I’ve sprawled out on sandy beaches, scaled tall fences to baseball fields, scouted out swank dressing rooms with unreliable locks. I’ve spread my legs in a movie theater where the only thing between me and an unknowing stranger was a tub of popcorn. I’ve never gotten kicked out of a bar, but I should have been.
When I was seventeen my high school boy meat and I went to a club called Exit. You know the type: throbbing dance floors and flashing lights, sans alcohol but chock full of intoxicated hormones; a haven for horny guys looking to rub their dick on some underage ass cheeks. We made our way to the unisex bathroom stalls lined up along one wall of the club and slipped in together unnoticed. I hopped up on the sink bracing myself against the opposite wall as we banged away for three whole minutes. Oh the fleeting joys of youth!
Later on in life my exhibitionist adventures would last longer but not by much; public sex is not about luxuriating in the moment, it’s about seizing it between your legs before you get caught.
In college, visiting my boyfriend in London, we took advantage of a small window of time where his roommate was in the shower to enjoy ourselves against the wall right beside the bathroom door. We were exhilaratingly frightened and the fear only turned us on more. I couldn’t stay quiet so he kept his hand over my mouth as if the steady pounding didn’t give us away. When his roommate came out of the shower and asked: “Have you been taking advantage of London’s free museums?” we broke out into hysterics like two stoners laughing at a joke they can’t remember. Public sex is a high like no other. It’s the most delicious theft and once you get the taste in your mouth it’s difficult to go back to the bedroom.
A friend and colleague of mine, who prefers to go by the name Ricardo, spoke with me recently about how he and his ex became addicted to their out in the open antics: “It became the basis of our entire relationship. Where could we do it next? What would be the most risky spot? One time we did it against a chain link fence in a mall parking lot in the middle of the afternoon; cars were going in and out and we were just going at it. Someone had to have seen us.”
And if someone does catch you in the act that in itself can be just as thrilling:
One summer night me and a good friend wandered into our neighborhood playground and made a beeline for the swings. It was late June and the cool breeze followed his eager hands up my skirt. I returned the favor on my knees gripping his waste as he pulled my hair. We were both so consumed in our lust that it wasn’t until later, after a long straddle cuddle and post coital make-out session, that we noticed the glimmering cherry of a cigarette not more than twelve feet away. We immediately dashed out of the park and back to his car; the rush of being caught in the act stirred an insatiable hunger in both of us and we rolled around in his back seat till sunrise.
Public sex brings out the adventurous child in all of us and challenges our creativity to come up with different venues to violate. I have a whole list of hot spots that I still have yet to make my mark on: the monorail at Six Flags, that old abandoned house at the top of Runyon Canyon, the Santa Monica Pier and the classic fantasy location, a Victoria Secret dressing room, which according to Ricardo is a lot easier than one would think: “The lady asked me if I wanted to go in with her to watch her try on the lingerie. It was like an open invitation to fuck. I still wonder if there were hidden cameras. If there were I hope they enjoyed the show.”
BY DANIELLE BAUMAN