In the style of the infamous New York Sex Diaries, Naked City is bringing you the day planners of denizens of this here city of angels and demons, chock full of their dreams, neuroses and desires. The Graphic Designer Who Fucks In Public Around Brentwood: female, 28, straight and obsessed with her new hobby of outdoors fucking.
8:34a.m. I wake up to the sounds of the landscapers next door. No need for alarm clocks ever again.
9:00a.m. Breakfast. I cook myself up an omelet, with orange juice and toast. I get a text from the lover asking about my morning. Sweet.
10:15a.m. Grab coffee at Starbucks. Watch the rich locals coming in with their children. Laugh at the 50-something, over-plasticized woman wearing sweatsuit set with rhinestone embellished hat. Too much makeup and terrible facelift. She's trying to be hip. Poor thing.
11:30a.m. Shower. Put on Stila sheer tint moisturizer, my favorite Clinique lipgloss and some Bad Gal lash Mascara. Blow=dry my hair, and put on a big, slinky green shirt and skinny jeans. Go through e-mails, sign contracts and finish design work for clients.
1:00p.m. Get a message from the new lover. He's working on some new sculptures for an upcoming show. He's married. We're so perfect for each other its criminal. Time is of the essence in our arrangements. I ask when we shall meet. He says coffee at 2p.m.
2:00p.m. We meet at Wokcano for sushi and have some drinks. We converse about our day, stupid clients and major financial losses of the past. He's just ultimately good to be around. I feel happy. It's been a while I've felt this happy. We end up going through two bottles of red wine.
4:00p.m. We've lost track of time, and he's supposed to be leaving for a family get-together but we've moved to the bar downstairs for one more drink. The conversation and connection is electric.
4:35p.m. We leave Wokcano and have a long, innocent hug. I want to grab him by the neck and make out with him, but we're to close to home and time is of the essence. I go back home to work. Getting texted by a celebrity trainer I met the day before. He wants me to blow him so bad. All I did was come into the gym. He asked me out in 5 minutes. I'm impressed but not exactly interested. Really, more curious and slightly turned off it was that easy. Maybe I will be interested later, so I play along.
6:00p.m. Sexting with the trainer. He keeps going on about wanting me to put on a show and describe all the ways I will blow him. He's rather uncreative in his wooing methods. It turns me off. He's the "get whatever he wants" type. Ugh, Boring. I continue with it anyway cause hey, I've never fucked a bodybuilder, but all I'm really thinking about is the sculptor. It saddens me slightly. I thought I was just having fun. I finally get in bed, half naked, only wearing a shirt and turn on Netflix. I watch The Breakfast Club and have a bowl of honey Chex cereal. Comfort food. I think about how I should've ran the 3 miles on the treadmill.
8:15p.m. Doing some creative writing when the sculptor starts texting me. He's in his living room on a laptop watching Risky Business and all the sex scenes are driving him mad. He wants to see me but he's home. The family is asleep so I tell him come over anyway.
11:00p.m. I suggest meeting him up in the mountains nearby his place. He heartily agrees. I put on a red Zac Posen skirt, a pair of knee high boots and a black American Apparel hoodie. I grab my iPhone and run out the door.
11:45p.m. I meet him at a trail and we walk up as far as we can away from the city view. He's wearing his PJs, which I find hilarious. He said he snuck out the door while they were asleep. We find a rock and I rip off his clothes. I am still fully clothed except for my panties that are missing. We fuck in multiple positions that require me standing or him holding me up in the air. The moon is almost full. Makes for perfect viewing. I come twice.
1:15a.m. I'm driving back home, but stop into a fast food place for some recovery snack. I buy a burger and get a root beer. I shouldn't be eating this, but I'm sick from all the rocking. The cashier guy at the window stops me to ask me irrelevant questions as if to hold me there longer. Creepy.
2:00a.m. Home, totally aroused by the evening, I come two more times while texting the sculptor about the evening, and talking about future scenarios we want to try in public. Seems to be a great idea to fuck in an elevator, a swimning pool, the beach and an abandoned building. I think we've found a new hobby.
TOTALS: four orgasms, one incident of sex, two lovers, one who is actually interesting, one potential who is boring. One creepy drive-thru incident. Innumerable positions. One new hobby.
