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After a five-hour-long flight from JFK, I land at the airport in Mexico City and text Alex, who’s already in Oaxaca. I spend the evening making braised lamb and invite over a friend who’s in town from Berlin for a modeling gig.ġ2 p.m. “Wearing the shirt that smells like you.”Ĩ p.m. Packing for Mexico, I replay the last 24 hours in my head, wishing T had fucked me before I left.ĥ p.m. I get dressed, kiss him good-bye, and see myself out.Ģ p.m. More cuddling as T scrolls through the news on his phone. Suddenly I don’t feel so hungover anymore.ġ1 a.m. “Don’t stop.” After a while I let him come in my mouth. “No,” he moans, gathering my hair into a ponytail. Halfway through I look up and stop to apologize. I run my tongue slowly up and down his dick, teasing him. T spoons me, and I slide my hand under the covers before going down on him. I get back into bed and decide not to ask questions.ġ0:30 a.m. Feeling nauseous, I pretend to forget that T has a girlfriend. I head for the bathroom where there are feminine products displayed every which way. For some reason, it makes the situation seem more innocent in my mind. “Do you always wear a T-shirt to bed?” he asks. Looking at Uber surge prices, I ask to borrow a T-shirt and climb into bed with him. T invites me back to his place in Manhattan, where we do some more K.Ī few hours later T suggests I stay the night. We do some ketamine until the party starts to get packed.ġ:30 a.m. An acquaintance invites me to a party in Brooklyn. T walks me home before we split ways.ġ1 p.m. Three espresso martinis in and I’m feeling flirty. He’s the type who’s always had a girlfriend but we’ll go for a friendly drink every now and then. I meet up with T, a longtime crush of mine. He’s down to join me for a few days.Ħ p.m.
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I text my friend Alex who’s in Mexico City and divulge my plans to chase sunsets along the Oaxacan coastline. I make coffee and stare at my phone screen: “Thanks, your trip is booked! ” followed by a message from a guy on Raya saying he’s healing from a nose job and has to cancel our plans for tonight. God, I can’t wait to get the hell out of the city. Not feeling all that horny, I end the date with a cab home.ġ0 a.m. He pauses, looking confused, and responds by saying he’s attracted to me.ġ1 p.m. I start to feel Sam’s hands when I pull away and ask him what he’s looking for. On the couch, we look through a few of his magazines before he leans in to kiss me. I am losing at pool, and the lighting in here sucks. We talk about work and my tentative plans for Mexico before deciding on a place to play pool.ĩ p.m. Sam and I are at a dive bar in lower Manhattan.
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For some reason, I’m reluctant to date other writers, but we banter and he seems funny. I get a message on Tinder from Sam, who I learn is also a writer. I look up one-way tickets to Mexico.ġ p.m. I make a living freelancing for magazines and doing copywriting, and while it’s nice making my own schedule, lately I’m tired of working from home and feel a certain malaise toward New York City. I heat up some bone broth and pop an Adderall before checking emails. It is far too early and I am hungover from one too many Moscow mules last night.ĩ:30 a.m. I wake up to the sound of my neighbor yelling at someone. This week, a woman flies to Mexico to get away from the city (and its men): 29, single, New York.Ĩ a.m.