The Week I Had Sex With Everyone

Monday

It started off as a normal week: work, lunch, making sure I liked all my friends Instagram photos from the weekend. You know, a regular morning. That is, until I read my horoscope:

 

“You will fuck everyone this week, dear Taurus.”

 

I scoffed and thought, “Astrology is for idiots.” Oh, how wrong I was.

 

“How r u?” The text popped up after lunch, as if to say, “The universe is full of plans.” It was from a guy I went on one date with a month ago. He was attractive, but he seemed bored the whole time, so I was pleasantly surprised to hear from him.

 

We emoji’d back and forth, and he asked if I wanted to grab dinner. I rescheduled my plans of binge re-watching Season 4 of Top Chef, put on a pair of slightly darker jeans, and headed out to give him another shot.

 

We caught up, and he was as drab as I remembered. By the end of dinner, I said, “Listen -” but before I could even say anything else, he kissed me. We had solidly above average sex that night. It had been awhile, I realized. I remember thinking, “That’ll get me through another few weeks.” Oh, how wrong I was – again.

 

Tuesday

I crept out of Boring Hot Guy’s place in the morning, and as I went home to change clothes, I realized just how much I missed sex. My body was saying, “You should fuck everybody.” I shrugged it off as hormonal chatter and headed to work. Little did I know: when nature calls, you must answer.

 

Instagram picture-liking and Facebook newsfeed-arguing was harder that day. All I could think about was how tired I was, and how guys never, ever clean their bathrooms. “Guys are kind of gross,” I thought, while putting on my coat.

 

I was on the way home when my friend Natalie called to see if I wanted to have a drink.

 

“I have to get up early,” I said about an hour into drinks, but she put her hand on mine and whispered, “How ‘bout we have lesbian sex later?” I leaned back and squinted at her, trying to translate her coded message. What exactly did she mean by that? We laughed over a few more cocktails and as the bar was closing, I finally understood what she meant: she wanted to have lesbian sex later. I had promised myself that I was going to go to bed early, but I reasoned that the best way to deal with tiredness due to sex is more sex.

 

Wednesday 

I honestly don’t know how I made it through the morning. My cube mate Lisa said, “Somebody got lucky last night!” I nodded. She suddenly got serious and said, “You should get lucky every other night this week.” I laughed it off as typical feminine supportiveness, but she seemed really serious about it.

 

At lunch I went to my car and took a nap. I woke up to the familiar bing of a LinkedIn message: “Hi, I saw that you work in marketing. Would you like to get together and have coffee? I would love to hear more about the work you do.”

 

That night, I met up with Walter, a 50-something ad sales manager who’s interested in making a move to the marketing world. After a few drinks, we talked about why he really messaged me, which was why anyone ever ever sends a LinkedIn message.

 

We had sex shortly thereafter.

 

 

Thursday

Because I was stopped on the way to work by a blind gypsy woman who clutched me close to her and whispered, “You’re going to fuck every sandwich artist in the city today,” I only had twenty minutes for lunch. So I trekked into Subway. I ordered my usual six-inch Black Forest Ham. The sandwich artist looked at me over the sneeze guard and purred, “How ‘bout a footlong?”

 

We met in the bathroom. I’d never had sex next to a rack of spray bottles labeled “Bread Water.” I felt emboldened. I asked him, “Does this mean I get a free sub?” He smiled and said, “Didn’t you just get one?” Standard Subway banter.

 

I was still hungry for sandwiches, but it was too much to have Subway twice in a day. That’s when I remembered the competing toasted sandwich restaurant across the way.

 

Did you know that Quiznos has three single night managers? The sandwich was delicious too. But still, as if cursed by a black magic spell, I remained hungry.

 

I fucked every sandwich artist in the city that day.

 

Friday

I woke up hung over from all the sodium, but was shocked when I looked in the mirror. Someone had scrawled, backward, all over my body: “You will fuck everyone at work today.” This was beginning to be tedious.

 

I had to fax something at work around 4pm, but the machine was broken from me fucking most of IT on it that morning. I tried everything to fix it: dialing 9… well, that’s all I tried. I had to enlist help, but IT was clearly out. I looked across the hall at Linda, the Human Resources manager. “Hey Linda, what do I have to do to make this fax go through?” We worked on it for a good five minutes, our bosoms heaving. Nothing was working. We looked at each other and had the same frustration in our eyes – the frustration only a fax machine can cause. We had a quickie right there on the multi-purpose copier, and wouldn’t you know it, the fax went through.

 

Just then, every single employee of our large corporation busted through the door and said, “We should all do sex right now.”

 

Intrigued but worried, I looked over to Linda.

 

“It’s fine, I’m HR,” she assured me.

 

TGIF, indeed!

 

Saturday

I’m too tired to write descriptions (because of all the sex), so here’s a list for you:

 

Old lady I helped walk across the street.

The guy sitting to the left of me on the subway (L train).

The girl sitting to the right of me on the bus (M5 bus).

Everyone on New York City Public Transit, including Staten Island Rail.

A guy who I was passing at a crosswalk and accidentally touched hands with.

The Starbucks barista who wrote and said my name correctly.

Every employed person.

Every unemployed person.

Dentist (not mine).

Every person.

 

Sunday

No sex today. I never have sex on Sundays. I happen to be super religious.

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