My Sex Diary

I read that New York Magazine column with this name. I question the veracity of these stories, because honestly, who is having this much sex?! Well, it turns out… I am.

Week of July 3, 2017

Tuesday, July 4th — I drop my youngest at sleep away camp. He is beyond thrilled and I am thrilled for him. After a quicker than usual check-in process, I head back home and the heat is heavy. I’m thinking about how to best spend my time during this break from motherhood. It’s a rarity in the work of mom to actually be able to ask this question. One answer that comes to mind immediately is: I want to fuck.

After a lovely evening with girlfriends that included some sparkling wine, yummy dinner and fantastic dessert, we enjoy some fireworks. Our view is spectacular, and I don’t get weepy drunk which is a triumph for me.

Wednesday, July 5th — I have a fairly unproductive day at the office, but I get a text from a lover asking me to come over to his place later. Perfect and needed, but I play it cool. At 8:30 p.m., my cool is gone, and I want to be touched now. I text him, “sup, bro?” and he tells me his meeting is almost done. We make plans.

When I arrive at his place and he comes to the gate to let me in, I wish he’d kiss me right there. The chit-chat as we walk to his apartment is meaningless and I want him to grab my hand up the stairs, but he doesn’t. I’m sad that I can’t seem to take the initiative. The rules of these relationships are so complicated, but I don’t want to overwhelm him. In his living room, I shed my shoes and bag and cross to him quickly. I’m not sure why he never likes to start with kissing (I’ve made sure to make sure my breathe is fresh), but he doesn’t. He gets there, but it’s not his first move.

Quickly, I’m on my knees facing him and then on all fours facing away from him. My eyes are closed so much — I am lost in the sensations. He says so many wonderful and dirty things to me. Things like, “drink it all up” and “you have the body of a 16 year old” and “how does that feel?” and “how do you like that?” and “I could fuck you all night” and so much more. These words stay with me long after I leave (and oh how I wish he’d walk me my car…). I drive home replaying the evening in my mind. Sleep soundly.

Thursday, July 6th — my daily exchanges with this man are usually instigated by him. He stays connected with me by texting me a daily emoji-filled message and he always addresses me as “sexy.” I ask him if he’s working tonight and suggest that if it’s “slow,” he should come by. And at around 10 p.m., he texts me that he’s on his way over. I run around my place and straighten up — not that he gives one shit, but I do.

He arrives with an “hola, babe.” He’s such a big man (in all ways), but he’s kind in that way of men who know their physical power. His kisses are soft and wet and they make me wet. He’s taught me so much about how to please him and by extension, all men. I think of him now as my friend. This relationship is the true definition of fuck buddy. Both of those are true about us. He stays for a long time after we fuck and talks. I lean into his chest with his arm around me and listen to his life story. I like listening to him talk. The vibration of his voice on my cheek feels so comforting.

Friday, July 7th — tonight’s rendezvous has taken so much planning. We’ve been texting each other long, teasing messages for months. He’s a Casanova. Married with lots of other women on the side. I still can’t figure out what about me holds his attention. It’s probably that I let him be honest with me and since his life is so full of lies and remembering the lies, I think I offer a respite from that.

I text him in the morning that I’m cancelling his fantasy anonymous blow-job tonight. I’m tired (I do NOT tell him why), and I’m feeling like three different lovers in a row is whoreish. He refuses to accept my begging-off and says, “I need this.” I can’t resist that. He has hit my caretaker button. And I miss taking care of my husband; it’s become a dull ache. Okay — come over. And then he sends a lot of orders: be invisible when I come in (leave the door unlocked), find me when I’m situated in your room, come in naked in heels, do not make eye contact or talk, suck me until I cum, leave without a word and be invisible until I leave. Oy — this guy is so bossy and selfish and controlling and it bugs me that I accommodate him. On the other hand, there’s something about being a “pro” that I’m into. That’s certainly a fantasy I’d like to try on.

I smoke before he arrives; I’m nervous. The whole “be naked” thing is particularly difficult for me. My body/my enemy. His scenario goes off without a hitch except he never talked to me about him touching me — he told me he wanted to be serviced and I didn’t anticipate him touching me. When he pinches my nipple, I push his hand away. But in his usual fashion, he doesn’t listen. And this isn’t an assault situation, it’s a power struggle that I enjoy. He re-positions me to suck on his nipple and then he finger fucks me. I resist but not too much and it’s good — very good — unexpectedly good. He cums too (obvi) and I swallow (always) and I disappear (as directed). Then he disappears.

So three consecutive nights — three consecutive fuck-sessions — three different men. Now I sink into self-flagellation, but not too much. Is this activity so slutty that I disgust myself? Can I still be my ethical, centered self and be this voracious, sexually active woman? Will I lose myself before this is all over? Or am I supposed to lose my former self and re-form? If so, what do I want to reform into?

#slutty #questions #sexdiary

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