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August 12, 2015
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An invasive peep behind closed doors, to see lots of sex, presumably.

The Sex Diary is a great invention in modern media that gives people a place to anonymously write about their sex lives for seven days while allowing you, the reader, to invasively peep into those lives without any consequences at all! I’m honored that I got to write one, below:

About me: female, 24, New York, office clerk, single, straight.

DAY ONE

7:30 a.m. I wake up early, excited to start my day as well as my sex diary. I’ve been a big fan of the Sex Diaries series and I feel like I’m a perfect fit for it, considering all the sex I usually have. If this week is anything like last week (and every week, haha) I’ll be having sex all the time.

9 a.m. I go to work. God, I hardly ever have sex there, it’s only happened, like, once. I hate that about my job.

6 p.m. It’s my friend’s birthday, so after work (UGH, am I right!) we go out with seven or twelve or twenty of our pals. We decide to not get too drunk tonight. (“It’s Monday! Save it for later in the week! I know this is your birthday but this is also my Sex Diary week and pacing myself is important to me!!!” I yell to my friend Shannon, whose birthday it is.)

8 p.m. Some cute guys at this bar, but for the most part they seem far too invested in their long-term girlfriends who are with them.

9:30 p.m. I see someone from my old job at the bar. He is handsome and nice to me so I will never talk to him or let him know how I feel. I leave the bar without saying goodbye to any of the friends I came with and head home.

10:08 p.m. Arrive at home. I decide to watch some porn on my computer but I can’t pick between Lesbian Squirt and Step-Dad Daughter so I settle on watching a six-year-old clip from my ex-boyfriend’s band. I text him, “Do u still play guitar???” even though I know the answer is yes because I check his Facebook weekly. I fall asleep crying to the sound of his soft rock guitar & vocals.

DAY TWO

11 a.m. I sleep in because I am skipping work today. I’d like to have sex this week and my job will only get in the way of all that sex-having! I tell my boss that I am sick or something, I don’t know.

11:05 a.m. While I was sleeping, my friend texted me a link to a funny video, so I watch it. It’s pretty good, but now when I’m on YouTube all my suggested videos are ones of my ex-boyfriends’ bands’ live performances. Like, not just the one ex-boyfriend from yesterday, but all my ex-boyfriends who’ve been in bands that have videos online. How does that even work? Must be a weird algorithm thing.

11:10 a.m. Still no response from my ex, so I send a text to everyone I’ve ever slept with to see if any of them can hang out today. I don’t mention sex but I figure it’s implied. If they’re following me on Twitter they should all know that I’m doing a Sex Diary this week.

3 p.m. Everyone I’ve texted seems to be busy at their own jobs for at least a few more hours. To kill time, I decide to hit up a matinee screening of that Stanford Prison Experiment movie.

3:30 p.m. A couple sitting two rows in front of me is making out furiously, which feels like a personal affront. I feel mad at the couple but also sad for the Stanford students in the movie because they got emotionally manipulated, and also sad for the professor Billy Crudup plays in the movie, too, because he tried to conduct a social experiment and had to give it up after only a few days because it was torturing people. I end up crying again.

5 p.m. While I was in the movie, one of my former flings, let’s call him Brian because that’s his given name, responds to my mass text. He says he’s free around 8. I head to the theater’s bathroom to brush my teeth and also to, ahem, clean myself down there, if you know what I mean, you know, in case I end up having sex with Brian. Usually I just brush my teeth in the morning and at night but sometimes, if there’s a chance of me having intercourse, I’ll go ahead and give ’em a brush mid-day.

7 p.m. I head home to get changed for my date.

8 p.m. I meet up with Brian and he says he can just get one drink because he’s meeting with his improv group at 9:30 but that it’s nice to hear from me.

9 p.m. Brian says goodbye to me from several feet away and I instigate a hug, but I can feel as our torsos press together that he didn’t really want to hug, so I pat his back gently and we part ways.

11 p.m. I message a cute stranger on Tinder and they ask me what I’m doing right now but it’s, like, I’m in my pajamas now, and my phone’s already plugged in by my bed, so … I fall asleep before I can think of a good answer to their question.

DAY THREE

9 a.m. Back at work. I find out you can’t skip work to have sex, not that I told them, but it’s just like somehow they knew? Is this Shannon trying to sabotage me because I upstaged her at her birthday soirée? Now I am in huge trouble.

10 a.m. My boss has asked me into her office and is scolding me like I’m a disobedient child. She’s asking why I’m typing on my computer while she’s speaking to me. I don’t want her to know it’s for my Sex Diary, but, again, if she’s seen my recent history on Twitter, chances are she already kno—

DAY FOUR

9 p.m. Sorry I haven’t updated my Sex Diary! My boss took away my laptop and contacted the editor in charge of Sex Diaries so they won’t publish my diary after all, and I’ve been asked to stop recording my sex life in diary format. I am sorry to see this week end prematurely, and now I feel that I know what The Stanford Prison Experiment was really like. I regret that the past week has not been the adventurous documentation of my sex life that I had hoped it to be but if Ezra Miller is in the movie adaptation of it, I will be satisfied. I go to bed early, listening to my ex-boyfriend’s band again, quietly sobbing/masturbating.

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