Violet's Sex Diary: Part 2.

Part two of three, y'all! You went apeshit for the first one, so go on and dig in, perverts.

DAY FOUR:

Rye was out of town on business. This usually engages us in a fair amount of naked pictures being texted back and forth. He was so busy on this trip that it engaged me in watching a LOT of RuPaul's Drag Race and going to sleep.

DAY FIVE:

4:39 pm: Rye was on the train home. Having had an exhausting day at work, I texted him to let him know that I was "going to snuggle him into a million pieces."

8:00 pm: I made dinner, rigatoni with eggplant and a tomato sauce that brings grown men to their knees. We ate giant bowls of it, snuggled on the couch and fell asleep in the way that a cantaloupe falls through the air.

DAY SIX:

6:30 pm: We had plans to meet the incomparable Cindy Gallop and some of her (also incomparable) Make Love Not Porn cohorts for dinner at Prune. Cindy being Cindy, she'd secured us the private table downstairs and I had been drooling over the thought of marrow bones since the plan was made.

I arrived in the neighborhood half an hour early. I decided that this entitled me to a drink. I chose a shitty looking Irish pub a block away from the restaurant where I figured I wouldn't run into anyone I know and have to explain why I couldn't invite them to dinner. I ordered a Jameson on the rocks and took a few deep breaths (guys, I was really excited about dinner). The bartender took my credit card and said, "Just so you know, you'll have to drink another of these to meet our credit card limit." I did a careful dance in my head. I had no cash, but had already begun drinking my drink. There was no running to an ATM and Rye was (as is his custom) running behind schedule.

Two whiskeys in half an hour is lights-out for me, I know myself this well. Then, the stroke of genius came: with five minutes left on my race-to-dinner clock, I hailed the bartender. "Another Jameson?" he asked. I confessed that I'd planned poorly, had to run to a dinner down the street, so could I please buy a beer for anyone down the line with an open bar tab?

I have to tell you guys that I've never seen anyone's eyes get wider. It was like I'd offered to donate a kidney. "Al," the bartender motioned to the patron next to me, "This wonderful woman would like to buy your beer. She has to leave and needs to meet her credit card limit. That okay with you?" Al proceeded to chat with me about how nice this was, asked if he could please buy me a drink sometime later that night.

"Thank you for the thought, Al, but I'm off to meet my husband and some friends for dinner." This is the point at which the bartender arrived with a complimentary shot of Jameson for himself, for me and for Al. Look guys, if you need to go into a shitty Irish pub in the East Village, you could do worse than this one. Knowing full well that this shot was a misguided idea, I took it with these gentlemanly gentlemen, considering myself to be sort of a gentlemanly woman at this point. As I said goodbye to the bartender and settled my tab, Al's girlfriend walked in and kissed him on the cheek.

Oh, Al. You cad.

7:00 pm: I met two MLNPers at the bar. Uncommon Appetites has definitely opened up a fascinating world of meeting people on the internet before you meet them in real life. Lucky for us, everyone has been absolutely lovely so far. Dinner was magical. We all got pleasantly drunk.

1:00 am: After a last round at the aforementioned Irish pub down the block, we climbed dreamily into a cab and hurtled toward Brooklyn. Our clothes came off as soon as the door closed. We had the kind of drunk, lazy sex that sends you straight to sleep. I came quickly, and shortly thereafter Rye came on my back. It might sound strange, but I kind of dig falling asleep with him still all over me.