Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Former Nude Model Who Just Wants a Good Boyfriend: female, 24, Williamsburg, straight, single.
DAY ONE
9 a.m.: Awake to dream about the last guy I was involved with, Mr. Guy. In the dream we were having sex. I want him back. He has been avoiding me the past two months and is unavailable. It doesn’t help he lives a few blocks away.
9:15 a.m.: Throw out vibrator. Can’t stand looking at the pink leopard-skin anymore, and I’m out of batteries. I want a real man, not a battery-operated one.
11 p.m.: My love life is like a big missed connection. I have never been with a man long enough to call him a boyfriend. I attract unavailable men with whom I have sexual flings, or nice softies who I don’t want to sleep with. Tend toward obsessiveness with men who don’t want me.
2 p.m.: Transcribe interview at day job about an actor’s conflict with being naked in plays. Surmise he really likes being naked. I used to do nude modeling and today wonder if I should go back to it. It was good money.
4:30 p.m.: Guy outside harasses me and tries to get my number. Gets so extreme he follows me into the subway and hands me his number. “You’re just too interesting to pass up on!!!” His name was Joe and his area code 201. Why am I not surprised.
5 p.m.: Feeling alienated. Curse out Joe 201 in head. Wonder if I should have called the police. Share seductive glances with many hip men on train. Wish Mr. Guy wanted a relationship. Wish hip men would have one iota of the persistence of Joe 201. Feel period coming on soon. Feel super-sensual and moody. Almost text Mr. Guy but realize he has ignored my last text and voice mail over the past month. When I pursue men, it is always a bad idea.
5:15 p.m.: Arrive home and decide to do Craigslist Casual Encounters. Immediately see ad: Hipster Looking to Please — 25. I respond. Subject: Re: I need to be pleased.
6:05 p.m.: No response. I am sorry I threw out my vibrator. Take a shower instead.
7:15 p.m.: Hipster Looking to Please responds! I like his pic. Says he has never done this but is feeling neglected in the midst of a breakup and would like to just give me a massage. Can’t believe I am doing this. Respond with my address. He’ll be here in twenty minutes. This is like takeout. Who is this person? Will he show up with a gun?
8:30 p.m.: HLP arrives. He is cute but a little too skinny. We both burst out in laughter. Realize I need to talk to him first. Small talk at my kitchen table. He is still living with his ex. Another Aries.
9 p.m.: Finally make it into the bedroom. We are both too seductively passive to make a move. He pats my back and says he wanted to feel close to someone. Feel like I am in high school. He says he’s interested in me. I tell him I can feel he is soulful and I like that. Have to cut date short. Meeting platonic friend for a drink. This didn’t exactly go as planned, but he wants to meet up again.
10 p.m.: Order a piece of chocolate cake instead of a drink.
DAY TWO
2:20 p.m.: Yoga class. Why does this teacher have to be gay and adjust me like that?
7 p.m.: HLP texts. Ask him to meet me on the Williamsburg Bridge. I feel like a cougar. Always feel that way with guys my age. He shows up on his bicycle.
8:45 p.m.: Order delicious and sweet-tasting blackberry beer with HLP. Lots of flirtation. I touch his knee more than once. Am very turned on. Feel like fifties nympho.
10 p.m.: HLP is in law enforcement. He shows me his baton on the street. I throw it and it expands.
10:30 p.m.: Back to my apartment with HLP. We start hooking up. Feels good to have contact. He goes down on me for a long while. It has been awhile, and I am grateful. He is good. I come quickly. I have to tell him to stop. Now I am craving intercourse. He says, “That is all I wanted to do to you. I don’t want to have sex.”
11 p.m.: More naked kissing and fondling and I start going down on him. But soon I am suggestively on top of him. “Are you going to force yourself on me?” he jokes. Feel humiliated.
Midnight: Sit in nightgown, pleased, eating a bowl of cereal to replenish. Hipster would rather walk home in the pouring rain than stay over in my warm bed. Try not to feel rejected. But I feel rejected. WTF. Reflect on the fact that the one time I want sex and didn’t care about being attached, the man does not. I am never on the same page with my lovers.
DAY THREE
7 p.m.: Epic phone chat with best friend in Maryland. I walk near Mr. Guy’s abode and complain that it sucks that I know he is just home doing nothing right now and so am I and it sucks that we can’t see each other anymore.
8 p.m.: Look up and see Mr. Guy on his balcony smirking at me. Obviously he is just home doing nothing. Smirk back. We have a stare-off. Break stare-off and meet him outside his house. “Are you stalking me?” he asks. Catch up. Find out nothing, except that he feels we are more nothing now than something. Ask him if he has a girlfriend or something. His answer: “No, actually I turned gay.” He has a dry sense of humor and it eggs me on.
10 p.m.: Feel shitty. Want to tell him it doesn’t have to be nothing.
Midnight: Blast music and paint picture of me and Mr. Guy’s hands reaching to touch. Wonder if painting like this is therapeutic or just plain insane.
DAY FOUR
10 a.m.: Read an article about the man I lost my virginity to six years ago. He’s in an Off Broadway play.
5 p.m.: Look at photography exhibit. Wonder once again if I should go back to nude modeling again. Remember how Mr. Guy didn’t like that I was involved with that. Screw him.
5:45 p.m.: Out of the blue, former older male artist I used to model for gives me a call. Asks if I would consider modeling again. Remember my complex that he didn’t pay me enough to be nude. I ask, “Does it have to be naked?” and draw a couple of glances in the store.
8 p.m.: Tea with other best friend. She tells me how she and her BF work best doing it from behind. Flashback to the extremely enjoyable sex with Mr. Guy, even though it only happened four times over two months. Wonder when the next time I will have meaningful sex will be.
DAY FIVE
11 a.m.: Older married man I met online asks about my love life on Facebook. Don’t tell him.
3 p.m.: Get antsy about vibrator withdrawal and attempt to get self off with a weird-looking plastic kitchen spoon. It works in a weird way. I’ve always been good at makeshift-ing.
6 p.m.: Walking over Williamsburg Bridge. I think about how HLP was only looking to please once. Think about texting him something about handcuffs, but realize I should start taking men at face value. Remember his words: That’s all I wanted to do to you.
9 p.m.: Performing in gig. Gasp when I find out one of the other entertainers is Mr. Guy’s female colleague.
9:33 p.m.: Of course, Mr. Guy’s colleague sits right next to me before she goes onstage. We smile and chat. Mention I heard all about her. She asks if I have seen him lately. She remarks Mr. Guy is strange but innately lovable. She is spacey. Wonder if they ever slept together.
11 p.m.: Train home. Pine for Mr. Guy. On train, a tall skinny man with a tiny Asian female companion keeps looking at me. I look back. Wonder what this is about.
DAY SIX
Noon: Stalk the musical entertainer’s MySpace. See a pic of her and Mr. Guy. Caption: “A good buddy.” Realize this has become toxic.
1:15 p.m.: Cheat and e-mail Mr. Guy a painting I found online of a bunch of gay men touching each other. Ask him if that’s him in the back row with the stubble. Realize this has definitely gotten out of hand.
7:05 p.m.: Receive e-mail from 65-year-old platonic but emotionally incestuous former college professor asking how I’ve been. He says that if I want to meet for lunch, he has a lot of time these days.
8 p.m.: Pass cute guy on street. We lock eyes. I am all glammed up and heading to a performance.
11:10 p.m.: On the way home, see man with an ADORABLE 1-year-old boy hanging out on my corner. I smile at them. Man lets me hold his baby. He then remarks that the baby’s mom is an angry Polish woman and it was an accident. Starts to tell me his life story. Do I wanna get a drink with him? I decline. Same cute guy from earlier walks by and sees me with the man and baby. Damn.
Midnight: No response from Mr. Guy. It’s dead. I know.
DAY SEVEN
3:30 p.m.: Walk to subway with cute colleague from performance gig. He has a girlfriend. This is our third walk together. Ask him how he likes living with the GF. “We work,” he responds. He calls her in front of me and leaves a lengthy fawning message. Wonder if he is actually that caring and sincere. Comment that I hope he keeps his devoted loverboy state and doesn’t turn into a cynical 31-year-old like Mr. Guy.
6 p.m.: Run into another former fling on his bicycle. After we ended, he fled the country. He pulls over but looks like he is going to vomit when he faces me. “Life is good?” He barely gives me a chance to respond before he rides off.
TOTALS: One act of cunnilingus, one act of fellatio, one act of masturbation with kitchen utensil, one discarded (and deeply missed) leopard-print vibrator.
