We asked an Angeleno to anonymously chronicle a week in her sex life—with no sultry detail spared. Here’s a peek at what goes on between her sheets.
I’ve been with my best friend all day. I’m hanging out with H tomorrow night, but plans are up in the air. Yesterday I mentioned the possibility of going to a house party, which he was surprisingly open to, considering we’ve been seeing each other on and off for a year and we don’t know each other’s friends.
H calls and talks about wanting to go to a Nine Inch Nails afterparty tomorrow, which suddenly sounds very up my alley. I like when he takes initiative on making plans—it makes me feel less crazy and like I’m not making up my feelings.
I group-text two guy friends asking what a girl wears to a NIN afterparty. They give me ideas like “meat dress,” “The Craft,” and then say, “Just get a ticket to the show, nerd. We’re going.” They’re supportive and hilarious, saying that they’ll fight H. I am lucky to have them.
I send a message to J, aka The Italian, for a second opinion on the outfit. We met last summer while H and I were on a surf trip in Asia (I felt ignored by H, so I flirted with J). We’ve DM-ed every day since. J is unreal hot, and I’m sure we’re in love. Now we send memes and nudes and call each other “hipsters” from across the world. He doesn’t know that I still talk to H.
I call H and tell him that I’ve “come across” NIN tickets and that we’re going. He’s stoked.
I get my hair done but not too done. Going for hot-girl-L.A.-goth.
Outfit anxiety sets in. I call H. He’s going “industrial” and tells me that he’s gotten some great MDMA. I’m excited to take drugs with him.
I end up looking good. Slim, which is unfortunately still important to me. I send a selfie to J, who replies with hearts. I send one to my mom, who says I look like a model. She is wary of my whole situation with H.
I Uber to H’s. I’m planning on staying over, which has been historically iffy. He
has a hard time sleeping next to people.
At the concert, introducing H to my friends is easy. The MDMA kicks in. I cry during “Hurt,” and H puts his arms around me.
The afterparty is one of those “undisclosed location” things, and I feel like I’m somewhere I’d be with my roommate four years ago, buzzy and happy. Gliding into red lights, I see girls in fishnets and lingerie. One spanks another while bent over a vintage pommel horse. Oh, I get it now. H and I smile at each other.
A couple of weeks ago, in bed, he tied me up unexpectedly. We don’t sext, but I had sent something about a bondage fantasy involving paracord months prior when I felt like I was losing him. I didn’t get a response, which felt horrible. When he asked to tie me up, I was sure it was the most thoughtful thing he had ever done.
No sex, but we fall asleep on each other.
Morning sex, and it’s great. We restrain each other, and I think about the night before. The first time we had sex, he moved his hand toward my throat, and I fell in love. We lie around for the rest of the day napping in the dark—very early 20s, in a good way.
I go to a gift exchange with college friends. My gift is a butt plug. Not my thing, but this feels full circle enough to laugh.
I text H that I want to go back to the sex rave. No reply.
I order nipple clamps on Amazon.
I realize that I have used my family’s joint account to order them. Panic.
Trying to play it cool with H, so I don’t reach out.
I DM J and ask what he’s doing for New Year’s. He will be in Sri Lanka, surfing, and tells me to come. I send a meme about butts, and he asks if he can see mine. I tell him not now—I’m in sweatpants and a messy bun and sitting next to a vibrator. I send old pics instead.
I miss a call from H while I’m at dinner. He texts asking if I’m free next Tuesday for a birthday dinner with his friends. He wants help planning. I’m in shock.
J wants to visit L.A. this month. He has friends here, whom I now know. I’m nervous and wish he had come last year. I can’t sleep with two people at once, and things with H feel good.
I go over to H’s and hang. He asks if I want to go to a few parties with him.
I meet some of his friends. S is a girl whose photos he likes on Instagram. We are opposites physically, which is hard for me: I’m tall and skinny and brunette—anyone short with big boobs who I’m not friends with is a nightmare.
S couldn’t have been nicer, and now we might be best friends. She and I do a little coke and have a few drinks. I crash at H’s house. No DMs to J.
It’s H’s 30th birthday. I surprise him with a drive to Oceanside to go skydiving. He loves it. He usually hates birthdays.
On the way home he asks if I want to go to dinner with his parents that night. I’m embarrassed to be in athleisure but say yes. I blurt out that I’m nervous to meet his mom and touch up my makeup while I’m driving.
Dinner was perfect and sweet.
We go back to his place and he asks me to tie him up. Happy birthday.
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