Kittens,
I'm not quite sure HOW it happened, but a few days ago I stumbled across this most remarkable piece of first-person memoir:
The Poly Lawyer Who Keeps a Spreadsheet of Her 6 Lovers
It's a blow-by-blow account of a week in the life of one very sexual woman.
It was especially inspiring to me, dear kittens, because I know during the years you have known me, you've probably come to see me as some sort of sexually-repressed sexual naive, someone who's all "Jon Snow's abs" and "Jon Snow's junkmound" but actually wouldn't know a knob from a locksmith.
Well, critics, the joke's on YOU!
After reading the above, I finally feel confident enough to share with you my OWN, absolutely true, 100% legitimate sex diary.
This is just a recent week in the annals (*snort*) of my personal libidinous history.
Enjoy, kittens!
Day One
6.00am. I wake up in the igloo, wrapped in Aput’s sealskins, a smile still on my face from last night’s amorous Arctic activities. Aput stokes the fire and retrieves some stored blubber cakes from an ice hole. “I’m going to attack that ice hole later!” I cry, emphasising the words to sound like an intimate part of Aput’s perfect body. Aput has an IQ of 140 but accent humour is not his strong suit. The blubber cakes function as both breakfast and lubricant for our lovemaking.
10.00am. Aput and I head out in his kayak, me draped in his special caribou-skin parka for protection against the winds. It’s a good time of day for hunting, and I know a successful catch engorges Aput’s baser appetites. We’re in luck, as my sturdy lover captures a recalcitrant narwhal, a symbol of good luck.
1.00pm. I wrestle with Aput’s huskies. I’ve taken a liking to them; they stare very respectfully at us during sexual congress.
5.00pm. With the sun now firmly gone, Aput and I go at it like Amundsen smashing his way through the Northwest Passage. The narwhal horn is utilised in a culturally appropriate manner.
Day Two
8.00am. Aput rows me back to Anchorage. There is a long winter to weather between now and the next time I see him, so he has packed me three feet of pickled whale penis as a remembrance. I fondle him under his parka as a thank you. My ice-born lover truly has been one of the most exciting and consciousness raising additions to my man stud.
11.00am. I am in first class on my flight home to Brisbane. A brindle-haired business executive in the pod next to mine makes small talk over flutes of Krug. Richard, it turns out, is a boutique supplier of rectal fantasy devices inspired by Renaissance Masters. Or, as his company catchphrase goes, “We put the artisanal into art and anal”. I sneak into his pod after lights out and we do it fully reclined on the SkyBed with the personalised TV remote up his ass. Dick weeps with a fully realised sexual understanding and I leave with a number of free samples.
10.00pm. I touch down in Brisbane, my home town, and am embraced at the airport pick-up by my husband Sebastian Stan. Yes, that Sebastian Stan. We met once at via an accidental Zoom link-up and he could sense my sexual potency through the screen. He very nearly left the Marvel franchise to be with me, but I suggested instead we open up our marriage to others so I could still find satiety while he played superhero. We did that five months ago and it has been incredibly rewarding for both of us.
11.30pm I conduct phone sex with Adam, the customs officer who frisked me leaving the airport, while Sebastien throws marinara sauce on my love mound and reenacts the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp.
Day Three
7.00am After a morning tantric yoga session, I beam a synchronised burlesque routine for Sebastian, Aput, Gunther and Trevelyan via Instagram Reels. Gunther is a narcoleptic herpatologist I met at an Eyes Wide Shut cosplay event in Berlin and Trevelyan is a personal trainer with pet ringworm. My friends say not everyone wants to start their day with a quasi-satirical strip show set to Minnie Reparton’s seminal 1974 hit “Lovin’ You”, but they’re just jealous of my calves’ shape and satirical power.
9.00am Today I’m in back to back meetings sourcing new staff for “Vag Magic”, the chain of vaginal rejuvenation clinics I own along the east coast of Australia. I’m virtually retired from writing these days; the wellness practice is my retirement investment. There will only ever be growth in the reconstituted vulva market, although when it comes to the business side of things, my lips are sealed.
2.00pm I request all staff send me their daily dick pics. Those without dicks are to find one in the immediate area, force their trousers down and snap. I am very much into consent, except for when it interferes with my fetishes.
Day Four
8.00am I wake up with a burning pain in my chest. I report in to my GP, Dr Fistur, for a check up. He diagnoses a yeast infection of my upper left ventricle, and says I should hold off on sex until the antibiotics kick in.
9.00am I rely the news to Sebastian, who lies on top of me sobbing so I can feel his wasted protuberance. The prospect of not having carnal knowledge of me that day is a lot for the poor duck to take in, or rather, not take in.
1.00pm I catch with Stephanie, one of my best girlfriends. I tell her about the thrush-y heart, and she suggests maybe going for one fucking day without sex, Christ, 24 hours, it’s not a long time, are you seriously telling you can’t just put it away for one fucking day, like I’m not yucking your yum but whenever I text you asking if you want to meet for coffee you normally send back a selfie taken mid-coitus with some random farmhand or competitive bowling team do you not even just need a day to sleep woman?
I tell her I am a hydrasexual. As soon as one sexual desire is fulfilled, another two will emerge in its place.
Day Five
10.00am Things are humming along nicely at work, with the new vagicians settling in. I take the opportunity to catch up on my man stud schedule. Amateurs keep records in spreadsheets; I document photographs from every intimate encounter and keep a rolling Powerpoint presentation as my desktop screensaver.
12.00pm Sebastian calls in to check on my progress with the antibiotics. He refuses to have sex with me to avoid worsening the illness, so instead I let him rub himself erotically on my feet while I beat him rhythmically with my 2019 Local Business Woman Of The Year Award.
4.00pm Updates for my Only Fans account. I made a considerable sum from broadcasting my sexual exploits to a discerning group of patrons. All funds raised go to a Chilean school for barely legal influencers; they’re doing good work promoting self love.
Day Six
11.00am I meet Trevelyan for a vigorous session, after which we pump iron, after which we do some exercise. He remains very concerned about the long term impacts of Covid 19 on the global economy. His concern for the ongoing health effects on disadvantaged members of the citizenry gets me horny, so we have another round where I intubate him via the extended route.
3.00pm I have the Waco daydream again. My therapist says I should stop associating notorious cult leader David Koresh with a dream domestic set-up, but I don’t know, the guy might just have been ahead of his time.
6.00pm I meet my latest Tinder date, Russian Jim, at the local night market. The sun is going down, pretty soon Russian Jim will be too.
Day Seven
10.00am It’s been a long and busy week, but the stats show Vag Magic remains streets ahead of its main competitor, Designer Vaginer. As a reward, I take the executive team to a delicious buffet lunch at my private club, “The Devil’s Relish”. I delight in charred cauliflower bites, tossed rocket and watercress, and a Cialis-infused carpaccio soup.
12.30pm With my health now back on track, Sebastian and I reenact the wedding night scene from Twilight, complete with sparkly body paint. He then drops me at the airport.
7.00pm. Gunther picks me up from the airport and we head immediately to his retro flat in Prenzlauer Berg. He invades my Brandenburg gate, then we head out for biers. Giggling as we walk down the Kollwitzstraße, I feel alive, and free. Here, in this moment, with a wiener in my sights, the moment is vorfreude. There will be busmen.