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The Answer Is Not RenTec

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Several weeks back, we posted the first and last installment of the DealBreaker Sex Diaries, for about five minutes, before we got in trouble with Dad and were made to take it down. But the basic gist of the impetus for ripping off New York’s “Sex Diaries” was that they frustrated us with their utter lack of, what’s the word—sex. There was always a lot of thinking about sex, a lot of near-sex, a lot of “my boyfriend grabs my breasts, and falls asleep” sex/“my girlfriend straddles me and passes out” sex, but precious little sex-sex.
Today’s SD, however, contains “three unsuccessful intercourse attempts, two fantasies, one porn viewing, one act of masturbation in a shared bedroom, and three acts of intercourse.” Here's a quick bit:

7 p.m.: At home, changing for gym but decide to linger around in a thong. Making conversation with boyfriend, pretending not to notice he’s turned on. Start kissing in the kitchen, and he’s tracing my breasts with his fingers. Strip each other down. Straddle him as he sits on the edge of the bed. I come first within minutes; he’s not far behind.

Yes, yes, yes! And who do we have to thank for singlehandedly tripling the amount of sex ever featured in a diary of this sort? The “Horny Hedgie,” of course (though perhaps we should call her the "Quasi-Horny Hedgie," considering the three acts of aborted-sex sex). Not really surprising—Fed uncertainty and meltdown mania makes us all want to fuck. Whoever correctly identifies the diarist and/or her employer first wins something great, TBD.
(P.S. We're in heated negotiations to bring back DBSD, so if you would like to broadcast your naughtiness in an anonymous sort of way, drop a line to tips at dealbreaker dot com – we'll do the rest.)
The Horny Hedgie [NYM]