Unlock her secret sex diary
Take a peek inside one woman's diary to learn all the sexy things she's thinking—and doing
Ever wonder what she's thinking? What does she daydream about? What does she look at (and do) when she's alone? What do women talk about when they get together?
We asked a sexy single 27-year-old writer and consultant living in Brooklyn to record every sexy thing she sees, thinks about, and does. Interested? Read on ...
Monday
9 a.m.
Checked myself out quickly before hopping in the shower. My boobs look good; stomach looks good; the gym seems to be paying off.
9:30 a.m.
I need a bikini wax. But if I don’t have sex in the next 6 weeks, will it go to waste? If I do have sex, it will likely by with Steve, who no longer requires such maintenance. But having sex with Steve is maybe not the best course of action, and not having a bikini wax is preventing me from even thinking about sleeping with someone new.
3:20 p.m.
Watch Petulia, featuring a young and gorgeous Julie Christie pining after a middle-aged George C. Scott. Did I look that ridiculous when I dated a 41-year-old a few years ago? Was the sex as good for them as it was for us? Did he look as ancient and paunchy as Scott does?
3:21 p.m.
Remember him in a boxer briefs. Definitely not paunchy.
10 p.m.
E-mail Josh, old boyfriend for whom I’m still pining. Wonder why I’m still pining for Josh, who broke up with me, asked for me back after I had moved on, then pretty much straight-up propositioned me the last time we hung out. I didn’t take him up on it a) because I think he was offering sex without consequence, and I couldn’t take the thought of just a casual hookup and b) our sex was never that great.
Actually, he was having FANTASTIC sex. I was ... unfulfilled. Mechanically and anatomically, we fit well together, and I almost always orgasmed. But it was the difference between taking home a biweekly check and winning the lottery. One is great and appreciated, but always smaller than I think I deserved; the other involves lots of adrenaline and screaming.
Josh is dating someone new now, which might be why I’m hankering for his company. Either way, I can’t get him out of my mind, and have been saving an e-mail proposing drinks for weeks. Let’s just do it.
10:02 p.m.
He writes back instantly; drinks in 2 days. I’m getting that bikini wax, just in case.
10:30 p.m.
Instant message my best friend Lila in DC about Josh—and about the sex I had with Steve this weekend. She talks to me about her boyfriend, who is going through some sort of spiritual fast and refuses to go all the way. She refuses to dump him, lest she feel like the jock in an after-school special (“Baby, if you don’t do it with me, I’m going to find someone who will …”).
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