Once a week, Daily Intel looks behind doors left slightly ajar. This week: The Photographer in Love With a Film Guy Who May or May Not Love Her: female, 25, Manhattan, straight, in a long-term relationship.
DAY ONE
7 a.m.: Wake up to visit BF on set of teen zombie flick upstate. Haven’t had sex in 21 days. OMG. I am absolutely in love with my boyfriend, but as time passes I am faced with the same question over and over: How many compromises are worth it?
6:25 p.m.: Eight hours of Greyhound and three creepy dudes later, I’m sitting in small bar enjoying a glass of wine waiting to be picked up by BF’s assistant. Even though we have been together for seven months, I’m nervous.
8 p.m.: After awkward reunion in front of his co-workers, we rush to the place he is staying. Flowers by the bed. Wine. We quickly pull each other’s clothes off. So delicious. Hey, he looks a little teary too. But who knows.
9 p.m.: He has to go back to set. Two of his hot co-workers come back to the place. Whiskey and a game of Clue. One of them always flirts with me. But I’m still in too much postcoital bliss to think about anything but BF.
DAY TWO
6 a.m.: It’s dark and I awake to BF kissing and fucking me. It’s so hot.
Noon: And so begins day of coupledom. Brunch, Bloody Marys by the lake.
6 p.m.: We make dinner together, and have a small fight. It hurts so much when he talks about other girls and wanting to “hit that” (some of my friends). I drink too much.
10 p.m.: We go to a party, decide to sleep in the set of the film, which is a large, super-creepy mansion filled with equipment and stuffed animals like deer. I am so drunk I pass out.
DAY THREE
8 a.m.: Awake way on the opposite side of the king-size bed as my lover. Fuck. I passed out and fucked up the romantic evening. I go to the bathroom, make some noise.
8:15 a.m.: Back in bed. Cry. I hate being next to the one you love but feeling so alone. Eventually I give in and cuddle him. Though I am still mad at him from the fight, I apologize. It is my fault I passed out.
Noon: We finally make it out of bed and take a bubble bath in the creepy set house. We make love all nice and clean. I don’t come.
2 p.m.: Back to his place for mimosas. Cute.
8 p.m.: Steak dinner at Podunk place with shitty martinis. He talks about action flicks and guns. I still love him.
11 p.m.: I make him watch artsy Bardot film. He wants to try anal. I’m still a “back-door virgin.” Luckily I brought lube. He lays me over his lap and slides his fingers in while rubbing my clit. We go for the kill. Ow. No. His roomie is on the other side of a glass door just four feet away. Maybe another night for all that.
Midnight: I go to pee and he comes in the bathroom and puts his dick in my mouth while I pee. He cums on my chest. We get in bed. I’m like, “So, uh … ” I put his hand on my clit and he rubs. I have an amazing orgasm.
DAY FOUR
9 a.m.: Shitty weather. BF plays video games all day with dudes. I get annoyed.
9 p.m.: We haven’t talked almost all day. I want to get back to the city. I’m pissed.
11 p.m.: With BF’s best girl friend, C. She talks about how she and her boyfriend have cheated on each other, and how she checks his phone. I admit to checking BF’s phone once, but what I found was mostly a good surprise. I admit I also looked through the pics on the phone and saw a girl in his shirt sitting on his bed in month four of our relationship. But he said he didn’t do her. C laughs. “Yeah, right.” My chest tightens. Am I so gullible? It is something we have discussed a lot, and he swears he didn’t. I hate to be paranoid. Is everything based on a lie? Am I a dummy? Two orgasms in seven months, and this too? But I love him. I maybe want to have his babies. Ugh.
Midnight: We go outside together in the storm, and run to the edge of a dock. I start kissing him in the windstorm, unbutton his pants, he resists, says it’s really cold. I insist. We fuck outside on the dock. He comes fast.
12:45 a.m.: After watching cartoons with the boys I retire to bed, leaving him with his friends. I find an awesome eighties porn vid for the iPhone. Whip out vibrator (yeah, I brought it). Have a smashing orgasm to a threesome. The girls have really hairy bushes, which is refreshing. Go to sleep alone.
DAY FIVE
9 a.m.: I wake up and notice that me plus all the covers are way on his side of the bed. Metaphor for relationship. I just want to get closer. He’s not so emotionally available.
11 a.m.: After snoozing I wake, rub against him, kiss his back. Wish he’d make love to me. He doesn’t budge. I get up.
11:15 a.m.: I clean up downstairs. Turn off the Xbox that has been on all night and making loud sounds. My friend walks in and says my boyfriend was at the last round, settings not saved. Great, he’s gonna be pissed.
Noon:. He kisses my back and walks over to the Xbox. Is this amount of video gaming normal for a 25-year-old male? I am under deadline, working on my laptop. Turn up iPod, block out gunshots.
4 p.m.:. See movie alone. Feel sad.
1:18 a.m.: BF walks in as I’m masturbating to a hot vid. I feign like I’m looking at a mag. Hilarious.
DAY SIX
6 p.m.: Dinner at BF’s sister’s house. God is discussed at dinner. BF is an atheist. I’m not religious but believe in God, and hate when he tries to prove anything wrong that I have “faith” in. But we all laugh and have a good time.
11 p.m.: BF and friend are watching cartoons.I say good-night. BF walks in. He is really drunk. We have really harsh and sloppy sex. We both pour all our anger at each other into the sex. Lots of biting and hair pulling. After he comes, he rolls over.
11:30 p.m.: I am pissed, leave the room, attempt to masturbate in the bathroom. He comes in. “What are you doing?” Forget it.
1 a.m.: Lying in bed. Awake. Sad. Opposite sides of the bed.
DAY SEVEN
10 a.m.: Still opposite sides of bed.
11 a.m.: I get up, start packing and getting ready to go.
11:30 a.m.: Send BF upstairs to take sheets off bed. Hear TV; go up, he’s lying in bed with his clothes on, watching TV. He asks me to cuddle. I look at him and we lay close. I notice we both have bruises on our bodies from the night before. I have a big bite mark on my arm.
2 p.m.: In car together en route to the bus station. Get there just in time to miss bus.
4 p.m.: We ride bus in silence. I cry off and on. He looks at me and asks, “What do you think?” “I think I need space.” “Really?” “Yes, what do you think?” He doesn’t know. I wish he said, “I want you! Let’s make it work!” But he doesn’t.
6 p.m.: Arrive in the city. Thank God. We wait for the subway. He pulls me close and hugs me and says, “I want to make it work. I love you.” We say good-bye in the subway.
1:30 a.m.: Awake to sound of phone. He has gone to a party with all his friends. I am sure they asked where I was. His text: “I love you. You mean so much to me. Can I call you tomorrow?”
1:32 a.m.: Trying to figure out how to say yes and sound nice but terse. I text, “Thanks. I appreciate your words. Talk soon.”
TOTALS: Three acts of masturbation; one act of fellatio; one act of petting; five acts of intercourse; one aborted act of anal sex.
