Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Royal Duchess of Sluttiness: female, 28, bisexual, student, Harlem, in an open straight relationship.
DAY ONE
12:07 a.m.: End of a Craigslist blind date. He’d promised it would be tame, and it was at first, just kisses and fondling. Then he tried unsafe sex, and I got turned off and left.
12:35 a.m.: Call my boyfriend, try to convince him to wake up for sex. End up cooing him to sleep. He’s an older fellow who is cool with my lesbian sexcapades.
7:45 a.m.: Want to masturbate, but I’m late to class.
5:50 p.m.: The little girl I babysit sees a man and a woman making out in a car. “That’s you and your boyfriend,” she teases. “Naw, we’re motorcycle riders,” I reply.
6:30 p.m.: My favorite ex calls for some rainy sexcapades. I accept.
6:57 p.m.: Boyfriend tries to woo me over. I say no.
7:10 p.m.: The ex cancels.
DAY TWO
7:48 p.m.: My boyfriend calls to ask if I’m wet. When I respond affirmatively, he says, “Then what are you waiting for? Get over here.”
9:20 p.m.: My boyfriend and I have sex on a pillow covered in a Mustang Ranch T-shirt.
10 p.m.: Watch my boyfriend’s videos of his former girlfriends. They all end with the women flopping down on his bed. The best is a clip of a girl pretending to play his flute as she dances in her panties with Peter Pan–like gaiety.
10:15 p.m.: During a smoke break, I laughingly crown my boyfriend King of the Hoes. He dubs me the Royal Duchess of Sluttiness.
10:22 p.m.: We have sex again on the Mustang Ranch pillow.
DAY THREE
8:38 a.m.: Fantasize about a female co-worker from the gallery where I work going down on me on the subway to school.
6 p.m.: Boyfriend calls asking if I’m wet. I say no because I’m babysitting for a friend.
11:55 p.m.: While sleeping at my friend’s house, I’m awakened by moans. My friend used me to put her kid to sleep so she could come home and get some midnight action.
DAY FOUR
8:45 a.m.: Masturbate with my Hitachi Magic Wand while thinking about having sex with my boyfriend.
11:20 a.m.: Put an ad on Craigslist to invite women to a Pride-related party. The ad proposes a “safe orgy” with caressing and kisses only. I also put out an ad to meet guys that shows a pic of me in a bikini.
3:43 p.m.: At the gallery, which I call “Lesbian City” because most of the workers are gay women, I tell the office manager about my “safe orgy.” She laughs but is interested.
10:40 p.m.: My boyfriend and I have sex at his place while the DVD version of The Secret plays.
11:42 p.m.: My boyfriend and I have sex again.
DAY FIVE
12:57 a.m.: Boyfriend tells me about the only time he had a threesome. It was with two women on a 95-degree day. “We didn’t have A/C, so we had to take our clothes off to keep cool,” he says.
1:08 a.m.: We have sex again.
2:40 a.m.: We talk about the Peruvian girl I met two weekends ago at a conference in Orlando. For the third time I tell him about how I had innocently invited the girl up to my room to watch movies and drink beer while her boyfriend slept. She ended up putting her breasts and clit in my face.
2:48 a.m.: My boyfriend says he “owes me two,” vowing to catch up with me on the number of outside sexual encounters. He only knows about the women. I keep my mouth shut about the guys because I know he won’t be so easygoing.
8:30 p.m.: Meet another ex and his girlfriend over tapas. She is as “tittylicious” as he’d said.
10:12 p.m.: At a hotel the buxom lady and I passionately eat each other while the ex watches with a pout on his face.
11 p.m.: I call my boyfriend and give him a blow-by-blow of the evening. He laughs at my ex’s pain.
DAY SIX
10:40 a.m.: I have more than 60 responses to my Craigslist ads. One is a six-page diatribe from a balding man who still lives with his ex-wife and wonders why he can’t get laid by a young black woman. I fall out of my chair laughing.
11 a.m.: I come across an ad from a sincere-looking South Asian fellow and respond. The fellow responds with a number. I call and we agree to hook up for drinks.
6:17 p.m.: The fellow and I do a 69.
DAY SEVEN
2:28 p.m.: My favorite ex calls to reschedule the date for the evening. I agree.
7:30 p.m.: My ex starts making out with me as soon as I get in the door of his apartment.
7:44 p.m.: My ex tells me about all the girls he’s dated since I saw him a year ago. He claims they were all pretty but dumb as rocks. “What does that say about you?” I ask. That he’s shallow, he admits.
7:48 p.m.: I shrug of his shallowness and give him a blow job that makes him squeal like a virginal teenager.
8:05 p.m.: We fuck like crazy.
9:36 p.m.: “How did you get so good at that?” My ex gasps as he orgasms. “Practice,” I tell him.
Total: Seven acts of intercourse, two on a Mustang Ranch pillow. Three sex-related Craigslist ads. One act of lesbian sex. One act of masturbation. One act of watching boyfriend’s homemade porn of other girlfriends, including flute-playing.
