sex diaries July 2, 2012
The Crown Heights Bookkeeper Whose Date Counts His Orgasms in English and Spanish
By Rachel Kramer Bussel
Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the Crown Heights Bookkeeper Whose Date Counts His Orgasms in English and Spanish: Female, 40, Crown Heights, Bookkeeper, Straight, Single.
11:30 p.m. Insomnia cure. I masturbate to Netflix Instant. I watch the beginning of Y Tu Mamá También and then have a sex fantasy about Diego Luna.
7 a.m. It's a sex alarm clock. Every time my roommate's girlfriend sleeps over, they have a morning screw. It seems to last about ten minutes. She moans with every stroke. He comes louder than her. Sometimes I listen, but honestly it sounds the same every time. It never turns me on. I avoid being in the kitchen when he makes coffee after.
4 p.m. Daydream about meeting British actor Jack Davenport and having him do me up against a wall.
11:30 p.m. Touch my breasts while in the shower like I am just now discovering them.
9 p.m. Jersey Guy texts me. Wants to go out for drinks on Friday. I agree. Jersey Guy is Irish-American, does construction work but is also a musician. We met in the spring at Peter McManus Café in Chelsea one night. He's funny and charming. We've hooked up before, but haven't seen each other in weeks since our schedules haven't been in sync. However, I've gotten random, late-night booty texts from him that I ignored. The distance between Crown Heights and North Bergen makes a spontaneous hookup impossible. Plus, I like myself enough to wait until he asked me properly, even if it is via text.
3 p.m. Take a break from working with a client to search online for a wine bar on the west side of Manhattan. Decide on Lela Bar and text Jersey Guy the address.
7:35 p.m. Jersey Guy greets me with a kiss at Lela Bar. We share of bottle of red. It's totally possible to drink red wine on a hot summer night. He touches the side of my knee. It tickles and turns me on. I giggle, but like a grown-ass woman.
8 p.m. He goes out for a smoke. Am tempted to post on Twitter that I am having a good date, but reconsider it. He comes back and kisses me again. This is a longer kiss. We are seriously PDA-ing.
8:15 p.m.I tell him about how a girl in the eighth grade used to tease me about having small breasts. He laughs; I have D-cups now. I can tell he wants to grab my breasts right there in the bar, but he shows restraint.
10 p.m. Get the check and walk to the Christopher Street PATH station. Hold hands as we walk down the street.
10:40 p.m. At his place in New Jersey. We quickly get undressed in his bedroom. He tells me he only has three condoms. I say one has to be saved for the morning. He puts on the sixties classic radio station on cable. "In the Ghetto" by Elvis Presley starts playing when he starts to go down on me. When we hear it, he stops and we both laugh. That is not a cunnilingus song.
11 p.m. He plays music on his iPhone so there won't be any more musical mishaps. I joke about how hard he still is minutes after I give him head. I swear that it stands at attention. He flips me over so we can do it doggy style. I wrap my legs around his ankles. My right leg cramps up but I play through the pain. We climax. While my body is still quaking from the orgasm, he says "two," as in he came twice. I tell him it's great that he can count to two.
Midnight We fall asleep. I think he is still hard.
7 a.m. The alarm on my phone wakes him up. His erection wakes me up. What starts as spooning soon morphs into doing 69, with him on top. We are voracious; this is our breakfast. I don't come but he ejaculates. He says, "Three." This keeping score stuff is weird. I don't count my orgasms. He buries his face between my breasts. He goes back and forth, giving each nipple lots of attention.
8 a.m. He finds the third condom and we go once more. I am even more excited than the other two times. I gladly threw my legs over his shoulders and try to massage his ears with my feet. I come hard. He does too. I tell him, "You better not say 'four.'" Instead he says, "Cuatro." I flip him over and spank him for that.
9 a.m. We get dressed and he drives me back to Brooklyn, kissing me at every other stoplight. I know he's hard, but five is not happening today.
5 p.m. Go to cookout with friends. Brag about sleeping over in New Jersey. Drink too much vodka and lemonade.
9 a.m. Wake up with a slight hangover. Masturbate to what happened on Friday night.
9:40 a.m. Send him text to tell him that I had a great time.
1 p.m. Nap.
5 p.m. Take the 7 train out Queens for a dinner party with friends.
6:30 p.m. My friend's girlfriend makes me a hangover cure.
9:30 p.m. Take car service back to Brooklyn with a couple. We talk about the irrelevance of Paul McCartney's Wings.
10:15 p.m. Arrive home. Take out the trash. Notice that roommate's girlfriend is not there. Set alarm clock.
TOTALS: 3 acts of masturbation; 1 public display of affection; 4 acts of sexual intercourse; 1 69; 1 act of oral sex (given); 3 acts of date counting his orgasms.
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