This week, a receptionist and writer sends thirst traps to a guy she never sees in person: 22, single, New York
DAY ONE
8 a.m. Wake up in my childhood bedroom in a suburb outside New York City. I’m a college dropout trying to write a novel, and I live at home for now.
Henry, a guy I’ve been sleeping with for eight months, texts me good morning and asks if I liked The Odyssey. We live close enough to hang out more than we do, but he’s busy with his last year of school and I’m attempting to focus on writing, so we mostly text. It’s hard to schedule with him, and I’m not sure if I can handle it mentally at the moment. (Sex with him has been amazing but very intense.) The absence makes our conversations sexier, so I don’t mind.
10 a.m. Clock in. Short shift. I work the front desk at a fitness studio, and I hate it. Thankfully, this is my last week before I start a new job at a fancier, more popular studio. I gossip with co-workers about how much we despise our bosses.
4 p.m. Home eating good Greek food. On Instagram, a woman posts a picture allegedly taken candidly by her boyfriend, capturing her “Sunday afternoon journaling ritual.” I know it’s silly to aspire to a relationship you only know from social media, but I yearn for the intimacy depicted in the post — a partner seeing you in your element and feeling moved to document it.
5 p.m. Texting Henry. He calls me “pretty girl” and writes, “Does it ever get tiring being so ravenously sexy?” He’s good at complimenting me in exactly the way I like.
9 p.m. I use my vibrator, text Henry, scroll through Instagram Reels, and play Minecraft. (I often multitask while masturbating.) I come so hard.
Midnight Can’t sleep. Reach for my vibrator again. I’m fantasizing about Henry and add in Thomas, a hot guy from my leftist group. Thomas is funny, smart, and politically aware. I’ve never met him in person, so imagine him watching over Zoom as I give Henry a blowjob.
