Coco de Mer blindfold $60, Coco de Mer USA.com

My iPhone vibrates against my thigh, flashing that The Boy is calling. I stretch on the nude leather of his bedroom’s chaise lounge, in an unchaste yawn, before I press ACCEPT. “Yes, sexy one?”

“Can you come up the elevator and open the garage door for me?”

“Done.” I hop up, and in and out the small lift, into the garage. I feel against the dark wall, and press the first blur of a button I touch. One of the mahogany doors yawns open, like a heavy curtain rising. I see The Boy waiting for me, though I’m out of his line of vision, like an actress paused in the wings of a stage. “Want to play dress up?” I ask.

“I want to play ‘get rid of the garbage,’” says The Boy. “I can’t see you. Where are you?”

“I’m standing on some rug,” I answer, tiptoeing to the carpet’s curling edge. “I don’t mind a dirty mind, but dirty feet don’t get me off.”

“So open the other garage door so I can see you.”

I finger another button, and a second door slides up. The inside of the garage is spotlighted by the sun, setting the scene: a young femme fatale looks on while the older man, The Boy, sweats, maintaining his Los Angeles land. I step out further into the light. “You want to watch me so you can touch yourself?”

“Precisely,” says The Boy, not looking up from the empty boxes he’s juggling.

I rub my breasts through my blush-pink nightie, snaking my hands down my stomach, lids lowered; I’m playing Clara Bow. “How’s this?” My breath is a moan, spiraling down in time with my hips. His name slides off my lips.

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Missoni sun hat $210, Net-a-Porter.com

“Wake up, baby.”

I blink away a dream of hard blacks and whites, and the Pacific sun dances on my face and bells’ bright noise bounce through the room.

“Listen, it’s that church,” The Boy says. I look out the window, and over hotels crumbling into the blue air, I see a green hillside tiled with soft white homes, setting off the rusting iron crown of a church tower.

“Very charming,” I say. Then I sit up, listening more carefully. “That’s my iPhone’s alarm.” I turn it off.

“Oh,” The Boy says, and his voice is an echo of mine from last night, when we taxied into seaside Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, and passed my personal North Star, Starbucks. “La estrellas bucks!” I cooed. “So we’re still in civilization.”

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Chloe “Myrte” sunglasses $290, Net-a-Porter.com
Though I practically live there already since I’m in Los Angeles, The Boy, my boy, is taking us to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico this weekend.

It should be exotic to be around so many people speaking English.

“The Boy’s taking you to Mexico?” my brother asked, on instant message. “Who’s paying?”

“Well, The Boy is, but it’s not like he’s a real sugar daddy,” I typed back. “I think he wants to sell me there.”

I’m trying to lay my Splenda daddy during our lay over, but he’s politely declined.

Details on all the carb-free tacos I eat and sunshine I block off with SPF 45 to follow.

XXXO,
K

Maison Fabre driving gloves $165, Saks.com
“Let’s drive,” I say to The Boy, my boy, when he asks if I want dinner delivered or picked up. We ride his elevator to the garage, and I’m tempted to jump in the little lift. We’re out before I do, and I play police woman in my platforms and fox-trimmed coat, directing The Boy out of his dark, deep driveway, hopping into his Porsche as it warms on the empty street. As he grabs his Carrera’s stick shift, sliding gears in and out, my hand shifts to his pants, resting where each leg grinds into the other.

I pet him as softly as his thumb rubs against the sphere of his stick shift, as the black air from the ocean breaths on the city lights lining the coast. I watch him drive, feeling each time he pumps his feet in a half-second dance to switch gears. He swings wide through a curve on a cliff, while my hand hugs the circle of his thigh.

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These D&G Dolce & Gabbana gloves are perfect for the next time a man disrespects you: a fast whack on his face and he’ll turn a cherry red that’ll complement the boss black leather and lapin (that’s French for “expensive rabbit fur”).

Asking you to be his wife, and not his mistress.

How dare he.

Proposing a long-term lease with an allowance, instead of pay for performance…

What does he think? That you’re bad in math and bed?

» Dolce & Gabbana gloves $315, Net-a-Porter

You could play safe, loop your life around a comfortable circle: settle for a mate, for a nine-to-five, for what everyone supposes everyone else wants.

Or you could play passionately, build a life of real right angles: menage with men and women who inspire you, climb ambitious heights on a self-styled ladder, make your own world of unique beauty.

So pick: mom jeans and getting belted into boring, or this Missoni lattice belt barely caging your creativity.

One’s risque and risky.

One’s plain scary.

» Missoni lattice belt $1,486, Net-a-Porter

Life is less drudging through democracy and more aspiring to aristocracy. Life is pulling yourself above the mess of the masses. Life is besting the rest in your own way: maybe you’re a baroness of business, a princess of pop, maybe–

You just give great brain.

So sash yourself with this gold, jeweled Oscar de la Renta belt. Sun-king satin lifts your everywoman, (house)wife beater into a queenly state, dainty chains lock down your confidence, and topaz tiles would shine nice on you naked, as you play courtesan in your couture.

Really.

Your boy’ll be inspired to worship the queen that king’ed him

» Oscar de la Renta belt $540, Vivre.com

Louis Vuitton bum bag $710, eLUXURY
There’s something boss about a Louis Vuitton bum bag.

The Louis logo brags European chic to balance the bum bag’s timeless tourist vibe, to equal classic style.

Like getting mugged in New York’s Times Square, or, similarly–

Getting fucked up the ass.

Most people’s “when I make it” includes a car they’ll accessorize with leather interiors that clean nice after pricey blow jobs, but I’d rather own Porsche sunglasses–Carrera-style–and a driver, than a Carrera.

Till Alfred’s chauffeuring me to strip clubs, I’ll be in fifth gear in five-inch heels and these Porsche sunglasses, sipping a hellish hot soy latte, double-checking appointments on a smart phone smarter than I, I–

Figure I can blame an accident on being a ¼ Asian Cracker Jap.

» Porsche “Carrera” sunglasses, $375, Refinery29Shops.com