Sex IRL is a series by babe dedicated to detailing the ups, downs and in-betweens of real girls’ sex lives. It’s unfiltered, graphic and, most importantly, real. This week, a 23-year-old grad student who loves consensual non-consent play. 23, straight-ish, Oregon.

DAY ONE:

11AM: I’m sitting in the library and I’m bored. Already regretting the decision to take on an additional 30 grand’s worth of debt, I don’t know why I bothered with grad school.

I’m idly swiping through undergrad Tinders but can’t bring myself to fuck around with someone three years younger and infinitely more immature.

2PM: I get lunch with a friend, she tells me she’s moving in with her boyfriend of 3 months, I don’t even have the energy to pretend to care. I brazenly swipe while she’s talking. I flick through 10 of my usual type of Berniecrat softboy.

2:30PM: I settle on a guy that’s my age, and looks vaguely put together, and decide he might be worth a shot. We make plans to meet up the next day in a trashy bar, I’m not expecting anything life-changing.

8:30PM: I’m writing a paper and I can barely stay awake. I make myself a strong coffee and try masturbating to take my mind off the tedious work. I can’t finish, so I give up and try studying again.

11PM: I fall asleep in the middle of a pile of books.

DAY TWO:

8AM: I wake up tired and grumpy. I throw the books from last night off my bed, I can’t even think about studying.

11AM: I’m bizarrely excited for the date tonight, it’s been awhile since I’ve had sex and I was starting to think I’d never want to again. It’s not that I don’t like hooking up with random guys, I just get bored of the vanilla sex that comes with fucking someone new. I want someone I trust to completely dominate me and I don’t feel comfortable asking a stranger for the shit that really gets me off.

3PM: I’m back in the library killing time. I think about going to the bathroom to masturbate again, but they’re gross and I’m worried it’ll kill my desire for tonight.

6PM: I’m looking in my fridge and I have nothing. I’ll just save myself for the date, hopefully he’ll buy me more than just drinks.

8PM: I get a text from Tinder guy, he’s running late. So much for put together. I sit at the bar and get a white wine.

9PM: As I’m about to leave, he shows up out of breath and incredibly apologetic. I’m tempted to go home and drown my sorrows, but get the nagging sense I should make an effort because I don’t know when I’ll next feel like having sex.

10PM: I’m now wasted. We got fries but I felt weird eating them all in front of him, so I just picked around the edges as the bottom shelf wine went straight to my head. He’s telling me about his hometown, but I’m tuned the fuck out, trying to work out how big I think his dick is.

10:15PM: He worked out that I wasn’t paying attention to anything he was saying. He’s trying to engage me, so I kiss him before I have to answer any of his questions.

10:45PM: We’re in a cab aggressively making out. He’s biting my neck and I feel jolts of excitement run between my legs. I whisper harder and he obliges. I savor the pain.

11PM: We’re back at his. I’m grateful that I’ve managed to find a 23 year old that lives alone. His place is ok for a guy’s, but nothing to write home about. He throws me up against the wall as soon as we get through the door. I tell him to be be rough with me, to throw me around and he’s a little too happy to oblige. He picks me up and throws me on the bed but before he continues, I tell him to stop.

This is the hard part for me. I hate bringing it up, but I hate unsatisfying sex even more.

I tell him frankly that I want to be treated like shit. That I want to tell him no, to beg him, to plead for him to stop and that I want him to carry on anyway. I never know how people will react when I tell them about my rape fantasies, even saying the word rape seems to make most guys run for the hills. Tinder guy is quiet as he takes it all in. I tell him if he doesn’t feel comfortable, I can just leave.

After an excruciating silence that can’t have been longer than 30 seconds but feels like an eternity, he said he thinks he can do it. We agree a safe word and I promise him I know what I’m getting into.

12AM: Over the course of half an hour, we’ve escalated from light choking while he fucks me from behind, to full on non-consent play. I beg him to stop while he carries on fucking me harder and harder. I dig my nails into his back with tears in my eyes and whisper that I want to go home.

I can tell he’s getting really weirded out and wants to stop. He cums in my hair after I told him not to. Afterwards, we lie next to each other and make weird small talk. I can tell he thinks I’m fucked up but is just being polite. I don’t care. I had a great time.

2AM: He finally falls asleep and I wriggle out from under his arm, I slip my dress over my shoulders and stuff my panties into my bag. I call an Uber as I’m going down the stairs to his building. In the Uber, I think about if other people tell their one night stands about their rape fantasies. I doubt it. What kind of person even likes that stuff? But I just can’t help myself.

DAY THREE:

1PM: I have lunch with my mom. We’ve never been that close and I feel like she just comes to visit me so she doesn’t have to spend time with my dad. She tells me about my friend from home who just got engaged. I down my drink.

3PM: I’m in a terrible mood and I can tell I’m pissing off the girls I’m studying with. I storm out of the library. I just want to be alone.

6PM: I’m in bed swiping again, but no-one looks worth the effort. I think about texting Tinder guy from last night, but I’m embarrassed. I wonder if he told anyone about me.

DAY FOUR

2PM: My mind is wandering in a lecture. I’m supposed to be thinking about Japanese calligraphy in the Heian period, but I’m thinking about my ex. We went out for two years before he finally decided that he would rather fuck sorority girls than be an adult. At the time I told him it was his loss, but now I’m not sure.

7:15PM: I’m drinking wine and watching Master of None. My roommate asked me to meet her and some friends downtown, but I can’t really deal with other people tonight.

9PM: I masturbate to the thought of being pushed up against a wall in an alleyway and being groped. I think there’s something wrong with me.

11:15PM I fall asleep writing the title of a research paper.

DAY FIVE:

11AM: I think I’m depressed. I’ve blown off plans every day this week. I just can’t deal with other human beings. I can’t even bring myself to get out of bed.

1PM: I force myself to go for a run and come back freezing cold. I turn the shower up to the hottest it goes and force myself to stand under it as it scalds me. I feel good.

8PM: I’ve been bullied into meeting people for drinks. It’s a Friday after all so I feel like I can’t say no without people wondering if there’s something wrong. I’m bored.

10PM: I’m drunk and tired of small talk. I want to be fucked. I make eyes at a moron in a Patagonia fleece with an exceptional jawline. He looks too young to be in here. I want him.

11PM: He’s back at my house and going down on me. He’s been down there for about 20 minutes and I’m feeling nothing. I didn’t tell him what I really want so he’s giving me standard issue white boy sex. Fingering, eating out, missionary, doggy, come too quickly, go to sleep. great.

3AM: I lie awake looking at him and feeling disgusted. I hate telling people what I really want, but I hate sex when it’s not rough. I step outside my front door and light a cigarette.

DAY SIX:

8AM: I kick out vestboi and tell him I’ll maybe see him around. He knows I won’t.

3PM: I’m back in bed and I don’t think I’m going to be leaving for the rest of the day. I consider making a doctors appointment to talk about my probable depression, but can’t bring myself to dial the phone. I’m sure I’ll be ok.

11PM: I didn’t bother getting up today. I feel gross.

DAY SEVEN:

9AM: I would say I woke up, but that implies I achieved any kind of rest. My brain was racing all night and I think I maybe got a hour at most. I don’t feel like eating.

2PM: I’m sitting in a park and reading The Bell Jar. Painfully aware of the fact that I’m a walking cliche. I’m not interesting. I’m not even that pretty. I wonder to myself what I could really offer anyone.

6PM: I decide enough is enough. I’m tired of feeling like this. I make an appointment with the campus therapist online. I feel like I need to do something.

8PM: I force myself to make lunches for the week to come and do laundry and all the other shit I’ve been neglecting for the last month. I call my ex. We arrange to go for lunch on Weds. I know it’ll make my mom happy.

10PM: I go to the gym in my building and listen to a podcast while I do squats. The endorphins kick in and I fall asleep peacefully for the first time in weeks.