sex diaries

The L.A. Producer Who Pleases Herself Eight Times a Day

Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek behind doors left slightly ajar. This week, the L.A. Producer Who Pleases Herself Eight Times a Day: Female, 32, Los Angeles, producer, bisexual, single.


4:45 a.m. At the gym since I won’t have time between work and tonight’s movie premiere. Spot a woman with an exquisite ass on the stair-climber in front of me. She makes my gym time go by quickly.

3:30 p.m. Texts from Porn Star. He wants to know if I am sure I won’t have a three-way with him and his male roommate as a birthday gift to the roommate. Flattered, but busy.
5 p.m.
Changed my clothes at least seven times. I finally decide on a thirties ballerina dress. Very Louise Brooks.
7 p.m.
Drinks with The Comedian, who is coaching me on how to handle The Actor later tonight. “He’s very respectful of couples.” The Comedian suggests we act like a couple. I like the idea.
10:45 p.m.
While The Comedian and I are having a decent time at the after-party, The Actor is being a total jerk. I get fed up with him, break a glass on the table, and the bouncers kick me out.
11 p.m.
The Comedian comes out of the club, where I’m waiting around the corner drinking out of a flask. He is walking with a couple we’d seen earlier. She’s a model and is so beautiful that I get instantly wet. She has perfect breasts and a tiny body. I don’t pay much attention to her date, but The Comedian tells me he’s in a really good band.
Drinks and conversation with The Comedian, The Model, and The Musician. He tells me he’s on FetLife. We look at each other’s profiles. Turns out we’re both into age play.
2 a.m.
After making out with The Model in her kitchen, she steps out onto the balcony. The Musician gestures for me to follow him to his room, where I beg him to let me put it in my mouth. He wants to know how long I’ve been enjoying sex, and he tells me he is going to take me back to an age when I didn’t. This is exactly what I want from him, and I slip easily into acting like a 10-year-old girl, whispering that that I’ll be good, as he spanks me and tells me what I need to do to make him happy. After he comes, he rolls over and says he is going to sleep.
2:30 a.m.
In The Model’s kitchen I admit to her and The Comedian that I masturbate at least eight times a day, even more if I can, and I often sneak off to the bathroom to come when I’m out. They want to see me come, so I grab The Model’s breast in one hand and slip the other up my skirt. In under two minutes, my cheeks are flushed and I’m coming all over my fingers.
3 a.m.
The Model is in the bathroom and I am alone with The Comedian long enough to pull his pants down on the couch and blow him. He has to leave soon, but promises we’re going to party again soon.
5 a.m.
The Model and I make out on her couch, my mouth on her amazing breasts, and my fingers inside of her. She pulls my hair a lot and I pull hers back just as hard.
7 p.m.:
I drunkenly send seven texts, rapid-fire, to The Director. I am wild over him ever since he brought me flowers. I have no idea how he feels about me, and I feel stupid asking. I’ve been seeing him for two months. I want him. And I have to let him know.


10 a.m. Lack of sleep is making me loopy. I want to take it easy today. I pull up my favorite porn site,, and think about my face between The Model’s legs and The Director inside of me.
I send a message to The Musician letting him know that any time he wants to play again, I am ready.
3 p.m.
The Banker, who I haven’t talked to in about a week, texts me that he’s thinking of his little girl. “Thinking of you, too, Daddy.” He’s in his mid-fifties — old enough to really play my daddy.
7 p.m.
Porsche, the middle-aged rich guy I’ve been out with three times, texts to ask if I want to have group sex with him and another couple. He sends me photos of the woman. She’s blonde, petite, really quite adorable, but I need a day of recovery.


5 a.m. Wake from a sex dream and stare at my phone as if I can will The Director to call me. He’s been shooting and hasn’t had any time for me. I really want to beg him to come over and bang me. Reach for my Hitachi.
2 p.m.
I’ve masturbated seven times already, and I’m getting restless vagina syndrome. Haven’t heard back from The Director, so I accept an invitation to go out with Porsche for a few drinks.
4 p.m.
Post-gym bath time. I snap a few pics of my bubble-covered boobs and consider texting them to The Director. Change my mind because I really don’t know how he feels about getting sexted.
8 p.m.
Porsche and I are drinking, and we start to talk about the kind of porn we like. He likes girl-on-girl-on-guy stuff. Pretty straightforward, with two chicks going insane with excitement over a big cock. I like violent, forceful porn, in short clips.
10 p.m.:
At his house, we take turns watching our favorite bits of porn. He does me from behind as I kneel on his leather couch. I can see myself reflected in all the mirrors this guy has in his house. I’m drunk, and I can’t stop thinking about how nobody needs this many mirrors.


9:45 a.m. I’ve been talking to The Lawyer again. He broke my heart into a million pieces three years ago, after two years we finally became Facebook friends, and now he’s going to come out to visit me. I’m mostly nervous because I’ve gained weight since then, but I’m glad I get to see him again. He says that he thinks I really need a beating. I don’t know if I’ll be able to spend a week with him and not find myself reassuming my role as his submissive. Just to be defiant, I masturbate and think of one of his old roommates, the one he hated, and I pretend I’m doing that guy right in front of The Lawyer.
7 p.m.
The Director calls me. I’m getting ready to go on a first date with The Producer, one I finally accepted out of boredom. The Director wants to know if he can stop by and see me … so I cancel my date with The Producer.
8 p.m.:
He arrives, and I feel like a total idiot for feeling so crazy over this guy. He’s short and quirky, has a big bushy beard, and is hairy. So basically, he’s the sort of guy I go batty over. Within two minutes, he is grabbing my breasts, pulling up my dress, and fingering me while I stand against the wall. I find it nearly impossible to come standing up, so I drop to my knees and blow him. We lay together for a few minutes, then he kisses me and leaves. I usually don’t feel so sad when guys leave. I lay in bed and watch stupid romantic comedies back to back, trying to fall asleep.


6 a.m. Text message from The Rapist. He’s not an actual rapist as far as I know, we just see each other for fantasy rape sessions every few months. I leave the door open, he shows up at my house, comes into my room and pretends to rape me while I pretend not to like it.
9 a.m.
The Rapist drops me off at therapy. Therapist and I talk about my fantasy life, how it’s not as harmful emotionally as it would seem from the outside. She asks me about The Director, and the sex we have. “It’s vanilla. Straightforward.” She asks me if he’s a dom. “Not at all. He’s not a sub either. He’s just nice to me.”
1:30 p.m.
I’m on set today. The Camera Operator is a tall, thin, James Dean–looking guy. Both of us physically tense when we get closer together. I won’t do anything with him, because he’s really good at his job, and he does it for cheap, so I’ll need this relationship professionally. Instead I excuse myself to the restroom and masturbate thinking of his rough hands on me.
11:45 p.m.
We’re wrapping set, and I see that I missed a call from The Banker. I like him in bed, but he’s so much older than I am. It feels like I’m hanging out with my dad, and not in a sexy “Daddy” way.


3 a.m. Up, hitting the gym. I have to be on set at five. There aren’t many people in the gym so early, so I have the steam room all to myself. The steam in here is always so thick that I once almost sat on someone’s lap. I put my towel on the bench, slip my hand into my panties, and touch myself while the hot, wet air gathers around me like it wants in on the action. I’ve done this a few times before, but never at peak hours.
8:30 p.m.
Finally wrapping set. Exhausted. The Director e-mailed me. He can’t wait to see me again for some “serious @#$%ing”. I text back to see if he can do it tonight. He can’t, which is probably a good thing. I go home determined to chill out.
10 p.m.
A location scout I worked with on another project — a lovely combination of tough-girl dyke and glamour — calls to see what I’m doing. She’s going roller-skating with friends. I love roller-skating almost as much as I love hot lesbians. I’m in.
11 p.m.
Location and her friends are all extremely sexy. Girls like these are part of the reason I love L.A. so much. They aren’t held back by any sort of small-town idea of what a lesbian is supposed to be. They aren’t stuck in a nineties’ boys’ clothing ad. They’re just themselves, as much as a person can be who works in Hollywood. A particularly glam girl is trying to hook me up with the more angular punk of the group, but I have my eye on Location.
1 a.m.
We’re back at Location’s loft. Glam and Punk finally paired off, which explains why Glam was playing a bit of a game. When a new, hot lesbian enters the room, Location immediately pulls away from me. I watch the new girl’s face move from me to Location. This is how I find out that she already has a girlfriend.
3 a.m.
I’m at home, in bed. I’m ovulating. I can feel it with every single part of my body, completely tense and ready to jump. I understand why it’s called “in heat” because I’m pretty sure waves are coming off my skin like a city street in August. I barely touch my clit and start to come.


8 a.m. I’ve barely slept, but biologically I feel supercharged. Every time I ovulate I feel like this. It’s torture, and I love it. I masturbate again, this time while reading casual encounters ads on Craigslist, then go to the gym to try to use the energy that’s making me so restless.
10 a.m.
I e-mail The Director: “Listen, I really need you to have sex with me. Need it, and will possibly die if it doesn’t happen. Do you want that on your conscience?”
I think I’ve watched more porn so far in one day than most people do in a week. My favorite is this girl with pigtails and a jean skirt. She’s agreed to make a movie with a big, brute-looking fellow. She’s playing up how sexy she is, and he convinces her to try anal for the first time. The camera is mostly on her face. I watch this one in between every other clip.
4 p.m.
My breasts are so tender and full. I keep squeezing them in my fists, imagining other hands and mouths pulling and grabbing them. I feel insane with my need to have someone inside me.
5:45 p.m.
The Director calls me. He can come over, and even stay the night. I hurry to the bathtub and shave thoroughly.
7 p.m.
The Director arrives and wants to take me to dinner. I tell him I can cook for him, not wanting to waste time out of the house. I pull him into my bedroom and I push him onto my bed. He wants to finger me, but I whimper and beg for him to please, please, please be inside me. He looks terrified by my crazed begging, but I get on top of him, put the condom on, and put him inside me. I come three times, rapidly.
11 p.m.
We’re watching Netflix in my bed. We’ve had sex four times, and I’ve blown him twice. It’s difficult to have him so close and not writhe against him. He falls asleep and I lay awake wondering what it is that makes me want this guy so much and whether my libido will ever slow down to any sort of manageable rate.

TOTALS: Five blowjobs; three acts of fingering or being fingered; seven acts of penetrative sex; twenty-two acts of masturbation.

Sex Diary: The L.A. Producer