Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Publicist Whose Breasts Are the Perfect Size to Be Peed On: Female, 43, Nolita, publicist, heterosexual, in a monogamous relationship.
DAY ONE
4:30 a.m. I must be in love because I make sure my boyfriend, Big Daddy, gets out of bed to get up in time for a small part he has on a TV show.
5 a.m. I make him a pot of coffee and breakfast. I used to show men my affection by having as much sex with them as humanly possible, and now I happily jump out of bed to make this guy big Denny’s Grand Slam–style breakfasts. I go shopping to make sure there are eggs and bacon in the fridge at any given moment and then I try to change things up and make these fancy layered breakfasts. I toast English muffins and thickly lay cream cheese on them, then a slice of onion on each half, then a piece of salmon on top of the onion and I top it with a fried egg. Not exactly Top Chef, but it’s more than I’ve done for anyone else.
DAY TWO
11 a.m. Get text from The Wolf saying, “How are you? The new season of True Blood is starting and I’m thinking of you. Are you free on Saturday?” The Wolf is married, with children no doubt, though I’ve never asked him. I stopped sleeping with him because it turned me off that he was married and I’ve slept with enough married people at this point that I feel karma may bite me in the butt.
4 p.m. I let most of the day pass before I text him back that I’m fine, I didn’t know the season was starting but I will be spending my Saturday with my boyfriend as I always do now. Big Daddy and I started dating in January, and a month later, he told me he didn’t want to see anyone else but me and was going to break the news to a few ladies he’d been seeing. The Wolf was the only lover that I did the same to. The others weren’t as frequent and didn’t merit me making a grand declaration. I had told The Wolf that I met someone I really liked and I wanted to try monogamy for a change. He’s been very sweet and nice about it, but men do tend to check in casually to see if they can still get in for some hot quickie whether you’re still with the boyfriend or not. I thought The Wolf was hot, but not what usually floats my boat. He is a tall, muscular guy with a shaved head. He does security for a living and is active in body building competitions. We had nothing in common but sex and even that not so much. I found the sex to be more sportlike than filled with passion because he wasn’t my type. What a workout that was though; I would always be sore for days afterwards from contorting into all kinds of positions. The truth is, a lot of sex I’ve had in order to keep in the game and not get weird. I don’t think anyone should go without sex for more than a month.
DAY THREE
6 a.m. I wake up crazy early because Big Daddy and I haven’t had sex for a few days. Of course there was tons of making out and touching but we didn’t have sex because his hip was hurting him. I’ve been feeling rejected. I get out a book and sulk as I read. Big Daddy asks what I’m doing, then curls up to my body and falls asleep.
10 a.m. When he wakes up, he says, “I know what’s wrong with you, you haven’t had your tank filled.” We start making out in bed. I love that he doesn’t care about morning mouth; he kisses me as deeply after a night of sleep as he kisses me when he picks me up for a date. He puts my hand on his erection; I jerk him off through his underwear, then he pulls them down and I start sucking him while he puts his hand under my nightgown. He finds my clit immediately and works it so well that for the first time since we met I come pretty hard while sucking him and then climb on top of him. Usually in the morning it takes a little bit for the shutters to open, but this morning I’m totally wet. He flips me over; I love sex after I’ve come from his hand, while I’m still vibrating a little. I come again, and he comes quicker than usual. He salivates and spits the excess saliva on my back. We both flop on our backs. I kiss him again and say, “That was really good.” He smiles; he loves making me happy that way, and he’s smug because he knows it was good for me.
DAY FOUR
2 p.m. Get a general e-mail from The Actor announcing a new e-mail address. I am alone and still in bed reading it on my BlackBerry and decide to say hello. He e-mails me back: “Hey Miss, I’ve been thinking about you.” I tell him that I had been thinking about him too, but in actuality I’m trying not to think of him. He e-mails me back: “I hope when you say ‘thinking’ it’s in quotes.” The Actor would never write anything overtly dirty. He’s a religious, almost bashful person until you get him alone and undressed. Then he’s spanking you and calling you a dirty little slut — which I do sort of miss, but I don’t act on the e-mail. People like him are always around. Better to save it for a rainy day.
DAY FIVE
6 p.m. I do a taped TV interview, part of a documentary. I choose a dark blue wrap dress with a plunging neckline. I figure if my face looks funny the cleavage — or “cleavo,” as Big Daddy fondly says — will be a distraction. The sound guy is a handsome long-haired guy, but not the loser, dorky kind of long-haired guy. He also has an Irish accent and a wedding ring. He tapes the mic to the inside of my dress and then runs it through the dress casually. There’s no awkwardness when he does it, but as we talk we keep looking down again at the mic. I haven’t been with that type of man in years, but once the camera is rolling I forget he’s in the room until we’re done and I tell him it was really hot under those lights. I fish out the mic, hand it back and say, “Sorry so sweaty.”
DAY SIX
1 p.m. I’m upstairs getting some e-mails out of the way while Big Daddy is downstairs working out and watching cartoons. He calls me down to see the end of Dumbo with him. Big Daddy is all sweaty from his workout, wearing nothing but his tight Lycra boxer briefs. He’s ten years older than me but really it’s hard to tell. I laugh with him; we both love the black crows in Dumbo. Then I give him a clean t-shirt because I don’t want him getting my couch all funked up with his sweat. In the last fifteen years I’ve gone through three couches because all the men I’ve been with have worn them out with their naked bodies and dropping food and drink repeatedly. I suppose having sex with me on it didn’t help. I think I like couch sex better than bed sex, quite frankly. There’s better traction.
3 p.m. When Big Daddy comes upstairs to shower after his workout he says I need a shower too, but I don’t think it’s going to be a golden one. He’s obsessed with big tits and when he sees a woman with a huge pair he always says he wants to pee on the huge fun-bags (his word, not mine). So he does this to me. I’ve been peed on in the shower by boyfriends before, but as a joke more than anything. This time it feels like ownership, like he is marking his territory. The warm pee mixes in with the warm water; I don’t really feel the difference but the visual is certainly interesting. I’m down on my knees when he does it; I’m just glad I didn’t get it in the face by accident. He tells me my big breasts are perfect targets to pee on. He certainly finds it a turn-on because after he soaps, rinses, and towels me off, he brings me back to the bed and goes down on me until I come, then does me really good afterwards.
DAY SEVEN
11:40 p.m. Although I am afflicted with Sunday night anxiety, I love Sunday nights with Big Daddy. We hole up on the bed early and drink, smoke, eat ice cream and watch Mad Men. I give him a full-body massage since he has assorted aches and pains. I love his long, strong physique and like to pay special attention to his firm butt. I think I may be the only woman who has put her tongue there. I don’t go up his hole with my tongue but I do tickle the sides. I know he loves it by the way he wiggles and sighs and then turns over on his back with a raging hard-on. “You’re so good to me,” he says.
TOTALS: One giant breakfast cooked; one act of manual stimulation (received); three orgasms; two acts of intercourse; one golden shower; one act of cunnilingus (received); one oversexed couch; one full-body massage given; one act of analingus.
