New York’s Sex Diaries series asks anonymous city dwellers to record a week in their sex lives — with comic, tragic, often sexy, and always revealing results. Check back Tuesdays for your weekly peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, a high-school teacher, engaged to her fiancé after two years: female, 28, East Village, straight.
DAY ONE
6:30 a.m. I could barely sleep, which is a serious bummer because I’m a high-school teacher and it’s going to be a longggg Monday. My fiancé slept like a log, despite the fact we had a fight last night. How do men do that?
7:15 a.m. I head to work without waking him up. Last night he told me he’s having all sorts of anxiety about marriage. It was all vague and he was fumbling for the right words, and I’m honestly not sure what the fuck he meant. Not sure if the conversation was a preamble to a breakup or, like, let’s-always-be-honest-about-everything-because-I-love-you-and-am-marrying-you moment.
11:30 a.m. Coffee gets me through half the day. My students help. I actually love my students. I start to afternoon-sext with my fiancé. See, sex was the thing that got him, and sex will be the thing to keep him. I know this, he knows this. We have a few other great things going for us, but nothing as powerful as our fucking.
2 p.m. Example, me to him: “I’m sorry we fought. Tonight shove your cock deep down my throat, and keep it there, so there can be no speaking.”
6 p.m. I work out after school and head home prepared to greet him with wine and sex. I also take a tiny bump of cocaine because I’m fucking exhausted. He does not know that I have this secret, pick-me-up stash. He’s never touched drugs.
9 p.m. As soon as he came home from work, we ripped each other’s clothes off. It was passionate, rough, hot, wet, everything. He loves my tits and when I ride him, it’s like I’m rocking us right back into a good place.
10:30 p.m. We talk a little bit about his wedding nerves but neither of us wants to get into it. We are exhausted. I take a Xanax to ensure a good night’s sleep.
DAY TWO
6:15 a.m. I gently kiss him good morning on his cheek, as he sleeps, and get up for work. We’ve been together two years. Met on Tinder. He’s in commercial real estate, likes what he does. We’ve always had incredible heat. I remember being at the movies with him on our third date, and I was literally dripping wet, drenched, just sitting next to him.
8 a.m. He texts me that last night was incredible and that he loves me.
Noon Our wedding is several months away, but I’m trying to get organized. I take my day-planner to a coffee shop for a quick break. There are things I need to ask his opinion about, but I’m … scared. I vow not to mention the wedding until the weekend. This sort of pisses me off and makes me feel very alone, but I’m just … scared.
2 p.m. At some point during a lull in class, I start thinking about how to surprise him sexually tonight. We are in our late 20s and have sex pretty much every night. I come up with sex plays the way other women come up with dinner recipes. I text him, “Want to try the BP 2night?” BP= butt plug.
5 p.m. Post-work pizza slice … or three!
6 p.m. I pour some wine and prepare for him to come home.
7 p.m. He is hungry. He pours a bowl of cereal and I kiss his neck as he eats it. Soon enough, we are fooling around. I take out this butt plug, which hasn’t been opened yet. And lube, of course. We’re going to try it on him …
7:30 p.m. He doesn’t like the BP. I can’t blame him. I don’t want it inside me either. I sorta kiss and lick around his asshole to make the area feel better. We fuck missionary style and it’s nice. We laugh about the BP fail.
DAY THREE
6:15 a.m. Today is already making me anxious because I’m seeing my sister after work and I know she wants a wedding update. In my heart, I am not even sure there will be a wedding. Also, my fiancé is avoiding the topic like the plague. Not a great sign.
4 p.m. The school day came and went. I head downtown to meet my sister. All I can think: wine, wine, wine, wine, maybe a cigarette, wine.
5:30 p.m. I confess everything to my sister, even though I planned not to. She is great about it. I am crying my eyes out. I’m just so scared he’s going to call off the wedding. The only information I got out of him during his mini-meltdown was that he feels we are still very young, and that there are so many more things he wants to see and do in life before he settles down into something permanent. What I don’t understand is why we can’t see and do all of that together? In my mind, nothing sounds better.
7:30 p.m. Sis seems concerned. She makes me promise to go home and really TALK to him. I’m wasted, so I don’t know if that’s a good idea. My little stash of coke is done, by the way. Finished it tonight. Who knows if/when I’ll get a new one … I can live without it.
9 p.m. By the time I get home, he is on the couch, looking so cute, and so comfy. I just want to curl up into his arms and feel his big hands on my tits, and then his hard cock inside me. And that’s what happens.
DAY FOUR
6:15 a.m. I wake up with a headache and angry with myself for not addressing anything important with him last night, even though I had promised my sister I would.
9 a.m. There’s a little drama at school, and combined with my hangover I’m hating life. I text my fiancé about meeting after work at one of our favorite local restaurants. He writes back in a second that he’d love to.
4:30 p.m. I try to sweat off my bad day by swimming at a local gym. It actually works. Then I go home to shower. I am not a snooper, but I can’t help but notice a note-to-self on my fiancé’s side of the bed. It’s a reminder to send me flowers at school for my birthday (next week) and a scribbled-down name of an art-supply store I like to browse in. So sweet!
6:30 p.m. We meet up at the restaurant. It seems like we are both ready to talk. He begins the wedding convo. He’s much clearer this time. Basically, he’s having major anxiety over the whole thing. Does he love me? Yes. Does he want to be with other people? No. (I trust him on this.) Does he want to be a husband and have the responsibility of a wife? Not so much. This hurts, but I am just happy to understand what he’s dealing with on the inside. I have no fucking clue where to go from here though.
8 p.m. I feel sort of pathetic “convincing” him why marriage is a happy thing, not a your-life-is-over-forever thing. I’m tired and just want to go home.
9:30 p.m. I crawl into bed, sad.
DAY FIVE
9 a.m. I am a shitty teacher today. No patience. No encouragement. On my way to work, I picked up a pack of cigarettes. I also booked a massage for the end of the day. Minor Band-Aids.
10 a.m. My fiancé knows I’m upset and is sending stupid texts to try and cheer me up. He sends me a dick pic that is actually pretty funny because it’s sent from this super-corporate setting. He is working it hard to cheer me up.
Noon I have a coffee with another teacher and confide in her. She says it’s 1,000 percent normal for guys to pull this shit during the wedding planning. Her advice is to ignore him and keep moving along as planned. She says what I want to hear, but I still have a pit in my stomach. Will I have this fucking pit in my stomach until he actually says I do? Or … what if … I don’t?
7 p.m. My massage was great. I’m home and horny. We always watch movies and have sex twice on Friday nights. I try to relax the night away. It works. We have a cozy, fun night. He blows a gigantic load all over my tits and some shoots into my eye. That cracks us up and we take a nice, loving shower together before bed.
DAY SIX
9 a.m. It’s the weekend, which means a lot of sleep and a lot of sex. We have morning sex from behind, in spooning position. It’s the best way to fuck in the morning before you’ve brushed your teeth.
1 p.m. Over lunch with happily married friends, the wedding topic comes up. I’m surprised that my fiancé actually opens up about his anxieties. God bless my friend’s husband for telling us that he felt the same way, but that marriage is actually a ton of fun. It’s astounding how much this seems to reassure my fiancé. Maybe we will be okay …
5 p.m. We make the rare decision to try and cook something together. Grocery shopping and wine shopping is a blast. What a great day. The meal is not so tasty, but again … what a great day.
8 p.m. We have this really slow “love-making” session. It means everything to me.
DAY SEVEN
9 a.m. Morning sex. Tooth brushing. Kissing. Back to bed for a few hours.
2 p.m. The craziest thing of all happens. My fiancé asks if I want to talk about our honeymoon. He has a list in his wallet about places he researched online. I am absolutely shocked.
4 p.m. We decide to go over his list over a couple beers at our local bar. All loosened up, we have an awesome time thinking about places. I am so hot for him in the moment. And more than that, I am so madly fucking in love with him in the moment. I have that pack of cigarettes in my bag and we smoke (which we never do), and get tipsy and just enjoy ourselves while imagining these islands.
6 p.m. We order a pizza and get cozy at home. No major talks about feelings or anxieties. We’re just enjoying the pleasure of each other. Now, if I had to bet, I’d say we’re going to be okay. I pray I’m right!