Welcome to the 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 are filled with revealing romps, while other times there is nary a naked moment in sight. Some of these diarists are frequent contributors. Want to share a page from your sex diary? Email firstname.lastname@example.org. All entries will be anonymous.Diarist: A 24-year-old web content writer living in the Midwest. In a committed relationship for the past three and a half years.
6 pm: Get done with work and driving to my boyfriend Nick’s* place. Really excited to see him. We live in the same city, but I work a lot and he’s enrolled in a one-year accelerated nursing program, so making time for each other has been tough. He’s busy with clinicals, classes and homework. He makes time for me a couple times a week, but … it’s not like it used to be. We’ve been fighting — a lot. Usually it’s me complaining how little time we have together. Then he gets defensive and says I don’t appreciate the time when we are together. But when we do get time, it feels rushed. The past few months I just feel like I’m one of the things on his to-do list. I’m hoping that dinner tonight with our friend Ryan* will be fun.
10 pm: Dinner is weird. Nick doesn’t seem to be into it. I keep trying to include him in the conversation, but he doesn’t respond much, which pisses me off. I’m sure Ryan can sense the tension. I feel bad for making him sit through dinner with a hostile couple.
When Nick and I get home I ask him what’s wrong, but he shrugs it off. Upset, I head to his bedroom. He follows me and we lay in silence for a few minutes. I ask: “What’s that matter? I feel like something’s off.” He answers without looking at me: “All we’ve been doing lately is fighting. I’m just so sick of this.”
Right away I feel bad and apologize. He’s stressed, and I should be more understanding. But then he follows up with a hurtful blow: “I just don’t know how I feel about this anymore.” My heart sinks. I know what’s coming: “Nick, do you love me?” Silence, then a meek response. “I don’t know.”
But I love you, I think to myself. I’m angry, then frustrated, then so hurt. My head is spinning. We sit silently for awhile. We try and talk it out, but it doesn’t get us anywhere. I ask how long he’s felt this way. He says at least the past few months. He says he doesn’t want to break up, that if we stopped fighting all the time this could work. I say I refuse to be with someone who doesn’t love me when I love him. He says he understands, but I can’t even look at him. I go the bathroom to take a ridiculously long shower just to get away. I think about leaving, but I don’t want to go until we resolve this. I go back to bed and he’s asleep. Maybe a full night’s sleep will let me cool off, give me some time to collect myself, and we can tackle this in the morning. I have a hard time falling asleep.
9 am: Wake up. Sleeping didn’t work. I’m still frustrated and sad. I wake up Nick. I ask him what I can do to make things better. He doesn’t know. And I hate myself for asking him this next: “What can I do to make you love me again?” No answer. I’m done.
Choking back tears, I storm out of his place, and walk to my car. I just drive, sobbing. The road is barely visible I’m crying so much. I call my best friend Julia* and explain everything and somehow she’s able to make sense of it all through my blubbering. Even though all I really want to do is crawl into bed and never leave, she convinces me to come to her family reunion in a neighboring town 30 minutes away. Reluctantly, I agree. The last thing I need to do right now is be alone. I feel so broken that I’ll want to call Nick, which will make me seem more desperate and pitiful than I already am.
12 pm: After a quick change of clothes and just enough makeup so I don’t look like a zombie, I get to Julia’s family’s place. She lets me cry about everything, about how much I’ll miss Nick, how I can’t believe that after almost four years together it’s ending like this. I’m so ashamed that I let myself love someone who wasn’t sure how he felt about me. Jesus.
5 pm: I check my phone and have a voicemail from Nick. He sounds so sad, asking me to call him back. I do. He answers right away, and explains we need to take things slower for him to get back into the relationship. I can’t. Take things slower? What the f**k does that even mean with someone you’ve been with for almost four years?! I tell him to meet at my place later that night so we can talk about this. If we’re going to end it, I’m sure as hell not doing it over the phone. I’m worth a face-to-face break-up.
8 pm: Driving from Julia’s, I practice my break up speech: “Nick, I love you so much. I want to be with you more than anything. But I can’t be with someone who doesn’t love me. It’s not fair to me. And it’s not fair to you to have to be with someone you don’t love.” I spend the rest of the drive wondering what I’ll be like as a single gal. My eyes water.
8:30 pm: Nick gets to my place. He looks awful. It sounds bad, but it makes me feel better to see him like that. I’m glad I wasn’t the only one torn up about this. We sit down on the couch. He tells me how stressed he is with school and how that’s affecting our relationship. He doesn’t want to break up, but doesn’t know if he loves me. I can’t deal with that. I tell him what I practiced in my car. I’m surprisingly calm. He starts to cry and I’m blown away. He’s NEVER cried before. He says he totally understands. I feel so bad for making him cry; I kiss him. He tells me everything he’ll miss about me. God, this is hard. I don’t want him to leave like this.
I hold his hand and ask if he wants to lie down for awhile. He says yes, and we head to my bedroom. Lying down, he kisses me. Kissing turns to groping, which turns to peeling each other’s clothes off. This is our last time together and everything’s more passionate: our kisses are wetter and longer, his hands never leave my body. God, I’m going to miss feeling him like this.
He gently holds my face in his hands and says what I hope he would say all along: “I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me, but I love you. I’m sorry for putting you through all of this. I just didn’t realize how I really felt about you until I thought I would lose you. I’m so sorry, babe.” He kisses my breasts and all the way down my stomach, inching his way down the front of my panties. Slowly, he slides them off. Oral has always been his forte, and his mouth and tongue feel incredible. The way he deliberately, but softly slides it against all the right spots, it’s like he knows exactly which buttons to push. Maybe he felt like he needed to “make it up to me” for us almost breaking up. I don’t care. Damn, it feels good. I come in no time.
Now his turn. I go down on him for a bit and then climb on top, then after awhile we switch positions. The sex is mind blowing. Everything–thrusting, breathing, kissing, touching–feels amplified, like we don’t want it to end. Right after he comes, he’s rearing to go again, which surprises me because he’s always had some sort of refractory period. The second time is amazing, rougher, more carnal. We try all our favorite positions, he tells me he loves me over and over. I’m in heaven.
After round two, we talk. We decide not to end it. He agrees to tell me when he’s feeling stressed again so it doesn’t escalate. I agree to be more understanding of his demanding schedule. It just feels nice to be next to him. The way he looks at me seems different. His expression is sweeter, like he’s trying to show me he appreciates me just by looking at me. He kisses me. We go at it again. I can feel myself getting raw and I know I’ll be sore tomorrow, but I don’t care. We’re together and he feels amazing. I dismount and we fall asleep, me curled against his chest, his fingers in my hair.
10 am: I wake up to him rolling toward me with an adorable half-asleep smile. Ignoring morning breath, we kiss. Hands down some of the best morning sex I’ve ever had, starting off with some stellar oral on me. After we finish, I walk him to the door. He asks me to come over for dinner later. Of course I will. He tells me he loves me. As I watch him leave, I wonder if I made the right decision. Maybe it would have been better to break up, cut all ties. Of course he said he loved me — we were about to have sex. But I push all that aside. I’m happy. He seems sincere. We’re going to try and work it out. That’s good enough for me.
*Names have been changed