Sex Diary: Sports Widow In A Dry Spell
Here’s the second Frisky “Sex Diary,” in which an anonymous person shares the details of her sex life over the course of a few days. Sometimes these entries will be racy and filled with revealing romps, while other times there will be nary a naked moment in sight. Some of these diarists will be frequent contributors. Want to share a page from your sex diary? Email email@example.com. All entries will be anonymous.
Today we have a sports widow who is not sure her libido is going to survive football season!
DIARIST: Female writer in her mid-20s who lives in Brooklyn. Has been dating for three years and engaged for six months.
11:13 pm: Fiance arrives home late from work again. I’m already half-asleep under the covers. Does that stop him from developing an instant erection and amorously rubbing up against me? Nooooo. “I’m tired, sweetie,” I mumble apologetically. There’s a little bit of back and forth, with me fending him off. “I guess we’re just both too busy for sex,” he replies, sulkily. “Oh, don’t be melodramatic, we have all weekend,” I hiss. It’s cumbersome that he wants midnight nookie, but I still feel guilty for denying him, because we haven’t had sex in almost two weeks.
3:11pm: IM from fiance promising sexy-time tonight. He’s cute … but all I can think about is how tired I am by the end of the workweek.
6:42 pm: I shower fiance in kisses when he picks me up after work. I’m feeling so guilty about what he said last night about being “too busy for sex.” I fully intend to give him a big ol’ blowjob tonight … right after we eat dinner with his folks.
10:00 pm: D’oh! We’re at his parents’ for dinner waaay longer than we intended, so both of us are madly yawning by the time we crash in bed. No sex tonight, either.
7:11pm: Dinner date! It’s so great to finally have time alone with each other. He says a cute baby at the next table is stirring his “phantom ovaries.” Or maybe he’s just so horny right now that even beh-behs remind him of sex?
9:03 pm: Fiance tells me to pick a movie to watch tonight, so I pop “Obsessed” in the DVD player. There’s a preview for the Jason Bateman/Kristen Wiig movie, “Extract,” where Bateman’s character rushes to be home from work by 8 pm every night or else his wife puts on sweat pants which mean “no sex.” Fiance cracks, “I know how he feels.” I feel a sting of hurt.
11:14 am: We kiss and cuddle in bed all morning. He wants sex, but I still haven’t got a libido—not surprising, since last night’s comment is ringing in my head. I love a long morning snuggle, though.
2:13 pm: Fiance says he’s happy to do whatever I want to do today, but he won’t go see any movies I want to see or go to the mall. Instead, I read all day in our bedroom and he watches football. Moping.
4:52pm: I hand-wash a couple cute nighties. He loves my cute undies! And maybe having clean, sexy lingerie will put me in the mood?
9:45p.m.: I’m reading this book of essays about sex by women, and Julie Powell, author of Julia and Julia, has written about her lust for bondage/dominance/sado-masochism. (Who knew?) Oh my, that definitely gets me horny! But Fiance is watching another football game, so I go to bed alone. Rats! Still, there’s hope my long-lost libido actually exists.
9:45 am: Instant Message my friend, complaining about Fiance wanting sex late at night and my guilt over my low libido. She says her husband is always asking her for sex when she’s not in the mood and she finally had to talk with him about it. She promised she would initiate sex more if he promised to kick up the romance factor, because she thought he was getting lazy.
7:02 pm: I return home from work while Fiance is cooking us dinner. “We need to talk,” I say. I tell him that his comment during the “Obsessed” previews the other night about not having enough sex, as well as his comment that we are “too busy to have sex,” are bothering me. Use “I statements” like any good therapist would suggest. I tell him I don’t like to feel guilty for not sleeping with him. My girlfriend’s script is in my head as I promise to initiate sex more, but I request that he use a little bit more discerning judgment. Fiance apologizes, wraps me in his arms, and says he doesn’t want to make me feel guilty.
7:14 pm Thank God he doesn’t care about whoever is playing Monday Night Football —it means we eat dinner together while watching “Mad Men” on DVR. Yay! More quality time together.
7:31 pm: Pause “Mad Men” and ask Fiance if he wants to hop into bed. We make love, he comes, he fondles me to orgasm with the help of my trusty vibe, and then I give him a hand job so he comes again. We cuddle until we fall asleep, absolutely blissed out. I feel closer to him emotionally than I have all week. Our dry spell is over at last—it’s like Christmas!!!
7:04 pm: I arrive home to an empty apartment, a sink full of dishes, an unmade bed, and a huge pile of laundry. Annoyed that Fiance did not attack any of these chores when he was at home all day. Make the bed and wash the dishes myself, pissed off.
7:35 pm Pop a DVD of “Secret Diary Of A Call Girl,” Season One, into the DVD player. Belle’s thigh-high stockings catch my interest. And her high heels. And her bouncy hair. And her pouty lips. Seriously contemplate masturbating, but decide to hold out for my guy.
10:12 pm: Oops. Fall asleep by myself in bed. Fiance returns home from his band’s gig in the middle of the night. Another day bites the dust.
7:30 am: Wake up snuggled in Fiance’s arms. I love the way his smooth, cool skin feels on chilly mornings and the way I feel so warm and safe in his embrace. I’m totally still in the mood from “Secret Diary Of A Call Girl” last night, so we make out for half an hour, but can’t go any farther. I have to get to work!
8:06 am: Fiance begs me to “take the morning off” so we can stay in bed and fool around more. I’d like to, but I don’t think my boss is keen on my missing work so I can have an orgasm. It feels good to be desired, though!
7:07 pm: Come home to an empty apartment. The sink is full of dishes and there’s wet bath towels on our unmade bed. He knows that I hate wet towels on the bed. Seriously considering texting Fiance about WTF is up with the sloppy apartment. Decide on a whim, instead, to de-escalate the situation and just forget about it. I really don’t feel like arguing. I hang up the wet towel and slip on one of those cute nighties that I washed on Sunday, throwing on a cardigan to keep warm.
7:22 pm: Fiance arrives home thrilled that I’m wearing cute PJs. We kiss and he fondles my boobs a bit. Within 15 minutes, though, we’re bickering about how what I was planning to make for dinner is unhealthy. He makes (a healthy) dinner instead and washes all the dishes. I sulk about bickering, which I hate.
7:59 pm: After (an admittedly delicious) dinner, I ask if he wants to watch an episode of “Secret Diary of a Call Girl” with me, as I’m quite sure it’ll put me in the mood! He says there’s an important Phillies game on tonight. “I’m a baseball widow,” I whine. “Only for October!” He insists. Well, I tried, didn’t I?