Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Female Attorney Overnighting Her Panties to Her Lover: Female, 36, San Diego, attorney, straight, married.
DAY ONE
7:47 a.m. I meet B in the lobby of a swanky Miami hotel for our first getaway, on neutral territory, far away from my home. B is my 50-something paramour and is a dapper version of Jason Statham. I’m wearing a white cotton blouse and skirt: no bra, no panties. It’s our first encounter on our own: We’re acquainted through my spouse (though B and I live in different states). Divorce is impending and I’ve been honest with my husband about my intent to fool around with B. He gave little resistance (and couldn’t have really stopped me, anyway) and so I pursued B, whom I’ve only met twice in nine years but have been fantasizing about in ways I don’t think about my husband. The last meeting was a few months ago. I greet B with a kiss. As soon as I do, I know that I will sleep with him just as soon as I swill a mimosa. Framed phrase hangs in the lobby summing up this escapade: “Live fast, die young.”
11:47 p.m. Hand to God, we have sex all day and most of the night. At one point he wants me to suck him while he pees. It’s appealing because he is at once perverse, charming, and enthusiastic; it’s impossible to say no. When he finishes, we go back to bed for even more sex. He jokes that the hotel staff will find us in bed having screwed ourselves to death.
DAY TWO
6:57 a.m. I wake early and slip into the shower to mull over the past 24 hours.
7:27 a.m. B showers, and we fool around while intermittently packing for early flights back home. Despite going at it for hours on end, neither one of us orgasms. I’m not sure we’re completely comfortable with one another: We’re not in love, nor do we know each other well. In college, I was indifferent to the true dynamic between me and the people I slept with, so orgasms were simple and came easily. At this point, I can’t see screwing anyone just for sport: My right hand and a few minutes of Internet porn will cure any base desires that come to me daily.
8:47 a.m. B and I kiss goodbye in the airport terminal. I can’t recall exactly what we said as I am too stunned by what we’ve just done. It’s one thing to plan or fantasize about it, another to actually live it.
6 p.m. I arrive home. Husband nonchalantly asks about my trip. Not being one to withhold information, I tell him we were getting it on nearly the entire time we spent together. This information is not received well, as 45 minutes was considered “marathon” for me with husband, or anyone else for that matter.
11:30 p.m. Spouse wants to have sex. I have no desire to ever have sex with him again, but I agree to it out of sheer guilt, after what I just told him. It’s as painful an experience as I’ve ever encountered, which speaks for itself.
DAY THREE
9:16 a.m. Back in the serenity of my office, I answer emails and recall my time spent in Miami. I focus on our hotel room, curtains wide open, with B on top of me. Call from co-counsel interrupts my wanton thoughts, but they linger in my mind.
9:47 a.m. Even though I’m secretly touching myself while on call with counsel, I can’t orgasm until call concludes. My business voice belies reality. Counsel ceases blathering on about non-pressing issue. I leap up, lock my office door and slip my fingers inside my panties. I am so wet it’s difficult to get any traction. Focus on the girth of B’s penis, which is impressive. Size matters to me, and trying out a new penis is a bit like playing Goldilocks: this one’s too big, that one’s too small, and this one’s just right. Recalling B’s just-right size brings on an orgasm in less than a minute.
Noon: I overnight my panties to B’s office and include a self-addressed return envelope. I tell him I want them back with B’s scent after he’s used them for his own prurient reasons. The idea is that he’ll wear them tucked into his underwear beneath his penis and on top of his balls. I’m certain the two guys who run the private mailbox I use know I’m up to something indecent.
DAY FOUR
10:45 a.m. B calls and gratefully confirms receipt of my surprise package. We make plans to have a more detailed discussion about its contents during my lunch hour.
Noon: I call B at his office from my car in office garage, which is safer of a place to chat than my office. B tells me he wants to lick the back of my legs, and do me while holding the backs of my knees, legs bent. I punctuate his every thought with a pant or breathy reply of my own. I’ve got my legs spread in the front seat of my SUV. Thank God for tinted windows. We both come, and while he stays relatively quiet because he’s in the office, I’m at liberty to scream his name, even though no one’s around to hear. We agree to talk soon and I go skipping back to my office.
DAY FIVE
8:42 a.m. B emails and asks if I’m free for lunch. I tell him I’ll be at home for lunch.
Noon: I disrobe and call B lying naked on my bed. I describe my fantasy scenario: I want him to pull up my skirt, pull down my panties, push me up against the wall so I face away from him and have anal sex, something we didn’t do in Miami. Everything must be forceful. Even if it hurts and I scream, I want him to cover my mouth with his left hand while he reaches around and slips his middle finger of his right hand inside me. In my line of work I have to exude strength all day long, and sometimes I prefer to take on a more subservient role during sex. B emphatically tells me he loves every idea I float out. He may live a few thousand miles away, but when we connect, there’s no distance or lack of familiarity between us.
10:58 p.m. Back in bed, I replay images of B naked, walking in our hotel room, his penis casually swinging around while he’s chatting with me about something nonsexual. It’s completely endearing. I rub myself, but fall asleep too tired to bring out the sexual aspect to this memory enough to come.
DAY SIX
9:50 a.m. Killing time before ten o’clock meeting. Recall B sucking my tongue with such intensity during sex, it felt like he might suck the whole thing right out of my head. I discovered a large purple bruise underneath my tongue while in the bathroom on the plane headed home from Miami.
12:45 p.m. Late lunch in office, my new preference so I can continue to fantasize about B.
8:50 p.m. Spouse tries to initiate sex. I sense he’s only trying to reclaim his territory. I’m no longer interested in the warring effort and diplomatically decline his offer.
10:45 p.m. Try fantasizing about B, unable to focus. Rely on porn site x-art.com via my cell phone. I vacillate between threesomes with a male/female versus two males. Thoughts of B wash over me as I come. My head throbs from working so hard.
DAY SEVEN
8:30 a.m. In court all day. No time to fool around, even though my adversarial side kicks up enough testosterone so that I’m always in dire need of a release.
5:45 p.m. Driving home, I realize that I’m becoming too comfortable with B as a prominent figure in my married state. I need to get my affairs in order, so to speak. Resolve to petition for dissolution and discontinue contact with B until my divorce is actually finalized. It will be a challenge, but B is worth it.
6:19 p.m. Check mailbox. Brown envelope stares at me. My own panties are back. I wasn’t sure he would actually return them, or if he’d think I was just a little too out there. I nearly hyperventilate; B’s scent is like heaven. Celibacy is going to suck, but it’s a temporary necessarily evil.
TOTALS: One hotel fling; one undesired act of intercourse with spouse; two acts of phone sex; pair of panties sent and returned.
