Quarantine is fucking weird. I’m an extremely sexual individual but I live alone and I’m situationally depressed. Am I horny? Am I bored? Am I lonely? Am I crying? Honestly sometimes the answer to all four of those questions is “absolutely yes,” and sometimes I cycle through each one in less than an hour. I’m not super into this time in our lives, is what I’m telling you.

So where to begin this sex diary? I guess on any random day, seeing as time no longer has any meaning and 3am on a Tuesday is the same as 1pm on a Saturday. I am lucky to still have a job and am also a part-time student, so there is some semblance of routine in my life, but just barely. I also am extremely lucky to have a hot, kind, generous long distance girlfriend who is doing her best to help keep my spirits up and my sexual needs – in as much as they still exist – fulfilled. She lives on the opposite side of the country but we both have very high sex drives and a strong commitment to creatively fucking each other from afar. If I wasn’t already in love with her pre-pandemic, I’d be falling pretty hard right now. As it is, she is the fixed point currently keeping me tethered to reality, small joys, and orgasms.

SUNDAY

It’s date night, and we’re cooking the same meal in our respective kitchens. I didn’t get enough homework done this weekend and I’m mad at myself for sleeping in too late this morning – I’d promised myself I would get a certain amount of work done before our date – but I text my best friend to complain and she points out that it’s the weekend and also, oh yeah, we’re living through a global pandemic. Do you really think the thing you’re going to be thinking when all this is done is that you could have been 30% more productive, she asks. Fair point. I put on a slutty dress and some lipstick, and dump some dry shampoo in my hair. If we’re being honest I haven’t showered in longer than I can remember – it’s very hard to motivate myself to leave my studio apartment, even for a brief neighborhood walk, and so showering has started to feel a little besides the point. It’s weird that just a few weeks ago if I had a date I could spend hours getting ready, showering and doing my hair and painting my nails and picking an outfit and and and and. Now it’s a huge win if I change out of my indoor sweatpants. But I do that tonight – I want date night to feel special.

D calls me on FaceTime when she gets home from work – she’s an essential worker so she’s still out and about in the world in her city, which makes me nervous but I try not to think about it too hard – and we cook together. It’s really sweet; I insist on taking screenshots of us “together” because it makes me feel like we’re a normal couple having a normal date, not a long distance couple separated by 3,000 miles with no idea of when we will see each other again. She teases me about my knife being dull, I position the phone against a bag of flour so when I turn my back to sauté the onions she can stare at my ass. I hold the knife up teasingly and ask her to take a screenshot; she obliges. I pour myself some wine, she gets a beer, and we take our finished meals to our respective living rooms to eat together.

After dinner she asks if I’m wearing underwear, and I guiltily reply that I am. I’m not supposed to wear underwear around her – it’s one of our rules. She gives me a look through the screen, like I’m in trouble, and I’m instantly wet. How does she do that? I’ve always been a sexual person – my high sex drive is like, part of my personality – but I’ve never met someone who can match my desire the way D can. She tells me to take off my underwear right now and soon I’m spread open on my sofa, sex blanket under my ass to catch my inevitable ejaculation, taking her direction and fucking myself with a thick cock while holding a vibrator against my clit. I position the phone against the stack of books on the coffee table next to the couch so she can see everything – my open mouth, my tits, my belly, my clit, my dripping pussy. Wow baby, she says in that tone, the one that says she’s proud of me, and I blush and I beam and I keep fucking myself, letting the cock go deep inside me, bucking against the vibe, moving my hips and clenching my ass and riding the sensation until I squirt, hard. Don’t stop, D commands through the screen, so I don’t. I orgasm a few more times before I beg her to let me be done.

Good job baby, she tells me, and I love her, I love her. Do you want to cuddle before you go to bed? I do. I move the blanket, now soaking, and the sex toys to the floor to deal with in the morning. I lay a towel down on my bed and bring the phone under the covers with me. D and I talk for a few minutes, sweet silly post-sex banter, and it’s almost like we’re actually together, like I can actually feel her tuck my hair behind my ear the way I love. I taught her that I need aftercare even after FaceTime sex and she’s so good at it now that she knows. I don’t want to hang up but she tells me it’s late and I should go to bed and she’s right. When we say goodnight it’s 3am.

…Unfortunately my brain has no interest in going to bed so I scroll Twitter and anxiety spiral until I hear the birds start chirping at 5am, 6am, 7am. The clock by my bed reads 7:30am by the time I finally close my eyes.

MONDAY

I have taken a solid nap from 7:30am – 10:30am and am now ready to greet the day. Fuck. I throw the sex blanket into the washer, rinse the cock and vibe with soap and water in the bathroom, put on my sweatsuit, and get to work. D sends me a selfie and tells me she ordered me a surprise. I send her a selfie back then hide my phone so I can get some work done. I know she’ll understand; our work ethics match in the same way our sex drives do.

Work is busy, school is stressful, and I don’t think about sex for the rest of the day. At 9pm I realize I haven’t eaten at all so I close my computer and make mac and cheese. I text D and soon we’re sexting, reminiscing about last night. I love how quickly she can turn me on; I’ll be feeling like shit about everything, filled with despair about the world, and then I’ll think about her cock and suddenly I’m wet. Am I using sex to distract myself from the nightmare we’re living through? Yes maybe! Have I been entirely alone for 40+ days? Also yes! I’m not really judging mine or anyone else’s sex drive or lack thereof right now. Whatever the fuck we all need to do to get through the day.

I’m exhausted and it’s honestly hard to keep my eyes open while sexting D, but I don’t want to stop. I climb into bed and send her nudes and sexy voice memos; she reciprocates. We both orgasm before falling asleep.

TUESDAY

I slept for six hours last night which frankly rules. I have class first thing in the morning and I do a quick scan of my bedroom before hopping on the Zoom call to make sure all my sex toys are hidden and nothing inappropriate is lurking in the background. It’s so horrifying to have to look at my face this much; why can’t we all attend class with just our voices, not with a video situation? I’m on my second cup of coffee but I look like I haven’t slept in 7 years. If you count up all the insomniac nights I’ve ever had, even before coronavirus, perhaps I haven’t.

Sadness and despair overtake me in the afternoon. D encourages me to take a walk; I consider it, I really do, I spend a lot of time thinking about how I could theoretically take a walk, but I just can’t manage it. I stay up too late again making an elaborate dinner and getting work done; it’s hard to figure out when to stop working because it feels like I’m not getting much done during the day, so I’m sort of not working and also working 24/7. A classic freelancer work-from-home dilemma, I know, but now with a very specific doom-and-gloom backdrop. Everything is bad. Back in the old days, six weeks ago, I would turn to masturbation if I felt upset or restless or underwhelmed. These days, the idea of masturbating feels inaccessible – I really don’t think I can emphasize how fucking weird that is for me.

I feel deeply horny and also like if I never touch my clit again that will be too soon, I text one of my group chats. Everyone agrees.

WEDNESDAY

What did I do all day? I don’t know.

Did I go for a walk? No. Did I shower? Also no. Did I masturbate? No!

I’m so sad, I really fucking hate this. I wish D and I weren’t long distance. I wish I wasn’t sheltering in place alone. I wish our government weren’t so cruel and incompetent. I can’t believe our government gets to show up in my sex diary! I hate this reality!!!!!!

THURSDAY

Okay, I showered. Still no walk. But I feel like I deserve a prize.

I text D to ask if she’s proud of me; she is.

She texts me a photo of her breakfast, a photo of her dog, a photo of her cute fucking face. I text back a photo of my breakfast, a photo of the recipe I plan to make for dinner, a photo of the roses she sent me a few weeks ago which I successfully dried so I can keep them forever.

We have plans to live in the same city soon-ish; I feel both hopeful that these plans will come to fruition and scared that because of the pandemic they will never be reality. I read an article a few days ago about couples putting off the idea of having kids because it’s not easy to make major life decisions when the future feels so uncertain. The article was annoyingly straight-focused – literally did not mention queer people once – but I can’t stop thinking about it. I love making plans and I love being a realistic optimist, but these days it feels impossible to make plans and, well, impossible to be both realistic and optimistic. It feels really fucking unfair that my entire ability to exist – not just sexually but like, on the basic level of being myself – has been completely turned upside down, but I guess nothing about a global pandemic is fair. I am objectively so lucky… I keep using that word but it keeps being true. I know how lucky I am to have the privilege to stay home, to still have a job, to have pals who check in on me, to have this sweet babe sending me wholesome photos of her life and promising to tie me up and tease me for hours when we are finally in the same place… a dream!

I am lucky. And yet this still all feels so bad and so out of control.

FRIDAY

TGIF! JK time has no meaning. Today is just like yesterday and just like tomorrow, sorry.

I work, I text with D, I go for a walk! I think about masturbating when I get home but I realize I really don’t feel like it. I keep hearing about single people or people who live alone experiencing skin hunger during this experience but so far I think I feel okay. I have not touched another human being in so long but somehow FaceTime sex and sexts with D keep me feeling very satisfied in that particular way? I know that does not replace actual touch but my skin is not feeling hungry. Maybe it’s because I’m good at caressing myself – even though I’m off my masturbation game I spend a lot of time touching my body, rubbing my arms, petting my hair, trying to be sweet to myself in this lonely seemingly endless stretch of now – or maybe I’m stupid and don’t know what hungry skin feels like and I secretly am starving for touch. Does fucking yourself with a large dildo over FaceTime while your girlfriend watches in awe and clamping your nipples while your tits bounce up and down with each orgasm take care of skin hunger? I add this query to my list of questions with no clear answers.

SATURDAY

My present from D arrives – a vibrator that connects to an app via bluetooth that she can control from afar. I’m so excited; I’m consistently happy to know I can still get excited and happy about sex even during a pandemic. Losing a sex drive would be completely normal at this moment, but I’m grateful I haven’t. It is strange to be not as incessantly horny as I usually am, but the truth is, if I think about D, I end up wanting to fuck. I text her to let her know my treat is here and to ask if we can use it tonight. If you’re good, she texts. I’m always good, I write back. Suddenly I really want it to be tonight.

I do laundry and try to clean my kitchen a bit because it’s Saturday, which means I should prioritize housework over work-work, or something? I really have not gotten the hang of how quarantine works, even more than 40 days in. In any case I eventually let myself off the hook with the dishes – the amount of dishes I have at the end of every day is truly startling, I am but one individual human person, I live alone and cook only for myself, how the fuck do I have 400 dishes to clean at the end of every day it does not make any sense! – and get ready for my date with D with my new modified routine: slutty dress, lipstick, dry shampoo. I’m ready!

She calls me on the phone tonight instead of on FaceTime, and we talk for a few hours before getting sexy. I want to hear about her health and her routines, the masks her mom sewed and the customers who were kind and the customers who were unbearable. She wants to know about school, how the recipe I was excited about turned out, how my family is doing. I feel so safe and good with her; it lets me be vulnerable with my body. If you had told me six months ago that I’d be spreading my pussy open on FaceTime for a girl, no matter how hot, I don’t know that I would’ve believed you. I love myself but I still get shy, have just as much body hang ups as the next girl. But my dynamic with D has me craving more intimacy, more risks. I want to push myself to the edge with her and then I want to go farther. I think that would’ve happened even if we weren’t living through corona times together. I think I just love her like that.

We start talking dirty – I don’t know who makes the first move, maybe I tell her I’ve been bad and want to get spanked, maybe she asks if I’d like to come sit on her lap, maybe both, maybe neither, maybe it’s just a sigh or a moan – and then it’s on. We explore a new role play and I’m excited all over again; we’ve been dating for a year which I know is not so long, but it feels amazing that there are still scenarios we haven’t explored, feels incredible that we can just fuck each other for as long as we want, as long as it feels good. We’re both weary of the concept of forever but we let our guards down together. We’re careful – there will be no U-Hauling here, not in the time of corona and not after – but we’re also giddy. I lean into my role in our verbal game – boss I’ll do anything to keep my job, anything, I swear! – and soon I ask if we can switch to video, if we can try out my new toy.

There’s a slight learning curve but it’s overall pretty easy to navigate, and soon I’m holding the rabbit-style vibrator inside my cunt and up against my clit while D controls it. This is like playing a video game, she says, and I laugh, and she laughs, and then she hits on a rhythm of vibrations that feel really fucking good and my hips start bucking and she says baby, don’t you want to get your sex blanket, you’re gonna make a mess, and she’s right but it’s so hard to stop but I do. I get up and grab the blanket from the sofa, bringing it back to bed with me, and then I prop the phone up against a glass of water on my bedside table and beg her to pick up where she left off. I shove the vibrator back inside my soaking pussy and relish the expression on her face, let the vibes move through my body and edge me closer to coming. I realize if I clench I can keep the vibe in place without using my hands and I take the opportunity to move my palms to my chest, teasing and tugging my nipples, slapping my tits, moaning and panting, begging D to keep fucking me. She does, and soon I can feel the orgasm building in my clit, I don’t think I’m gonna squirt but I do come hard, I close my eyes and let the feeling drench my body, I’m sweating and I wish D was here to pull my hair and then pull me close but she’s close, she’s right there on the screen, she’s watching me and she’s waiting for me to come down so she smirk and say, how was that, baby? 

We ditch the vibrator app video which is a bit wonky and switch back to FaceTime video. It’s really late for me and I’m exhausted but I know I won’t be able to sleep if we hang up. You’re the most exciting girl I’ve ever met, D tells me, and I giggle and it feels nice. I can’t wait to fall asleep in your bed, I say to her, and she nods. You should go to sleep baby, she tells me, and she’s right. We hang up and I can’t sleep, of course, but I commit to lying in bed in the dark with my eyes closed, not scrolling on my phone.

I try to think nice thoughts, and I manage a few of them, but they’re mixed up with terrible thoughts, and then the birds are chirping, and I don’t think I’m going to sleep tonight, so I get up, and now it’s a new day.

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