Sex Diary: The workaholic yoga addict returning to single life

Well, well, Daily Intel didn't publish me. I guess I gotta do it myself.

The workaholic yoga addict: 33, female, LES, breaking out of a relationship. Straight. She’s Lady In Red.

DAY ONE
5.50 a.m: Impressive hard-on is poking my back and I wake up. Owner is X, my boyfriend of long term/long distance relationship. We’re breaking up, spending that one last week of sex, sadness and clarification together.
5.52 a.m: Except for hard-on, X is asleep. I start licking his balls.
6 a.m: Midfuck. He is so good I can’t believe we’re breaking up. But reason isn’t related to sex. We’ve had this settlement discussion for a year. When, where, how. Disagree on all accounts. Lately, I’ve been realizing I have to let him loose or lose myself. He thinks this is hyperbole. We’re doing the right thing.
6.03 a.m: He is def. doing the right thing. I have one of those earthquake-like orgasms after which he smiles as if he’s reached Mount Everest.
7 a.m: We’ve showered together, more sex in shower. He is now wearing suit, looking all serious over hotel breakfast. I’m in yoga attire, and we attract even more looks than usual. Maybe because I’ve just kicked his leg. I ordered my coffee ”very black and very strong”, upon which he couldn’t help himself from adding ”just how she likes it”. X is very black and very strong. I am very white, petite, but fit and curvy for my size. He knows I hate it when people think we’re purely sexual. Many do.
7.20 a.m: Back in room. Business suit on floor. He’ll be late for work.
8.15 a.m: He has just uttered the words ”We should have a threesome”. He has a female friend, bi, who ”really wants to do” me, he says. I don’t like it when he discusses our sex life with others, and that particular threesome fantasy doesn’t excite me. Whenever I have a threesome fantasy, two men are tending to me. X knows, as we don’t keep secrets, and until now, we’ve agreed to let fantasies stay fantasies. Something, apparently, has changed. He denies having slept with the woman in question, but tells me I would have the time of my life. Translation: HE would have the time of his life. I say I won’t do it. He leaves without kissing me, saying ”don’t be narrow minded”. This too feels unfair.
10.40 a.m: Double yoga session, aborted for online 3way discussion. Both fail to calm me.
11.59 a.m: X calls, asks if I am mad. I say if he wants his threesome, he can give me my MMF first. He says we’ll talk later.
1 p.m: Out walking streets crowded with memories. We’re in a city neither of us lives in, but we’ve often met here, as he often visits for work. I often visit for him. No more.
3 p.m: Thoughts have left wellknown territory for unknown territory. Feel manipulated, but consider. One should try everything once. This is safe, we’re breaking up anyway. Jealousy isn’t a factor. But I have never felt lust for any woman, and I know going to bed with someone I don’t lust for is a bad idea. I don’t want to do it just to make my man happy. I know he’ll soon have a sexual life post me, but to kickstart that? I feel so insecure I even wonder if he can be using me as a prop to get her into bed or want revenge for BU. I’d freak out if he ignored me and showered her with attention. At the same time, thoughts make me feel petty, insecure and ungenerous, not who I want to be. He deserves a parting gift. Could I possibly enjoy it? Wonder what it would be like, touching another woman like that. Mind moves in circles. I walk.
5 p.m: He calls. Yes, I’m still mad. He says we’ll drop it. He’ll take me to dinner.
8 p.m: Dressed up, fancy place. He says he wants a nice evening, no arguments, but would like to say two things before burying the subject. Ok. He says he is sure I’d enjoy it, and that we’d break it off any time if I didn’t. And he says I always say the world is there for exploration. He adds ”But if you don’t want to, we’ll let it go.” I reach over the table, kiss him on the cheek and thank him. He kisses my lips, orders oysters for the two of us and goes on to deciding entrees without consulting. Hate it when he does that. Waiter leaves, and I tell him. He says he’ll change the order if I want something else. No, choice was perfect. He smirks.
8.45 p.m: Dinner’s lovely. So is he. Beautiful couple next table ask if we’re newlyweds too. X says we’re celebrating our divorce. They laugh and congratulate, think he is joking. I want to cry and go to bathroom. I don’t cry. I stand in front of the mirror for a long time, watching my eyes until I know they won’t go red or puffy.
10 p.m: I whisper that when we get back to our room, I’ll fuck him as if I were five different women. He cancels dessert.
10.20 p.m: Hotel room, X naked on the bed. I pretend to be the maid coming to clean, teasing him with a wet towel. Later, I’ll be the receptionist, the breakfast waitress and wifey eating next to us tonight, cheating on her new husband. I’ll finish with a special treat of my own.
3 a.m: Mission accomplished. He says he preferred the last one by far. Silly triumph. We fall asleep spooning. I love this man.

DAY TWO
6.30 a.m: My turn to be awakened to being eaten. He. Is. Good. At. It.
7 a.m: Skip breakfast, long shower together. He’s bought some huge sponges. Whatta man.
8 a.m: He is ready to leave, I feel sexy and satisfied, and surprise us both by saying he can take his friend over for drinks after work. The second the words are out I think “I did not say that”. Quickly add I don’t promise anything, but I’m open to meeting her, see how we get along. Stomach calms. He gives me a big smile and a big kiss, says I am the best and that they won’t touch each other or myself unless I say I want it. Shall there be sex, I shall initiate it. I say that sounds good. He kisses me again and leaves. I go down for breakfast, eat heartily, and throw up once I am back in room. Down again, just a little fruit, return to room for a nap.
9.30 a.m: Wake up, feel good, decide for double yoga.
12.30 p.m: Triple yoga finished. Heart’s racing.
2 p.m: Out to buy some wine. Shop attendant surprises me by asking for ID. I am 33 and have barely slept for a week! Shop snacks and eat late lunch, too.
5 p.m: Hotel room. Been out longer than I thought. Quick shower.
5.25 p.m: Whoa, they are early! Hear key in door as I put on heels. X kisses me, Guest gives me her hand, stroking mine. Ok. We all sit down and make conversation. It feels like a more or less normal cocktail party, only that we’re all drinking a little faster than we would normally have. He acts nervous, talking silly and shifting his position every five seconds. She’s relaxed and funny. I like her, think we could have made friends. For now, just as well I won’t see her again.
6 p.m: X has taken off his shirt and is sitting on the bed watching me and Guest intensely. We share a chair and pretend not to notice. I can’t see it, but I know he is hard. Knowing makes me wet too. Not ready yet.
6.10 p.m: X takes off his pants. He’s changed his boxers during the day. It makes me laugh. In my most sexy voice I say ”Somebody is getting impatient”. He says ”Yes”, voice choked. He then gets up and drops his shorts. That cock is perfection. I give him one long slow lick, root to tip and around its head, before I turn towards G and kiss her. She starts touching my breasts and we make out, me touching hers. He is kissing and undressing my body. Both naked, we undress her, while she and I give him a two-tongue BJ. This is going to work.
6.19 p.m: It works. It works so well it becomes a five hour non-stop fuckathlon, everyone doing everything to everyone, me getting a whole lot more than my fair share. Both X and G are a lot more into me than each other. She is married and has what she calls ”unlimited access to cock at home”. He, suddenly realizing this is the very last night, wants what he can get. He probably also wants to demonstrate one cock is enough. I feel like the world’s greatest sex goddess. Enjoy every second and also find it v. educative. Night’s discoveries:
* Because of height differences, 69ing a woman is so much easier than 69ing a man. And isn’t it just incredible how different two pussies can be?
* Yoga experience is even more useful in threesome than twosome. I can take pleasure in positions most people wouldn’t think of trying. I am also a lot stronger than I look, at one point being able to lift and roll X’s full weight off me and to the side, 180 degrees – without him even sliding out of me. This is my most acrobatic feat, and they’re both sufficiently impressed, but what awes me is his stamina. He only comes thrice, but he manages to fuck me some 14-16 times and G some 5-6 times in the span of five hours. New personal best.
* One can get off by pussy-against-pussy-action, but pussy-against-pussy-plus-penetration-action works better.
* Correction: Some women actually do come harder on the outside than the inside. I’ve always believed this to be one of those nasty good-girls-don’t-really-enjoy-myths and have arrogantly denied it. The ”then they don’t know how to”-argument is not valid. I have to examine it again. Same result.
* Some women can actually even come on the outside just by climbing man’s back when he is moving in and out of other woman. I feel a second of envy before remembering orgasms from being pounded are SO much stronger.
* Intense moments of twosomedome even midway into threesomedome exist. It’s also possible being the third in such a situation without being remotely offended.
* She really is both hot and cool. When X kicks her out of bed claiming she interferes, she climbs back laughing ”the two of you should really get married”. Insult may have been lessened because I, midkick, told him not to be rude. I suppose I am both hot and cool too.
* Almost forgot about this one: Tittyfucking is not necessarily giving a penis massage using tits. Turns out there are other possibilities too. I do not have the imagination I thought I did.
11.30 p.m: X declares himself exhausted. Not even two women 69ing on top of him change it. I suddenly feel tired too. Not Guest. She wants to go out for a drink. I don’t want to leave my man. He really wants some rest and asks me to take one glass and return.
12.30 a.m: Sidewalk, think we’ll be okay now. One drink became more, then a series of rowdy confrontations between me, Guest, strangers. She’s v. drunk and acting it, even inviting two men to hotel to fuck me, me protesting. Strangers were not quite sure if offer was serious, but either way, I’ve just had two hard-ons pressed against ass through jeans and three tongues in mouth. Solution: Acting half lady, half tramp, saying my man is waiting, strong enough to kick both their asses. Then batting eyes and ”can you please help me get us a cab”. To my surprise we’re now waiting for said cab. Both men try to kiss me, G turns them down saying she does not make out with strangers. This night has officially crossed all limits to absurdity.
1.10 a.m: Back in room. My man’s pacing the floor. He has tried calling me eleven times before finding on-silent phone in room. I tell him everything and every muscle in his body tightens. I hug and stroke him, assuring him she is all right. He says she is not who he has been worried for, I am too nice. I then tell him I love him, and we start making sweet slow love.
1.45 a.m: In the bathroom, throwing up. X is with me, making bad jokes connecting swine flu and animal action. He asks if I want to take a bath. We do.
2.30 a.m: Trying to make love in water filled bathtub. This never works.
2.45 a.m: Rough sex on bathroom floor while holding ON to bathtub, on the other hand…
3 a.m: But the good ol’fashioned bed is, after all, the best option.
4 a.m: Is this the last time we’ll ever have sex? We do it so emotionally I think it is, both crying and whispering declarations of love. It lasts almost an hour. When he finally comes, he does not pull out. We fall asleep, him on top and still inside me. I feel his heartbeat.

DAY THREE
5.50 a.m: I wake up, as if an alarm has set off. He isn’t here!
5.53 a.m: Flushing. Of course, bathroom.
5.56 a.m: He has brushed his teeth, too. I feel sleep in my mouth and want to clean up. He says he wants to taste me just like this, bad morning breath, mascara down my face’n’all. How can I let this man go?
6.15 a.m: Making love again. I am deadly tired, but senses are at high alert.
6.45 a.m: Lying in each others’ arms, caressing and whispering I love you’s.
7 a.m: Sex for the last time. That very, very last time.
7.30 a.m: He is dressed to go in a hurry. His stubble hurts my face. I am wearing just a towel, but I don’t care. We hug in the door, and none of us want to let go, but we have to, or he’ll miss his plane. For the last time he says ”I love you, and I set you free”. When I want to reply, I am unable to pronounce the words. He sssshs me and leaves. We look into each others’ eyes until elevator doors closes and I can no longer see him. I love him. I have to set him free.
11 a.m: As if mood wasn’t pissy already, I’ve decided to practice fiscal discipline: The bus.
11.07 a.m: Bus has free wifi. Mood improves. Decide against sentimental e-mail to X. We have said it all, over and over. Instead, Craigslist. I am single and the best way to get over a man is to get under or on top of another.
11.15 a.m: Have advanced from MF to MMF ads. Under AND on top of two others must be twice as efficient? Craft an e-mail to three most promising candidates. Only good thing about LDR (except the occasional fuckfest) is having hot, recent pics of self readily available.
11.40 a.m: Spend online time with craigslisters. All responded. I dump one, am e-mailing with another, chatting with third. One white, one black, different duos, both attractive. I feel v. slutty, in a good way. Want to touch myself, but can’t. Still on bus.
1 p.m: Bus stopping, passengers on. I shut laptop down as man sits down next to me.
4 p.m: Home! Hungry, too. I know exactly what I need – one of those huge mozzarella-tomato sandwiches of Di Palo’s, best in the City. Walk over.
4.15 p.m: Noooo! Di Palo is closed for renovation. Disappointment so deep I want to cry. Have to do with Alleva’s, nowhere near as good. Lacks that sweety soury vinegar, and today, not even basil. Wonder if this is a metaphor for future love life: Best option not available, stuck with not-even-second-best.
4.20 p.m: Walk streets I love to keep from crying, telling myself I’d be mad to leave. City’s back to life after winter’s financial depression. Everyone flirts and talks to everyone. Or maybe it’s me, back to self after tough winter of trying to make up my mind.
6 p.m: Home after long walk. Message from White Hottie says buddy is not available today, but how about the weekend? We agree to talk later. No more from Black Hottie. I am tired anyway. An hour of yoga, then bed.
10 p.m: Awake and unable to go back to sleep. Decide to put on clothes and go down to neighborhood favorite for drink by my lonesome. Bouncer’s hot.
Midnight: Drink by my lonesome has somehow evolved into bouncing the bouncer. Turns out he is not just F-ing hot, but also hot F. Come thrice before I decide party is over.
1 a.m: Bouncer’s cool, too. Did not object when I said I wanted to sleep alone, just kissed me, saying I know where to find him. Guess his job makes him familiar with politely showing people the door, nothing personal. I fall asleep feeling all right.

DAY FOUR
8 a.m: Wake up, no nonsense.
8.15 a.m: Start working, no nonsense.
10 a.m: Want yoga break, but first, just a little nonsense. Check my secret identity mailbox, and pop, there’s BH again, wants to chat. We do. Now I’m free to touch myself.
11.30 a.m: Yoga, then lunch. Feel like self.
1 p.m: Workaholic mode.
5 p.m: Need something to eat before theatre. Decide to spoil myself with old favorite. As far as I can, I eat here before exposing myself to Midtown madness.
7 p.m: Embarrass myself by cleaning out handbag at restaurant, putting condoms on the counter. Don’t notice before eight pairs of eyes look at me as if I were a slut. F.U.C.K. 80 yr old woman next to me gives me comforting look, patting my hand and croaking “I wish I could be young again”. Whole counter crack up in laughter. You gotta love New York.
7.15 p.m: Hot Italian tourist slips me his check, saying “I shhiiiink ‘is juuurs”, which I gather means he thinks it’s mine. He’s wrong, I just paid, but take a look yet the same, noticing hand writing. Message says: “Want use an condoms? Mens room 3 minutes”. Guy has balls.
7.18 p.m: Why not? Sneak out to bathroom. Place has those nasty boxes in a row, but choosing the men’s was smart. No line, less of a risk being discovered.
7.42 p.m: Am so F-ing late. I hate Times Square. I hate tourists. And I say this with the passion of a person having consciously chosen NYC as THE place to live: IF YOU CAN’T WALK THE CITY, STAY THE F OUT OF IT! A woman even steps my toe, so heavily blood splatters, before she turns, smiling!“Sorry, I did not realize anyone was there”, she says. I feel like yelling “This is F-ING TIMES SQUARE, FOR F’S SAKE, DO YOU THINK YOU’RE ALONE?” Instead I say “Look where you put your feet, please”, no smile. She’ll tell her friends New Yorkers are rude, but what’s rude is F-ING STEPPING ON OUR FEET, LADY!
7.58 p.m: Made it.
10.45 p.m: Play over, so worth it. Crying, laughing, feeling cleansed. Call BH to ask if he feels like meeting right now, just the two of us. He can’t. Ah, never mind. Take the subway down to West 4th, want to walk home instead of changing to the F. I love to walk.
11.20 p.m: Even my hottest male friends complain they don’t know why it’s so hard to score women. This is why: Even the sluttiest only have so much time, and you’re not as creative as you think. On my way home, four guys try catcalling by Chris deBurgh. I always get that.
12.10 a.m: Home. Going to bed alone feels perfect, but I still need some self-loving to fall asleep. So much easier post O. Do not even think of calling X while I am at it.

DAY FIVE
10 a.m: Yoga. Love yoga. Am a smug bitch, but love the way my abs look because of it, too.
11.30 a.m: Online. Nothing from WH, BH wants to chat. Don’t have the time, but ask if he is ready to meet, say I want buddy there, too. He says tonight. He’ll e-mail me when and where.
11.35 a.m: Quick self-loving. V. quick.
Noon: Lunch, then theatre with GFs.
4 p.m: Play over, was great. Made me think of where I could have been in ten years: An exhausted wife and mother letting others push her around. Buy a smoothie of the street and decide to walk east to avoid TS. Let GFs loose as X calls. I tell him about the play, and before I’ve even gotten to real life comparison, he says “It wouldn’t have been like that, it would have been a new adventure”. I put the phone down and throw up on a street corner.
4.07 p.m: X back on phone, asks me what happened. It must have been the smoothie, tasted great, but stomach’s been uneasy a few days. He says he hopes I’m not coming down with the flu. I should drink some ginger tea and go to bed. Good idea. I promise to call later.
5 p.m: Starbucks, buying ginger tea and staring at X’s splitting image. Only some 20 years younger. Doppelganger notices and comes over. I explain. Say he is so much like my ex he could have been his son. Idea makes stomach turn again. DG laughs, telling me his age. Quick calculation. Possible, not likely. I say nonchalantly I hope his mother did not spend time in X’s home state approx. 24 years ago. He says she was here, and his siblings look just like him and his father. I relax and laugh. He asks me if I want to meet tonight, a friend is doing slam poetry. I say I may. Go home to sleep. Nothing from online hotties.
10 p.m: Awake. I might as well go to poetry club.
10.30 p.m: Great poetry, mostly sexual. Love this place, but haven’t been here for a long time. DG buys me a glass of wine, then drags a finger along my cleavage, asking me about the baby father. What? He says he doesn’t get why I came to see him when I am so obviously pregnant. WTF! I’m down to a size 4! Abs are flatter than ever! I am NOT pregnant and have NOT been so offended in my LIFE! Excuse including words “small frame”, “full breasts” and “looking real” doesn’t improve mood. I leave DG by counter to finish drink standing by wall.
Midnight: Burlesque. Great fun. They’re doing a tribute to Janis Joplin. I love Janis Joplin.
2 a.m: Show over, tired. Tall white in suit jacket insists on following me to my door. He says I live in a dangerous neighborhood. Oh, please. This is such a cliché.
2.20 a.m: Of course, suit jacket tries to kiss me in my street. I tell him my man is waiting upstairs. He does not seem insulted when I tell him he can catch a cab at the Bowery. I suppose he is an Uptown Uptight and do not know.
2.30 a.m: Call X and tell him about my night. He laughs. I say I love him. He says he loves me too, and we both cry.

DAY SIX
Non-sexual day with friends. I have such a great time I even forget about calling White Hottie.

DAY SEVEN
8 a.m: Workaholic mode.
11 a.m: Yoga break. Make it a double for skipping it yesterday.
1.30 p.m: Out of shower, checking e-mail. Mail from X in standard mailbox. I can’t bring myself to read it right now. Secret mailbox contains lame excuse from BH. I guess he is a fake. Nothing from WH. I guess he thinks I am fake, but send a “sorry I didn’t call” message. Then CL, see if there is any promising. There is. Duo looking great.
2 p.m: Still no lunch, busy e-mailing CL guy. Out-of-towner at Midtown hotel, buddy at work but available around four. Perfect. No risk of running into anyone I know. He asks if I can be there 03.30, see how we all feel together. I agree, log off, call Best Gay Friend telling him I am meeting a guy and am on my way to the 6 within the hour. BGF is my security guy if meeting people off the net.
2.50 p.m: Train. Eat a pizza slice on the sly, fully aware I am breaking a rule. Naughty girl.
3.35 p.m: Hotel bar, almost on time. Don’t see the duo, though. Only man is on the phone. Middle age, fat, not much taller than self. Hookups should be tall and fit. Guess I have to wait.
3.38 p.m: Low fat approaches, gives me his hand and introduces himself with e-mail name. He knows who I am, I look like my pictures. He has never looked like his. Before I can say so, he tells me he is “so sorry, but Mark can’t make it”. He claims they just got off the phone, something came up at the office. B-shit. There is no Mark. The photo e-mailed to me does not show this guy or a friend of his. I don’t want to make a scene in public, so I lower my voice, telling him I signed up for something very specific, and that he is not it. Then I leave.
4.48 p.m: Text BGF, tell him meeting is off.
5.25 p.m: Getting out at Canal. Plenty of missed calls. BGF and X. BGF is hysterical. Didn’t get my text, I haven’t heard him call. Oh, subway. I try to calm him, explaining. Decide he now needs yoga as much as me. I’ll treat him to a studio class and some drinks after.
8.30 p.m: Class over. Male teacher. BGF asks me if we can postpone drinks, he wants to hit on instructor. I declare he deserves it, kiss him, and go home. Suddenly tired.
9 p.m: X calls as I am walking home. He’s been trying earlier too, he says. I say I’ve been crazy busy. He asks if I’ve had sex. I won’t lie to him, but tell him not today. He sighs, says he still loves me and wants to marry me. I say I love him too and that he is the best. He cries. I want to cry too, but am outside and have to keep myself together.
9.30 p.m: Home. Read e-mail from X. It says “Call me, I love you”. I cry. Then decide to devote the rest of the evening to my most grandmotherly pleasures. Crossword, then vibrator.
10.20 p.m: Even the crossword is sexual today. 97 across asks for “what the ideal husband should be”. Letters three and four are both L’s, and I immediately come up with “well endowed”. Does not match. Evening project part two ensues. Need it, shall I be able to sleep.

TOTALS: Approx. 35 sessions of intercourse with four partners (three males, one female), approx. 110 orgasms with four real life partners and one online partner, one act of threesome, approx. 14 acts of eating or being eaten out, four acts of butt play (two receiving/two giving), ten acts of making out/almost making out in public/semipublic with seven partners, two acts of cybersex with one partner, one act of masturbation with vibrator, three acts of masturbation without vibrator, three sentimental phone calls with X. Twelve hours of yoga in attempts to calm mind, only about half succeeding. Zero acts of accepting proposals and one act of creative tittyfucking, plus at least ten minutes spent trying to solve this mathematics puzzle.