Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Publicist Whose Theory Is “Why the Hell Not?” 26, male, East Village, straight, very single.
DAY ONE
1:03 a.m.: Mind wandering as I try to sleep, per usual. Thoughts turn to the 21-year-old last weekend who wanted me to fuck her from behind while I watched us go at it in my mirrored armoire. Watching myself isn’t all that sexy. Masturbate, which I do fairly often, because, well, why the hell not?
9 a.m.: Daydreaming about Ex. I’ve been utterly single for three years, since my longtime girlfriend discovered my proclivity for cheating on her. We haven’t spoken since the night she kicked me out of our apartment, and it’s quite possible that I may be suffering from a lack of closure.
10:11 a.m.: Decide to Facebook-stalk my Ex. It’s a totally unhealthy habit, but I can’t help it. I miss her. She’s getting married this spring, while I’m going on yet another blind date tonight with a dating-site girl.
6:40 p.m: Walk into empty apartment, and figure, why the hell not? Pull up my favorite website and rub one out.
7:10 p.m.: Okay, time to focus on tonight’s date … I log back onto the dating website to try and remember who it is I’m actually supposed to be meeting. She keeps herself private on Facebook. Bad sign. She’s probably 25 pounds heavier than the photos suggest.
8:05 p.m.: What the hell is she wearing? In three years, I’ve been on upwards of 100 first dates, and not once can I recall a girl actually wearing a blazer and slacks. And she wears scrubs to the office! Not the way to my heart…
10 p.m.: We make out on my corner. It takes an extraordinarily bad date for me not to try for the kiss. Why the hell not? Sometimes a good-night kiss on a bad first date will lead to an awesome one-night stand. Not in this case, however. She quickly breaks off the kiss and heads home. Will I see her again? I seriously doubt it.
11 p.m.: Thinking about Ex’s marriage. On the one hand, the only girl I’ve ever loved is marrying another guy. On the other, it could’ve been me getting married, and I’m clearly not ready. Even so, it seems like she’s got the upper hand.
DAY TWO
11:20 a.m.: Turns out my roommates know the dating-site girl. She’s nice, but neither thinks it would ever work out.
5:20 p.m.: Receive text from 21, asking me out for drinks. She just moved back in with her parents out in Westchester, where I have a client.
9:35 p.m.: Consider sending a text to an old co-worker. When we see each other, it’s all business. As in, we don’t even speak until I’m getting dressed. Every time I leave her place I feel like a gigolo.
9:40 p.m.: Send the text … what have I got to lose?
10:30 p.m.: Talk on the phone with a girl from my hometown who’s visiting me this weekend. We met over Thanksgiving, and fucked twice that weekend. We have absolutely nothing in common, except for an apparent mutual attraction. She has no reason to fly here other than a recent break-up with her fiancé and that she’s apparently not getting any. I’m happy to oblige, but seriously?
11:30 p.m: No response from the co-worker … oh well. It’s hard to get upset about sending out a flier to someone who’s so obviously nothing more than a fuck-buddy. Sleep.
DAY THREE
10:30 a.m.: Realize in a panicked frenzy that in no way do I want the Visitor to come here tomorrow. I barely know her, and reflecting on it, I didn’t really like anything about her, other than her affinity for fucking me. Try to come up with various excuses to keep her from getting on that plane. While I should probably feel bad, I remember that she never asked me if she could visit me, but just booked a ticket.
11:10 a.m.: Make up a fairly plausible excuse about having to work all weekend. No one who knows me would ever believe it. Won’t get her to stay home, but will probably get me out of entertaining her.
6 p.m.: Out with 21. Some guys find it unattractive when girls admit to sleeping around, but I’ve always felt that it’s wrong to judge a girl who basically acts like I do. We spend much of the night sharing “war” stories. If I find another girl, she’d be willing to indulge my threesome fantasy, which is basically the only real fantasy of mine that I’ve yet to fulfill.
8 p.m.: For the first time in my life, I actually walk out on a bar tab. Not the whole thing … we paid for the drinks, but not the food. We admittedly feel a pretty wild high as we bolt the bar. Unfortunately, I’m only 45 percent certain that I’ll feel badly about this tomorrow.
8:10 p.m.: We arrive at the train station, way early for my train. Ideas.
8:12 p.m.: I share my “ideas.” She not only welcomes them but points out the roof of the parking deck. I used to be very much against sex in public places, and had only done it once on the 50-yard-line of my college’s football stadium.
8:15 p.m.: We maneuver her seats, hop in the back of her car, and go to town. Not gonna lie, this girl is unbelievably fun. She goes down on me while I finger both of her holes. Then she straddles me. Afterward, we both comment on the incredible stench of sex in the car.
8:59 p.m.: I board the train, supremely satisfied. There’s nothing better than having sex before your night is over.
9:40 p.m.: I enter my friend’s apartment to watch the National Championship game. My friends mistake the smell of vagina and sex for body odor. I immediately wash my hands and face.
DAY FOUR
10:05 a.m.: Visitor texts that she’s staying with her friend in Brooklyn. Score!
11:00 a.m.: Tell a friend a story about how I had sex in the resort pool in front of my mother and grandmother, below the water (they didn’t know) on vacation. My friend hopes I have sons, because I’ll never be able to share these stories with daughters. I’d probably tell the daughters.
6:45 p.m.: 21 requests that I come to her house party full of young’uns tonight.
3 a.m.: I meet up with 21, hang out at the party for a while, and ultimately leave to meet my friends. 21 and I exchange texts at random intervals; by which I mean, she texts me randomly, and when I respond, she doesn’t. It dawns on me that she’s totally toying with me, but then I realize that I’m really okay with that … we’re fooling around for the same reason: We both enjoy getting laid.
3:30 a.m.: After one too many text messages go unanswered, I pass out. No biggie, I’ll try again tomorrow.
DAY FIVE
10:40 a.m.: Am awoken by an unbelievably random text from crazy Polish chick that I used to bang a couple of years ago. Wonder for a second if she’s looking for a quickie, but soon discover that she’s only being friendly. Meh.
11 a.m.: Decide to send a mildly incendiary text to 21 requesting that she not bullshit me in the future. It’s simply unnecessary. Receive prompt apologetic phone call, during which she tells me that she got too drunk and passed out. It’s certainly better than hearing that she ended up with someone else, but I can’t help but wonder if she’s just feeding me more bullshit. Still, classy gesture to call.
11:45 a.m.: Get the urge to masturbate. Put on some lesbian porn and take care of business.
4:15 p.m.: Take a call from the Visitor, and realize that no matter how long I delay, she’s staying with me tonight.
9:15 p.m: Something weird is going on. Seemingly every girl I’ve been with in the last six months is coming out of the woodwork today. Now this freaky Orthodox Jew who uses me for sex every six weeks or so is wondering what I’m up to tonight. I’m frustrated, because there are so many instances where I’ll go weeks without getting any offers from anyone. Rains, pours, etc.
9:45 p.m.: The Visitor arrives. I’m relieved to rediscover that she is fairly attractive. We have sex immediately, and she wants to skip my two parties tonight. Mildly annoyed, but at the same time, I didn’t really want to have to introduce her to anyone, anyway.
12:30 a.m.: Have sex again, pretty boring sex. She tries to cuddle, but I promptly pass out.
DAY SIX
9:30 a.m.: She wakes me up for sex far too early in the morning (though I’m obviously able to pull it together), and then starts bugging me that she’s hungry and that it’s time to start the day. I’m horribly annoyed.
4 p.m.: Since she forced me to wake up early and walk around downtown in 25 degree weather, I force her to watch football all afternoon. She gets subjected to six guys hanging out and discussing what makes certain vaginas attractive. Visitor is clearly uncomfortable. I don’t really care.
9:15 p.m.: We have sex, after she complains that she’s been patiently waiting for football to end all day.
11:30 p.m.: We have sex again. This time, she thanks me profusely mid-coitus. Umm, you’re welcome? What am I, a sex service over here? She also asks me mid-sex if I’m going to remember her. Gee, let me think … how can I forget a totally boring girl with whom I have nothing in common who flew to New York just to get laid a couple of times without checking with me first?
12:30 a.m.: She tells me that I wasn’t nearly as charming this time around. I explain rather bluntly that I didn’t need to be, as there was no question about us having sex. Not wanting to talk to her any more than I absolutely have to, I turn over and go to sleep.
DAY SEVEN
9:30 a.m.: Finally rid of the Visitor. I know I acted like a dick, but I honestly didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want her here. Let’s be honest: Sex god, I am not. That said, I don’t like acting like a dick, because I’m typically not.
3:45 p.m.: Loosely fill my mother in on the Visitor and 21. She’s slightly perturbed, then admits that she’s always thought I should be dating girls younger than me, due to relatively low maturity level.
11:30 p.m.: Try to plan drinks with 21. She says she’s busy but will try. My mind wanders back to our sexcapade in the car, and in no time, I’m ending my week just as I started it.
TOTALS: Six acts of intercourse with two partners; one act of fellatio; one act of fingering; four acts of masturbation; one make-out after a bad first date with a girl off the internet.
