years ago when S. and I met. I go down on K. until she comes, hard. I enjoy putting four fingers in her, something I couldn’t achieve last time we were together. She goes down on me for a long time while everyone else cuddles and chats. I want the boys to play, knowing they like each other, but there are too many shiny, sexy girls in the mix, so no boy-on-boy voyeurism for me tonight.
2 a.m. I’m spent and exhausted, but S. isn’t quite done yet. I cuddle with the third of the triad, the only one I’ve never played with. We share some kisses and hair-twisting while we watch S. get it on with yet another of our friends. They’ve been lovers for a while, and while she’s sexy, she tweaks me, too. Not sure what it is, but S. and she have a real connection that pokes me in the Jealous Button. I do like watching S. have sex, though, so I focus on how hot he looks as they go at it, and try to ignore my twinges of frustrated exhaustion mixed with jealousy.
12:15 p.m. S.’s day is fully booked with two dates and some business meetings. His New York pool of lovers is seemingly bottomless, and the demands for his time keep him busy whenever he’s in town. I’m grateful to have the place to myself for some quality alone time. I masturbate four times in a row.
7 p.m. I consider making some dates, but I’m delirious with exhaustion, and my body really needs a break. I make tentative plans for a salon opening, a make-out session in Union Square, and drinks with a friend who doesn’t drink, but when I get back from dinner I pass out on the bed. Plans, scratched.
11:30 p.m. S. arrives home and we take a long bath and decompress. As I’m drying off, he bends me over the tub and fucks me. Then we move to the bed and my sore and over-burdened vagina relaxes around his cock. It’s strangely soothing, this sex. It’s his fourth orgasm for the day, my fifth.
2 a.m. Tomorrow I head back home to the Bay and S. will stick around for two more weeks. We talk about other dates he has scheduled and who I’ll sleep with when I’m home. I say I’m closed for repairs for a week and I’m only half-joking. He asks what my favorite part of the week was. I hate this question, but I settle on the threesome with T.
2:30 a.m. Hire a car for tomorrow, spoon, say “I love you,” and then fall asleep.
TOTALS: Six acts of intercourse; three acts of manual stimulation (received); two acts of manual stimulation (given); one blowjob; six instances of cunnilingus (received); three acts of cunnilingus (given); one strap-on pegging; two hand jobs; four make-out sessions; two vibrator-assisted masturbation sessions; four solo hand-masturbation sessions; one act of voyeurism; two acts of exhibitionism; two threesomes; one six-some; one foursome; one sex party; one hilarious footrub.