In this week’s story, a yoga-studio manager recovers from a breakup with a guy who loves going down on her: 27, single, Portland.
DAY ONE
7:30 a.m. I wake up and start packing. Tomorrow, I’m flying to Portland to see L, someone I went on a fun Hinge date with more than two years ago. We’re both newly single, and I originally hit him up in the hopes of finding someone nice and familiar to fuck, only to discover he no longer lives in Los Angeles. But we’ve been flirting over text, every other week or so, for a few months now. Somehow, flying to the Pacific Northwest for rebound sex feels more doable than downloading an app and going on a first date.
10 a.m. Take a hot-yoga class and get a wax. I got my bikini line lasered years ago to prevent myself from performing minor surgery on ingrown hairs, but still — there’s nothing like the feeling of being freshly waxed.
1:40 p.m. Make a batch of brownies for George, a good friend of mine who lives in my building and is cat-sitting for me during my sexcapade. Then I get an email from Planned Parenthood: I’m negative for chlamydia and gonorrhea. Unsurprising, as I was in a monogamous relationship for the past two years. We were still in love when we ended things. He’s just not able to be a stable partner at this point in his life; his behavior was erratic in a way that was unfair to me and my nervous system. I think he wants me back, but he knows that’s not possible in a way that’s fair to me.
3:30 p.m. I head to work — I manage a yoga studio about 25 hours a week. I’m also a writer, which sometimes pays and sometimes doesn’t. I love working at the studio because it uses the exact opposite part of my brain that writing does. Also, the community and never-ending tactile tasks have saved my sanity amid heartbreak.
7 p.m. Halfway through my shift. L and I have been alternating between flirtatious and logistical texts. He asks how I make myself come, and I tell him a vibrator. Bring it, he says, which immediately turns me on.
DAY TWO
7 a.m. Wake up to my alarm. My body is vibrating with anticipation. I drink a cup of coffee and bleach the hair on my upper lip. Nothing makes you hyperaware of the hair on your body like fucking someone new(ish).
12:05 p.m. Get a Lyft to the airport. After going through security, I take a seat by my gate and pull out my phone to take a BDSM “test” online. My top result, at 76 percent, is “Brat” — a defiant submissive. This feels right to me; I love being dominated, but I hate pretending I’m powerless. I hate pretending anything, really — I’ve never role-played successfully because it’s impossible for me to stop giggling at the silliness of the situation. I screenshot my test results and send them to L.
4 p.m. I land in Oregon, get my luggage from bag-check, and head for the hotel.
7 p.m. I decided to get a room at the Ace for my first night, then stay with him through the weekend, assuming the vibes are good. L and I meet in the lobby and walk to Powell’s bookstore. He’s not as hot as the person I’ve been talking to in my head, but I don’t freak out because I remember having that thought on our first date, too. We walk the aisles as I chatter about authors I like. L notices that if I had my way, we’d stay in the bookstore all night and guides us to dinner at a Thai restaurant around the corner. I let him pay for our meal and plan to continue doing so all weekend. He’s seven years older, starting a new job, and his salary is six times what I make.
9:50 p.m. We return to the Ace and sit on the deep couches in the second-floor lounge. It’s Friday night, but, miraculously, we have the place to ourselves. I like how my body feels beside his; physical attraction radiates between us.
10:30 p.m. In my room, we sit face-to-face on the bed. As we talk, L wraps his hands around mine and holds them between us. He lifts my hands toward his lips, gently, and kisses my thumbs. My body is thrilled. I pause us as we’re undressing to deliver my spiel about orgasming. My recent ex, J, was the first person to make me come. For the seven years I was sexually active before meeting him, I only came by touching myself or using a vibrator. So I don’t know what will happen, and I don’t want any expectations to get in our way. L is receptive and nice and normal about this. He goes down on me. I pull him up and ask him to fuck me from behind. L comes twice, and I don’t come at all, which I don’t mind; I’m warming up.
12:30 a.m. L leaves and I retrieve my leftovers from the fridge. There are no utensils in the room, so I scoop fried rice and lettuce from the box with my hands, like a creature.
DAY THREE
9:30 a.m. I have big plans to take a bath in my room’s claw-foot tub and go to the art museum, but instead I return to Powell’s and spend upwards of three hours wandering its many rooms and writing in the café.
1:05 p.m. L picks me up and we go to Washington Park for a stroll. Then we decide to head back to his townhouse for a “nap.”
3 p.m. Once there, L goes down on me, and I come after about 20 minutes. A wave of relief washes over me. L’s oral style is one-note and to the point, but it gets the job done, and for that I am grateful. I’ve never faked an orgasm and (God willing) never will. I go down on him for a bit. His pubes are too trimmed for my liking; I never really want to see a man’s mons.
6 p.m. We order chicken and curl up on the couch to watch The Curse, which I’ve already seen but want to watch again.
11 p.m. We’ve been inside for almost eight hours, and I’m starting to feel claustrophobic. I open the front door and just stand on the threshold to feel the cool night air.
DAY FOUR
5 a.m. I wake up feeling uncomfortable, like I’m developing a UTI. I haven’t been diligent about peeing after sex — unfortunately, I like to lie in bed and let come dry on me. I love having enough chemistry with someone that being gross becomes hot. I go to the bathroom but feel worse when I get back in bed. I spend at least 30 minutes lying there before moving to the couch downstairs and fall back asleep.
8:30 a.m. L slides in behind me on the couch so that we’re spooning. He starts kissing the nape of my neck, which makes me violently horny. He fucks me from behind while I use my vibrator. We both come quickly.
12 p.m. Head to a nearby hot-yoga class. I’m the only person in the studio without tattoos. Afterward, I take a Lyft to Walgreens to get the strongest AZO product I can find.
2:30 p.m. L and I walk to a barbecue place for lunch. I text my friend Lauren asking if I’m a toxic man because I only find L’s face attractive from certain angles but I like his voice and how his skin feels against mine and I want him to go down on me a lot. She tells me I’m fine.
5 p.m. L eats me out, and I come two times in a row. It’s heaven. My unspoken goal of this trip was to prove to myself that J is not the only person in the world who can make me come.
7 p.m. Walk from L’s to a nearby theater — I’m seeing a comedian whose podcasts I like. It’s sprinkling outside and L does not own an umbrella, so I wear his raincoat instead.
The show is a delight, and I walk back to his place feeling content. L and I watch half an episode of The Curse and fuck before bed.
DAY FIVE
8:30 a.m. We wake up and have sex without kissing. I miss J, who always wanted to kiss my filthy morning mouth and go down on me regardless of the last time I showered. Penetration with L isn’t that pleasurable — it feels more like something to get through. In a way, the sex feels transactional, but not depressingly so. Just matter-of-fact.
12 p.m. I walk to a day spa I found in Goop’s “Portland Guide.” I spend two hours moving in and out of cedar saunas, reading, and eavesdropping.
3 p.m. Back at L’s, I gather all my belongings into a pile by the door. We start fooling around, and he eats me out until I come. I’m impressed because historically I have a very hard time climaxing when I’m about to leave for the airport. I call a Lyft and thank him sincerely for hosting me and feeding me and making me come all weekend; it was good for my soul.
5:30 p.m. At the airport, I eat a turkey sandwich and a bag of white-chocolate-covered pretzels. I feel drained.
10:20 p.m. Back home, feeling sad and tender. The anticipation that had been fueling me for weeks has dissolved. George warned me this would happen. The idea of someone can easily eclipse an ex, but actually sleeping with a new person only made me miss J.
DAY SIX
9 a.m. I wake up to a text from L saying that he had a wonderful time. George comes over and we catch up over coffee.
11 a.m. I take the bus to the mall to return some of the many purchases I made in a heartbroken rage. I see a pair of platform UGGs in a store window and go inside to try them on. I buy them on the spot, which is something I rarely do.
4:05 p.m. I meet a friend who lives on my block for a long walk with her dog. We talk about whether or not love addiction is real — she’s going to her first Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous meeting in two days.
7 p.m. I order a pan pizza from Domino’s and watch Vanderpump Rules, which has been giving me solace as I navigate my own muddled love life. J texts. Last Tuesday, I asked him not to contact me for at least a week. I tell him I’m having a deep-hibernation night and turn my phone off.
DAY SEVEN
9:30 a.m. I head to work for my regular shift. I’m late because I spent the morning catching up with Lauren via giddy voice memos.
11 a.m. In between Zooms and check-ins, I glance at my phone and see new messages from J and L. J says, “You’re wanting healthy boundaries. I’m coming from a place of high anxiety.” L says, “I’m feeling like it’s a Domino’s day.” The duality of man.
5:30 p.m. George and I drive to his friends’ place in Venice for dinner. They both intimidate me, but I enjoy their company — they’re generous hosts and exceptional cooks. I bring a bouquet of bluebonnets.
10:30 p.m. Dinner was lovely. AsGeorge and I drive home, I see I have a voice-mail from J. I’ll listen tomorrow — tonight I need a break.
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As told to Alyssa Shelasky , 2024-04-06 01:00:15
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