This week, a single guy gets action at the gym, at the club, and on a date: 31, single, Brooklyn
DAY ONE
7 a.m. Wake up, horny as usual. Last night, I was on Twitter (I can’t call it X) too late, scrolling on my X-rated alt — and discovering that a friend also has a secret alt. I passed out before I could jerk off, so I edge watching his clips now. I love finding out about my friends’ sex lives. I don’t come, hoping that something happens later this week with a new guy I’ve been seeing, Greg. I get out of bed.
8:30 a.m. Text Greg about getting together this week. We’ve been hanging out casually for a few months. We’re both tops, so sex has been tricky. I finally bit the pillow a few weeks ago, and it was … fantastic. He was attentive and knew exactly what to do to me.
Greg asks me if I want to go to the nude beach this weekend, but it’s the anniversary of my mom’s passing, and while I can compartmentalize like the best of them, I don’t know if being on a beach with my dick out is the best way to process grief. Or maybe it is. I leave the door open.
Noon Get dressed for the office, debating going commando to give myself a thrill throughout the day. I hate wearing underwear, but I settle on jeans, so I put on a pair of white briefs, the second-hottest thing to going commando. I commute into the office, checking out all the hot men on the subway platform: my favorite hobby.
My job has an erratic schedule, always determined by the events we have going on. I mostly work from home, but when we’re leading up to a busy period (New York Fashion Week, holidays, etc.), I go into the office.
10 p.m. Home from work. I don’t jerk off.
