In this week’s story, a woman has a threesome and tells the poly guy she’s seeing all about it: 24, single, Brooklyn
DAY ONE
8 a.m. I wake up at Casey’s apartment in Bushwick and we start fucking immediately. We have sex like time is running out, and that’s because it is: I’m 24, he’s twice my age and we’re, wait for it … in love. Haha! This won’t end well! We met a few months back at a Christmas party in Williamsburg.
11 a.m. I force myself to leave his place and trek back to Greenpoint. Reality hits. The L train is humbling that way. My roommate, Max, greets me with eyes that say “Really dum dum? Another night at the old man’s house?” I’m projecting; all he really says is, “Oh hello. There’s coffee in the pot.” We share a laugh and I settle in to work from the living room. I’m a realtor.
7 p.m. Work computer shut! Huzzah! I get ready for my friend Callie’s birthday party. It’s at a private sauna in Brooklyn. (Callie and I met a few years back at a sex party in Tribeca and had some good times that involved chocolate cake and a sparkly dildo. Not at the same time.) I hop in my car and drive over. Nice thing about birthday parties with no clothes is it spares you from having to choose an outfit. But I do realize that I forgot to shave my bush. Too late. Gotta own it. It’s chic when it’s on purpose.
8 p.m. The party begins! Basically you go through an inconspicuous door with graffiti on it to an entrance kiosk where a guy gives you a robe, then you walk through the changing rooms and into a big loft style space with the sauna and tubs, etc. People are pretty naked, rather than robed. Callie is on cloud nine getting her naked body scrubbed head to toe by a group of friends as she lies atop a concrete slab. Some pour hot water on her, some pour cold. One guy just massages her toes. I bond with a nice stranger as we watch it all play out from a distance.
9 p.m. I sit in the cold plunge with a gorgeous Israeli woman. She has cool bangs that go straight across her chiseled face. We make small talk about saunas. She says she wants to put one in her East Village townhouse that she and her husband just renovated, and for which she also just bought a nice Turkish rug. Worldly and hot. Noted. The husband appears. Aha! He’s the nice stranger from before. I’m relieved: There’s nothing worse than a gorgeous worldly woman with a lame husband!
We stick together and cycle through more hot and cold, taking breaks in the lounge area where we drink Champagne in our bathrobes. We laugh and hold eye contact a little too long. When we get in the sauna I whisper “sorry” as I squeeze by to go to the top bench. I can feel them scanning my naked body as I pass. I lie down flat and exhale as I arch my back a bit, and place my hands just above my bush. Later as the party wrapped up, the husband asked for my number.
10 p.m. I tuck myself into bed. I send Callie a thank-you text, I text Casey good night, and refresh my messages more than once to see if the couple texted me.
DAY TWO
8 a.m. I wake up to a new Hinge match. It’s a cute girl who’s my age and lives in my neighborhood. Green flags, people! Still no text from the couple. I’m insatiably horny, so I take care of this on my own (see: sparkly vibrator dildo mentioned above) and then go to work.
11 a.m. I’m showing an apartment in Tribeca to some pretentious woman in a fur coat. Sigh. As she inspects the shower handle in the main bathroom, I slyly refresh my texts. Still nothing from the couple.
12:07 p.m. A text back from Callie that says “SAME BABE!! So much fun last night!” She also mentions the couple asked for my number, and wants to know if she can give it to them.
12:08 p.m. They text me right away. I apologize for entering my number wrong in a post-sauna daze and tell them they were the highlight of my night. They write back, “Same. We’ve been talking about you since last night.” What, like on their pillow? Instead of sleeping? This makes me tingle. They say they’d love to have me over to see their place in the East Village. Do they want to fuck me? Or maybe just show me the Turkish rug? We make plans for the day after tomorrow. I make a mental note to shave my bush.
8 p.m. I go indoor rock climbing with friends. I catch them up about Casey and the hot couple and the cute new Hinge girl. These friends deserve an award for their support. They take me for who I am and express no judgment, despite the fact that most of them have had the same boyfriends since high school. We come back to my place to eat Thai food and watch Fleabag.
DAY THREE
9 a.m. I work out and run errands and indulge in an overpriced croissant.
12 p.m. Hinge girl and I meet for an impromptu coffee. It’s cute. Nothing more and nothing less. We talk about our favorite books and look at fancy cheese knives in a store in Greenpoint. Our hands touch. It’s all very wholesome, but I don’t feel sparks.
7 p.m. My friend Dee, who lives in a gorgeous brownstone in Fort Greene, hosts a weekly Sunday night blues concert in her living room. It’s a “pinch me, I can’t believe I live in New York” kind of night. I hang out with friends and meet some new people, including a hilarious lesbian couple. Meeting couples should be my day job! The three of us chat for hours (platonically) and drink some whiskey before I leave to go to Casey’s.
10:40 p.m. I’m back at Casey’s house and catch him up on everything. Hinge date, sauna night, work stuff, the funny lesbians. He’s happy for me and says all the right things. He tells me that he saw an “old flame” this weekend but is having a hard time having feelings for other people. I say hey, at least the flame is “old” and not 24! We watch a movie and fall asleep.
DAY FOUR
8 a.m. Sex with Casey. Coffee in bed. Horizontal hug.
11a.m. Back home to my apartment. Work computer open.
1 p.m. A fun and full day of work. I show an apartment to a longtime photographer hero of mine. She doesn’t like it, but she does laugh at my jokes and spontaneously compliment my maturity. I will be journaling about this later. My mind is on tonight’s date with the couple. I keep replaying interactions from sauna night as if they’re puzzle pieces to what I should expect.
6 p.m. “It’s obviously a date,” my friend Selena says as she does my makeup. Getting your makeup done for a possible Monday night threesome is dramatic, but it’s more so just an excuse to hang out. Selena being the queen of an eyeliner wing is just a nice bonus.
8 p.m. I meet the couple at their house. He opens the door. We share a cheek kiss and he welcomes me in. Oh, they’re rich-rich. This house is gorgeous. There’s a 16-year-old girl sitting on the couch. “This is London. We were able to get a last-minute sitter,” he tells me. I knew they had children but somehow forgot. Now I’m in one of my least-favorite social interactions: interacting with a babysitter when I’m about to fuck the parents. It’s happened before.
The wife comes down the stairs and looks amazing. Just as good with clothes on. We decide to get a drink at the bar on the corner.
10 p.m. Somehow hours have passed! These people are great. We’ve been sitting at the bar and had two martinis’ worth of conversation. We talk about traveling in Scotland, they tell me about a play I would like, I tell them about a friend problem I’m going through, they listen and ask me questions. When conversation dips they look at each other and kiss. They’re very obviously in love with one another and it’s both sweet and intimate to witness. There’s been no touch between me and them, until my fingers cross the husband’s en route to grabbing a French fry. Neither of us moves our hand away. Fuck the French fry! The wife swivels her high top and our knees touch. We all just take in the first skin contact, and conversation stops. We walk back to their place.
10:20 p.m. They send the babysitter home and we go upstairs. She shows me her Turkish rug. Meanwhile he does some light prep work such as fixing the lighting and telling the Sonos to play “Thievery Corporation radio.” They tell me they’ve never done “this” before. Somehow that makes me feel better. I realize that they, too, are nervous, and it’s cute, so I take matters into my own hands and start making out with her. We get undressed. They both want to touch my body so I lie down and arch my back a bit. She tells me she’s been wanting to see me do that in her bed since she saw me on the top row of the sauna. Then she eats me out. He compliments my bush I forgot to shave (see? très chic!). We’re all touching and fucking each other. At the sight of her husband inside me, she yells, “Honey I’m coming!” very loudly. It’s so hot. Are the kids really sleeping through all this? I quickly stop thinking about that.
12 a.m. We lie on their bed just gently touching each other and talking. Finally they call me an Uber and I go home feeling really good about the whole thing. I call Casey when I get home, explain it in detail, which gets him all turned on, and fall asleep on the phone with him. Somehow this is the best part.
DAY FIVE
7:30 a.m. I wake up to a voice note from Casey. “Hi, I love you. I had some time to think about our conversation from last night and I realize that a conversation like that … where you tell me about your night with this couple and I can feel your joy through you and not in any way feel threatened, or like I should’ve been there, or ‘oh my God this is terrible, makes me feel really amazing about our connection and how we relate to each other. I can’t wait to see you.” I close my eyes and listen to the voice over and over.
8:05 a.m. The couple texts on our group chat. The wife: “I had a lot of fun …” The husband: “Thank you for trusting us.” It’s a good day in my iMessages! I turn my phone off and proceed with my work day.
2 p.m. Work work work. I show apartments in Williamsburg and then the East Village. I walk around the neighborhood with newfound confidence.
5 p.m. I get home and rush to a yoga class. I banter with the couple over text afterward.
10 p.m. Drink some magnesium, journal for 30 minutes, get a little high with my roommate, Max, who is eating garlic bread, and then fall asleep.
DAY SIX
11 a.m. I show another apartment to the photographer. She likes this one. Casey texts me that he’s seeing the old flame again tonight, which makes me weirdly nervous. I feel bad for not feeling a pure and unfiltered stream of the “happy for you” energy that he nearly always has for me.
12 p.m. At the office. Three realtors behind me argue about bitcoin or something that I try to tune out completely. The wife sends me a text that says, “I want to taste you again.” Sexting from the office! How fun!
6 p.m. I finish work but have an hour to kill before heading to a party nearby, so I get an old-fashioned in the lobby bar of the Ace Hotel. I take a sip, look around, and romanticize how awesome my life is. I think about the couple. I think about Casey. I wonder how his date is going. Is she fucking him right now? I check his location: Home. Probably. I finish my drink, do my smoky eye makeup in the bathroom, and head out.
8 p.m. My friend Anna throws a studio party in her new art studio. Everyone is very cool and effortlessly gorgeous and I have a great time.
11 p.m. Home and bed. No text from Casey. I meditate, because the alternative is a spiral.
DAY SEVEN
9 a.m. Work showings.
11 a.m. Hinge girl asks if I want to get a drink tonight. I tell her I have plans, and that I’m going on a trip out of town in a couple days, which is true but sounds like a really complicated way of saying “I’m not interested.”
2 p.m. I spend the afternoon editing photos for a project I’m slowly working on.
6 p.m. Casey and I meet for pasta. He tells me that he and the “old flame” had a really nice date yesterday. Oh boy. What is this tsunami-like feeling in my body? Insecurity? Fear? Jealousy? A cocktail of all three? This leads to a larger conversation about who we are to each other, what we want, and what will happen when one of us ultimately ends up in a relationship. We say we’ll take things as they come, so long as we are patient with each other and give each other grace. We agree that not sleeping together for a beat would be best.
7:20 p.m. … We have sex.
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