Semi-Public Sex   by Diana Dillinger

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My initiation into sexy semi-public fooling-around began at age 18 ‒ not out of any exhibitionistic fetish, but out of pure lust-crazed necessity. Although we were virgins, my boyfriend Josh and I had “no place to go” to remedy the situation. Our parents were watchful ‒ even hostile ‒ so we quickly resorted to cruising around our posh suburb, looking for dark, forgotten places to make out. Being an honor student and knowledgeable about the ways of lazy young people, I suggested that we go park behind the public library, which was sure to be deserted by 10 p.m. Great idea, right? Well… we’d just gotten to third base when the police prowler came around the corner and shone a very bright light into the back seat of the Audi, spotlighting a perfect view of me enthusiastically deep-throating my boyfriend’s 8-inch cock.

I yanked my head back, strands of saliva drooling everywhere as I scrambled for my discarded frilly top, Josh’s boxers, anything to cover my teenage C-cups. Two uniformed city officers with guns in holsters and Mag lights in hand were rapping hard on the car window. “We’re just talking!” I protested, and was hauled out. It was obvious I was lying, and my nipples stiffened against my will as I cowered in the night air in front of the two cops and Josh… all three with dead-obvious rock-hard erections. “Next time, it’ll be public indecency,” one cop said. I stared at the way he was holding his nightstick and knew he would fondle his cock later, thinking of me. The next week, warning signs were up all over that parking lot. I guess it only takes one horny girl to ruin it for everyone!

Still a virgin, I looked forward to going off to college, where, I imagined, people had gloriously private sex in their dorm rooms. Little did I know that in college 1) it’s rare to stay a virgin for long (my friends made sure I went al-l-l-l-l the way with a guy I liked for my nineteenth b-day), and 2) it’s even rarer to get a room to yourself (I can’t even count the number of times I silently fucked some guy under the blankets as his roommate slept mere feet away). One time I was actually cuffed to the dorm bed when the roomie came in, and my date did casually throw a sweatshirt across my wrists to hide the situation.

Typically, the third wheel wouldn’t leave (giving a whole new meaning to the phrase coitus interruptus), and we’d have to clear out and go look for some random make-out spot. I blush looking back on how much mashing and outright third-base activities I did with college boys on park benches. We engaged in a delusion that we existed in a cone of privacy. We would shut the world out and believe -- really believe -- that no one could see us as we blatantly kissed, groped and fingered each other in broad daylight. When it finally got too cold outside for outdoor activities, we resorted to a rarely-used freight elevator in one of the more deserted campus buildings, figuring: who would run it at 2 a.m.? The night janitors, that’s who. Those elevator doors open suddenly.

Eventually my first college summer came along, and my posse of boy-toys and I acquired crappy cars and even crappier summer jobs. I was in charge of the lingerie section at my local discount store, so I had an endless supply of flimsy bras and panties to charm the boys with, and an entire darkened stockroom to coax them into. My favorite memory is getting eaten out to a huge, trembling cum by the loss-prevention manager on top of a palette of paper towels, knowing we could get caught any second and not even caring. After I came, he flipped me over and banged my soft, wet cunt until I couldn’t think straight anymore.

One hottie I knew from school, Mike, had a late-night shift mopping blood up off the butcher room floor at the grocery, so we used to go fuck in the meat cooler when it was too hot outside. The aesthetic was very “alt” ‒ think bloody cuts of meat, metal hooks, weird drains and some seriously messed-up fantasies. The best part about that whole scene was the contrast of our hot, wet juices and the freezing room… he’d sit down on a box and I’d work myself up and down on his cock in a sort of reverse cowgirl while I held my weight up by grasping the ceiling chains. Mike would practically yell every time I thrust my pussy all the back down his pole ‒ the temperature contrast made it feel extra hot and delicious. All the employees knew what we were doing in there… I could see the looks they gave me as I walked out of that supermarket. I had thick white goo running down my leg every time.

Once I grew up, I moved to California and was thrilled to find that the mild weather meant more opportunities to do nasty things outside! In particular, San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park is full of semi-private places to play if you go off the beaten path. It’s also full of perverts who’d love to watch. I had a fantastic time there once with a lover who pulled me off the path and up into a mostly-hidden thicket that looked down on families picnicking and people walking their dogs. The place clearly got cruised a lot, judging by the discarded condoms. I picked a tree with a fork to hold me up and I spread my legs wide. My boy got busy working me with his mouth and then he decided to totally fuck me into oblivion against that tree. I closed my eyes ‒ I had no idea if anyone was watching or not and I did NOT care. I screamed when I came, and afterward I staggered around on weakened legs.

I hit a party in the Mission a few months back, and was approached by a really confident guy. After he chatted me up, he simply said, “I think you’re attractive, and I’d love to spend some time alone together. I have a camper van parked down the block. If you’d like to go hang out in it with me, just come tug on my sleeve later.” With that pronouncement, he wandered off. It only took me one shot of liquid courage and the blessings of my best friend to hunt him down and say, “I do wanna hang out.” We wandered away from the hot, crowded party and into the cooler streets. There was a big drug bust going on down the block so the scene was lit in flashing blue and red. This caused us to put up the vintage plaid curtains on the VW van and voila! We had our own little room in the Mission. He said, “You’re cute,” then I said, “You’re cute,” and the making out began. Making out quickly became stripping, sucking, moaning and deep thrusting. After the cops went away, some drunk partiers actually started rocking the van we were in and cheering us on! I don’t think 23rd and Valencia has ever, or will ever, see the likes of it again.

My latest nasty adventure was a messed-up “backwards date” in the parking garage deep underground my favorite urban movie theater. What’s a backwards date, you ask? First you park the car in the most remote corner you can find, making sure you have an hour until the movie starts. Second, you drink the wine you brought along. Third, you fuck your date’s brains out lap-to-lap in the front seat, pausing and holding still when other movie-goers walk by. (This greatly increases the dramatic tension.) After you both cum, you hold hands and go see the movie, totally relaxed! Finish with a nice dinner and wonder aloud how many blissfully happy security guards watched it all happen on cam. There were cameras, after all. And no one came along to stop the action as it happened…