Friday, May 27, 2005
LET'S GO TO THE SEX PARTY
Okay, so you and your partner are on your way to your first sex party, you have managed to thread your way into the inner circle of Those In The Know. You've avoided those creeps who tell you, "Well, the best parties are private of course, and you have to know someone like ME for a bit before I can recommend you." One gay guy we ran into warned us ominously about trying to tap new acquaintances for invites. "Right away they'll feel like you're using them," he explained. Well pardon me, baby face, isn't that how most of the world's business gets conducted?
I am so ready for this line of business, because I spent years in the film biz trying to get my writing out there. It's the same process as this almost. You try to get an agent to get your foot in the door. You not only have to pitch your story, you have to pitch yourself. You try to make them lick your palm. Or at least give you the first two rewrites. After that, I would probably want to move on anyway, interest wanes.
Getting into the good parties is like screenwriting that way, you have to schmooze, you have to work your way into the circle of people who can do you good. And so now you've met the right people, who can wrangle invites or forward them to you. Surreptitiously, sometimes, but then you have to bend the rules now and then to get in the door.
You have this little fetish outfit you've rigged up, and dammit you want to wear it somewhere. Somehow mom's dinner party next Saturday just doesn't seem like the right venue for it. And that's a shame really, 'cause it's got this cool black leather civil war cap to go with it.
Also, on the home front, you and your partner have discussed the issues involved about attending such a party, you know each other's sentiments. Now you may be wondering, are you really going to have fun in spite of the fluttering butterflies in the tummy, and a certain level of anxiety you may both be feeling.
You knock on the door, hoping you have arrived at the right sex party. It is always a good sign when you're greeted at the front door by the host himself, and he's quite naked. We felt encouraged by this.
A, as I shall call him, has been running his own private little "massage" parties for over a year now, averaging about one every five weeks. Since he appears to me as a very active bisexual man himself, these parties tend to have a bi male flavor. He lets straight males in only if they bring a woman partner. Women do make an appearance, but the ratio is about 9:3 men to women. However, we are told that the women who DO appear are real players. So I am feeling encouraged by that news, ever hopeful that I can hook up with a few interesting women at these events.
We're invited into an apartment in San Francisco near the UC Medical Center. The place is long and narrow, furnished in a whatever sort of style. It has the feel of my old student digs back in Berkeley. But it radiates the feel of being a man's place, judging by the lack of concern for certain niceties that a woman would address. Let's say it has a functional quality. Space is obviously going to be a concern. By the time extra mattresses are brought out and draped on the living room floor, and another in the bedroom, there is barely room to move around. Our host says he's had 25 people here before. I can believe it, but where did he put them all? People undress and plop their clothes wherever. Things don't seem to go missing though, at least we had no complaints.
Food is a bit iffy. People arrive with an odd assortment of dips and cheeses, but no bread or crackers. Bread arrives later, and is gladly pounced on by all. Remember though, you're not here to eat. Not that anyway. But when to eat dinner should cross your mind when you head out to a party like this. It's like getting ready for your athletic event, you want to eat early enough so you can digest the food and get a boost from it, but not so late that it hangs heavy in your stomach and interferes with your life later in the night.
Sex parties usually charge at least around twenty bucks per entry. Some of the more fashionable ones run nearly sixty dollars per couple. The "admission fee" for this party is basically you bring something our host can use. He provides a short list when you first get the invite, starting with food items and running thru DVD players, blue jeans, pot, Ecstasy, whatever. He's easy.
He is not so easy on smokers, who he plainly mentions are not welcome at his parties. More on this later.
TO BE CONTINUED
I am so ready for this line of business, because I spent years in the film biz trying to get my writing out there. It's the same process as this almost. You try to get an agent to get your foot in the door. You not only have to pitch your story, you have to pitch yourself. You try to make them lick your palm. Or at least give you the first two rewrites. After that, I would probably want to move on anyway, interest wanes.
Getting into the good parties is like screenwriting that way, you have to schmooze, you have to work your way into the circle of people who can do you good. And so now you've met the right people, who can wrangle invites or forward them to you. Surreptitiously, sometimes, but then you have to bend the rules now and then to get in the door.
You have this little fetish outfit you've rigged up, and dammit you want to wear it somewhere. Somehow mom's dinner party next Saturday just doesn't seem like the right venue for it. And that's a shame really, 'cause it's got this cool black leather civil war cap to go with it.
Also, on the home front, you and your partner have discussed the issues involved about attending such a party, you know each other's sentiments. Now you may be wondering, are you really going to have fun in spite of the fluttering butterflies in the tummy, and a certain level of anxiety you may both be feeling.
You knock on the door, hoping you have arrived at the right sex party. It is always a good sign when you're greeted at the front door by the host himself, and he's quite naked. We felt encouraged by this.
A, as I shall call him, has been running his own private little "massage" parties for over a year now, averaging about one every five weeks. Since he appears to me as a very active bisexual man himself, these parties tend to have a bi male flavor. He lets straight males in only if they bring a woman partner. Women do make an appearance, but the ratio is about 9:3 men to women. However, we are told that the women who DO appear are real players. So I am feeling encouraged by that news, ever hopeful that I can hook up with a few interesting women at these events.
We're invited into an apartment in San Francisco near the UC Medical Center. The place is long and narrow, furnished in a whatever sort of style. It has the feel of my old student digs back in Berkeley. But it radiates the feel of being a man's place, judging by the lack of concern for certain niceties that a woman would address. Let's say it has a functional quality. Space is obviously going to be a concern. By the time extra mattresses are brought out and draped on the living room floor, and another in the bedroom, there is barely room to move around. Our host says he's had 25 people here before. I can believe it, but where did he put them all? People undress and plop their clothes wherever. Things don't seem to go missing though, at least we had no complaints.
Food is a bit iffy. People arrive with an odd assortment of dips and cheeses, but no bread or crackers. Bread arrives later, and is gladly pounced on by all. Remember though, you're not here to eat. Not that anyway. But when to eat dinner should cross your mind when you head out to a party like this. It's like getting ready for your athletic event, you want to eat early enough so you can digest the food and get a boost from it, but not so late that it hangs heavy in your stomach and interferes with your life later in the night.
Sex parties usually charge at least around twenty bucks per entry. Some of the more fashionable ones run nearly sixty dollars per couple. The "admission fee" for this party is basically you bring something our host can use. He provides a short list when you first get the invite, starting with food items and running thru DVD players, blue jeans, pot, Ecstasy, whatever. He's easy.
He is not so easy on smokers, who he plainly mentions are not welcome at his parties. More on this later.
TO BE CONTINUED
Monday, May 23, 2005
WHAT MAKES FOR A GOOD SEX PARTY? (Part Two)
Last time I took up the question of what makes for a good sex party. I want to address further the number two item on that list, namely that a good party has a good mix of queer/hetero/bi/transgendered/leather/kink friendly folk. Quite a mouthful! Because many sex parties are not queer friendly at all, I would say. They may allow bisexual play among women, but that's really in the context of the males present, who often draw energy off those situations to themselves.
But God forbid if a guy should lustfully put his hand on another guy's crotch. That sort of thing just doesn't happen at many parties, "unless it's in the deepest, darkest corners of the house," said a recent male acquaintance, who is bi, and who picked up on the anti-bi male thing at this one particular party. Rather odd, considering this party is at a house in one of the hippest enclaves around the Bay Area, with a cool hetero crowd. But they don't budge from that, really. They are as straight as my in-laws, other than the bi stuff with the girls. And that's no longer daring. So move on, guys.
That's unfortunate, because inhibitions like that deprive a good sex party of the best thing it has going for it, its energy, which comes from the variety the party may have going on that particular night. I mean, the fact I can be playing with D, and a few feet away I can see a Japanese girl and her white male companion going at it, and then a leather boy is fucking his male partner across the room, and two dykes are playing their own little duet atop the gynecological exam table, and...on and on.
That's what you want to see at a sex party. I love looking around, and everywhere there's this great variety of expression, and I am thinking yeah, this is why the fates kept me alive after my aneurysm, so I could be here and take this all in and appreciate it. I would hate to lose that diversity, I think it's great. I wish I could take a picture of it all. But of course, photography is not allowed at these parties.
I would also add another entry to that list. A good party enforces its rules; indeed, it HAS rules. Single women are looked out for at a good party. There may be a monitor or two, or three, depending on the size of the gathering and the number of floors involved. The management/owner makes sure the rules are known and acknowledged by all participants. People basically DO ask before touching, they are mostly respectful. But of course there IS a good deal of looking. But I maintain that is alright, up to a point. That point varies I suppose, but we can all tell gawking usually when we see it. That's what I mean. And you don't crowd scenes. If problems arise, the owner has hired people who can take care of trouble.
Energy vampires need not apply either.
TO BE CONTINUED
But God forbid if a guy should lustfully put his hand on another guy's crotch. That sort of thing just doesn't happen at many parties, "unless it's in the deepest, darkest corners of the house," said a recent male acquaintance, who is bi, and who picked up on the anti-bi male thing at this one particular party. Rather odd, considering this party is at a house in one of the hippest enclaves around the Bay Area, with a cool hetero crowd. But they don't budge from that, really. They are as straight as my in-laws, other than the bi stuff with the girls. And that's no longer daring. So move on, guys.
That's unfortunate, because inhibitions like that deprive a good sex party of the best thing it has going for it, its energy, which comes from the variety the party may have going on that particular night. I mean, the fact I can be playing with D, and a few feet away I can see a Japanese girl and her white male companion going at it, and then a leather boy is fucking his male partner across the room, and two dykes are playing their own little duet atop the gynecological exam table, and...on and on.
That's what you want to see at a sex party. I love looking around, and everywhere there's this great variety of expression, and I am thinking yeah, this is why the fates kept me alive after my aneurysm, so I could be here and take this all in and appreciate it. I would hate to lose that diversity, I think it's great. I wish I could take a picture of it all. But of course, photography is not allowed at these parties.
I would also add another entry to that list. A good party enforces its rules; indeed, it HAS rules. Single women are looked out for at a good party. There may be a monitor or two, or three, depending on the size of the gathering and the number of floors involved. The management/owner makes sure the rules are known and acknowledged by all participants. People basically DO ask before touching, they are mostly respectful. But of course there IS a good deal of looking. But I maintain that is alright, up to a point. That point varies I suppose, but we can all tell gawking usually when we see it. That's what I mean. And you don't crowd scenes. If problems arise, the owner has hired people who can take care of trouble.
Energy vampires need not apply either.
TO BE CONTINUED
Friday, May 20, 2005
WHAT MAKES FOR A GOOD SEX PARTY?
So, you think you can just set out to create your own sex party, do you? Like Tom Cruise did in that movie when his folks were away for the weekend? A piece of cake, you're thinking? Or should we say, a piece of ass, perhaps?
There is more to it than meets the eye, and more planning involved than you might think. Unless you're willing to invite some likely suspects over, turn them loose with a few drinks, a little pot, some nasty movies on the DVD player, and hope for the best. That is more of an orgy than a sex party. As I wrote earlier, an orgy is spontaneous and more like a free-for-all; a sex party takes a little forethought.
Here is my list of those magic "ingredients" that constitute a good party.
1. Good gender balance. It helps when you can get an equal number of men and women. Many places though do not let in single men. They usually have to arrive as a "couple," even though they may split up when they get there and work the room separately. Or, they may let single men in, but if these guys haven't hooked up with someone by a certain point in the evening (usually when they close the doors), they are politely asked to leave. This is to discourage the looky-loos.
2. Good mix of a full spectrum of people. Queer, hetero, bi, transgendered, leather, kink friendly folk. That sounds like quite a mouthful, I know, but don't you believe as I do in variety being the spice of life?
3. You hold the party in a place that is pleasant to hang in. It seems a terrible waste to throw a sex party in a funky place that's ill-suited to accommodate the night's festivities, either because the place is too small, not well-heated or it is poorly set up, i.e. not enough "horizontal space", or no "dungeon" room for the BDSM crowd, where they can enjoy themselves. And believe me, this crowd enjoys itself, they need a whole room of their own.
4. A modest amount of pleasant food. After all, we are not here for food, but you need a reve up in energy if you are going to be going at it like rabbits for a good portion of the night. I like little nibbles of food - bits of apple, strawberries, cheeses, lots of non-alcoholic drinks, and plenty of plain old water.
5. A modest amount of drink. The higher priced parties sometimes serve alcohol. Drugs are almost universally NOT ok, although I think a discreet amount of pot smoking may be taking place.
6. You try and separate the guests from their clothes almost as soon as they walk in the door. In fact, often you are required to take it off AS you check in. Usually they give you an option: either erotic attire, or you run around in your birthday suit. Sometimes they allow the girls more leeway as to what they can wear, and they require the guys to get butt naked. Now I like those parties!
7. Good parking! A most important thing in whether it is a good party or not. What, you're already scoffing at this one? Come back and talk to me after you've tried finding a place to park that Hummer in the Mission District of San Francisco on a Saturday night and it's pouring rain. You have to stand a reasonable chance, in your lifetime please, of finding a parking place decently close by.
TO BE CONTINUED
There is more to it than meets the eye, and more planning involved than you might think. Unless you're willing to invite some likely suspects over, turn them loose with a few drinks, a little pot, some nasty movies on the DVD player, and hope for the best. That is more of an orgy than a sex party. As I wrote earlier, an orgy is spontaneous and more like a free-for-all; a sex party takes a little forethought.
Here is my list of those magic "ingredients" that constitute a good party.
1. Good gender balance. It helps when you can get an equal number of men and women. Many places though do not let in single men. They usually have to arrive as a "couple," even though they may split up when they get there and work the room separately. Or, they may let single men in, but if these guys haven't hooked up with someone by a certain point in the evening (usually when they close the doors), they are politely asked to leave. This is to discourage the looky-loos.
2. Good mix of a full spectrum of people. Queer, hetero, bi, transgendered, leather, kink friendly folk. That sounds like quite a mouthful, I know, but don't you believe as I do in variety being the spice of life?
3. You hold the party in a place that is pleasant to hang in. It seems a terrible waste to throw a sex party in a funky place that's ill-suited to accommodate the night's festivities, either because the place is too small, not well-heated or it is poorly set up, i.e. not enough "horizontal space", or no "dungeon" room for the BDSM crowd, where they can enjoy themselves. And believe me, this crowd enjoys itself, they need a whole room of their own.
4. A modest amount of pleasant food. After all, we are not here for food, but you need a reve up in energy if you are going to be going at it like rabbits for a good portion of the night. I like little nibbles of food - bits of apple, strawberries, cheeses, lots of non-alcoholic drinks, and plenty of plain old water.
5. A modest amount of drink. The higher priced parties sometimes serve alcohol. Drugs are almost universally NOT ok, although I think a discreet amount of pot smoking may be taking place.
6. You try and separate the guests from their clothes almost as soon as they walk in the door. In fact, often you are required to take it off AS you check in. Usually they give you an option: either erotic attire, or you run around in your birthday suit. Sometimes they allow the girls more leeway as to what they can wear, and they require the guys to get butt naked. Now I like those parties!
7. Good parking! A most important thing in whether it is a good party or not. What, you're already scoffing at this one? Come back and talk to me after you've tried finding a place to park that Hummer in the Mission District of San Francisco on a Saturday night and it's pouring rain. You have to stand a reasonable chance, in your lifetime please, of finding a parking place decently close by.
TO BE CONTINUED
Thursday, May 19, 2005
BENDOVER BOYFRIENDS I HAVE KNOWN (Part 9)
Our third Bendover Boy is named D also. He's somewhere down in Orange County, but he seems ready to roam far afield for his pleasures. He writes that he has always wanted "toe curling" sex with a couple, and we are his first apparently. But clearly he has played a bit with men and women, because he is probably the most evolved guy of the three. Every orifice is on the block with him. He loves it all.
And he is quite good looking, tall, dark, handsome, with a lively, humorous personality and a rather great looking, rather large penile proturberance.
I probably sound like a gay boy at heart when I talk like this, alright alright, so I like looking at men. Part of it is my wanting that big cock inside me, another part of it is me wanting to wear it around for myself. Those lines often become blurred. I try to make my way as best I can. So shoot me. But not before he fucks me first, please.
D must have popped some Viagra ahead of time, because he is as hard as a rock for most of the evening. Ouch. He gets off at one point, finally, but then he's ready for more but now he can't come again to save his soul.
My D is feeling a bit annoyed, he WANTS to get the guy off but he can't, so now it's become a challenge. And a bit of a chore. I am thinking, this is a bit unnatural. I can see why the guys take the stuff, but don't you want to get off now and again? And why do you need Viagra at age 35? I don't think D has tried this particular drug before, he seems a little surprised by his body's response. Hopefully he won't try it again.
He must have anticipated our making a night of demands upon his handsome person. Which we do, of course. But he is game for all of it, with no compunctions, no qualms. His only regret may have been that he is really more of a bottom than we first thought. He really likes getting fucked by guys as much as he likes fucking women. My partner D obliges him, but he seems to want more.
Later, we sent him some of the juiciest pictures we snapped that night. But we don't hear from D again either. What's that all about? When you've had a nice time, as we thought he and us had had, don't you want to repeat the experiment?
But I guess not. Seems like people who do threesomes are often only ready to deal with it as a one-time thing. Are we disappointed? Somewhat, we knew we wanted more with both this D, and with B from San Diego. But things don't seem to work that way.
Maybe that's why the guys seemed "open minded," because moving on is already programmed into the night's festivities. They can afford to be out there because they know they are free and clear when they walk out the door.
So who says true romance is dead?
- - - - - - - - - - -
And he is quite good looking, tall, dark, handsome, with a lively, humorous personality and a rather great looking, rather large penile proturberance.
I probably sound like a gay boy at heart when I talk like this, alright alright, so I like looking at men. Part of it is my wanting that big cock inside me, another part of it is me wanting to wear it around for myself. Those lines often become blurred. I try to make my way as best I can. So shoot me. But not before he fucks me first, please.
D must have popped some Viagra ahead of time, because he is as hard as a rock for most of the evening. Ouch. He gets off at one point, finally, but then he's ready for more but now he can't come again to save his soul.
My D is feeling a bit annoyed, he WANTS to get the guy off but he can't, so now it's become a challenge. And a bit of a chore. I am thinking, this is a bit unnatural. I can see why the guys take the stuff, but don't you want to get off now and again? And why do you need Viagra at age 35? I don't think D has tried this particular drug before, he seems a little surprised by his body's response. Hopefully he won't try it again.
He must have anticipated our making a night of demands upon his handsome person. Which we do, of course. But he is game for all of it, with no compunctions, no qualms. His only regret may have been that he is really more of a bottom than we first thought. He really likes getting fucked by guys as much as he likes fucking women. My partner D obliges him, but he seems to want more.
Later, we sent him some of the juiciest pictures we snapped that night. But we don't hear from D again either. What's that all about? When you've had a nice time, as we thought he and us had had, don't you want to repeat the experiment?
But I guess not. Seems like people who do threesomes are often only ready to deal with it as a one-time thing. Are we disappointed? Somewhat, we knew we wanted more with both this D, and with B from San Diego. But things don't seem to work that way.
Maybe that's why the guys seemed "open minded," because moving on is already programmed into the night's festivities. They can afford to be out there because they know they are free and clear when they walk out the door.
So who says true romance is dead?
- - - - - - - - - - -
BENDOVER BOYFRIENDS I HAVE KNOWN (Part 8)
Mid way thru the evening, our surfer boy C wants D to fuck him. D is happy to oblige. Doing him over the preacher curl fires them both up, as it can elevate the kid's hips and provide a good angle in, as it were.
A preacher curl, for those uninitiated into gymnasium lore, is a weight-training station, a padded slant board basically, which allows you to drape your arms over it and work your biceps using weights. This is really the only basic use of a preacher curl, to work your biceps.
Until we get there and find another use for it, that is. It would have worked splendidly, but the kid is a little too chubby in the hips, and D can't get into him very readily at all. Soon they both give up.
C is intrigued by my muscle definition. "Ooohhh, you're so cut," he says. "That's how I want to look." He suggests I go bike riding with him, which he used to do lots of, and which I still do a ton of, although no longer my 200 miles a week regime. But he is way too young and I don't play at being peoples' personal trainer. Happy hunting, C.
We actually ran into him online again recently, when we put an ad looking for another threesome on a recent visit to L.A. The picture he sent us this time showed him looking a lot leaner than before, so he was obviously fired up about getting into shape. Unfortunately he was on the far side of town, and we were way over in the other direction.
TO BE CONTINUED
A preacher curl, for those uninitiated into gymnasium lore, is a weight-training station, a padded slant board basically, which allows you to drape your arms over it and work your biceps using weights. This is really the only basic use of a preacher curl, to work your biceps.
Until we get there and find another use for it, that is. It would have worked splendidly, but the kid is a little too chubby in the hips, and D can't get into him very readily at all. Soon they both give up.
C is intrigued by my muscle definition. "Ooohhh, you're so cut," he says. "That's how I want to look." He suggests I go bike riding with him, which he used to do lots of, and which I still do a ton of, although no longer my 200 miles a week regime. But he is way too young and I don't play at being peoples' personal trainer. Happy hunting, C.
We actually ran into him online again recently, when we put an ad looking for another threesome on a recent visit to L.A. The picture he sent us this time showed him looking a lot leaner than before, so he was obviously fired up about getting into shape. Unfortunately he was on the far side of town, and we were way over in the other direction.
TO BE CONTINUED
BENDOVER BOYFRIENDS I HAVE KNOWN (Part 7)
Spurred by this fortunate encounter with B, we advertise again on Craig's List a few weeks later, when we are back home in L.A. We meet at the San Francisco Saloon in West L.A. with a young writer type, probably early 30s, who has actually turned his screenplay into a movie. Albeit a low budget thing I have never heard of. Still, I am impressed he got a movie made.
He is a thin, pale blond with lanky hair, not unattractive, but way too much in his head for us. Too silent, a tad too sullen. I am unsure what he is doing here. I am suspecting that many guys answer threesome ads as a way to have sex with a woman. They figure they can deal with the guy, as long as he is not demanding too much of them. But we pass on this fellow.
D left the call up to me as we chatted over drinks. I said something like, "I don't think we have the right chemistry here," or something like that. Onward, manly men. This guy feels too straight for us.
Our next guy a few weeks later certainly has the right head for what we're seeking. C is a strawberry blond Venice beach boy, who barely looks out of high school. But he is game for play, has no problem fucking D or me for that matter. Or getting topped himself. C is a real prototype of a guy, still very young, moving up the ladder of experience and being comfortable with it all. Girls, boys, sucking cock, anal sex, whatever. C does not seem challenged or fearful at all of what he gets himself into. He is clearly bi, but probably never uses the term, he's too busy living it.
What is going on in high schools across America?
C and I regard each other with amusement, at first. He likes his women shaved, which I am not, in fact I have a rather nice sized bush. I have never seen a guy who has shaved off EVERYTHING, and I find it looks really weird. Too naked and exposed for me. We manage to giggle our ways beyond this, however. He is not really our type, a bit too chubby, but he plays well.
He is strong enough to hold me upright, with my shoulders planted on the futon, while he does me with my legs straight up and over my head. "How does that feel," he inquires. He feels very deep inside me with this angle. I like being everyone's favorite contortionist. I thank my yoga teachers at times like this.
TO BE CONTINUED
He is a thin, pale blond with lanky hair, not unattractive, but way too much in his head for us. Too silent, a tad too sullen. I am unsure what he is doing here. I am suspecting that many guys answer threesome ads as a way to have sex with a woman. They figure they can deal with the guy, as long as he is not demanding too much of them. But we pass on this fellow.
D left the call up to me as we chatted over drinks. I said something like, "I don't think we have the right chemistry here," or something like that. Onward, manly men. This guy feels too straight for us.
Our next guy a few weeks later certainly has the right head for what we're seeking. C is a strawberry blond Venice beach boy, who barely looks out of high school. But he is game for play, has no problem fucking D or me for that matter. Or getting topped himself. C is a real prototype of a guy, still very young, moving up the ladder of experience and being comfortable with it all. Girls, boys, sucking cock, anal sex, whatever. C does not seem challenged or fearful at all of what he gets himself into. He is clearly bi, but probably never uses the term, he's too busy living it.
What is going on in high schools across America?
C and I regard each other with amusement, at first. He likes his women shaved, which I am not, in fact I have a rather nice sized bush. I have never seen a guy who has shaved off EVERYTHING, and I find it looks really weird. Too naked and exposed for me. We manage to giggle our ways beyond this, however. He is not really our type, a bit too chubby, but he plays well.
He is strong enough to hold me upright, with my shoulders planted on the futon, while he does me with my legs straight up and over my head. "How does that feel," he inquires. He feels very deep inside me with this angle. I like being everyone's favorite contortionist. I thank my yoga teachers at times like this.
TO BE CONTINUED
BENDOVER BOYFRIENDS I HAVE KNOWN (Part 6)
B and D have a long conversation on certain compounds in certain drugs. B has already said he works as a chemist. For a large pharmaceutical company in the area. Along the way, he talks about his wife, the muff diver. Unfortunately their union is now in chaos, they are in the middle of a rather stressful divorce. She wants to opt out and go for a totally lesbian lifestyle.
B mentions rather wistfully, almost shyly, that he has a 3-year-old son. I am feeling sad to hear this, I wonder where/with whom the kid will end up. But B doesn't want to dwell on that, he is still keen to devise more fun with us that night.
Only now the night is into the next day already. B thinks it would be great if we headed to Tijuana, he knows this great bar where he can buy me a private lap dance. He really is set on buying me a lap dance. A cross-border raiding party at two a.m. Great, we're thinking, but it's getting late we say. Well, why don't you drive by my house tomorrow on your way back to L.A. and we can have more fun, B suggests. That does sound great, so we plan for that.
B finally leaves, he seems really reluctant to break the spell and walk out the door. D and I stay awake a bit longer, trying to unwind ourselves. The cellphone rings, it's B. He is having second thoughts about meeting the next day. He had forgotten that his wife was coming over to the house to move some stuff out. It would not be prudent if she interrupted his little sex party. We concur with B's sentiments, that would NOT be a good position for him to be caught in. Especially with a kid involved.
But we are wondering if he is having second thoughts about the entire night. Did he bite off more than he could chew, after all?
We dropped him a friendly email once we got home, thanking him for a lovely night. But we would never know, since we never heard from B again. My partner D is a bit crestfallen; his feelings were already turning into an attachment for the guy, and D is not one to feel that way normally. Not that he doesn't want to find a steady male friend, but he feels like I do about his own sex. He has a hard time trusting men emotionally, as I do women.
For this past year though, since that encounter, I have often thought of that powerful image of B, lying down atop that motorcycle. Naked. Hard as a rock, somewhere beyond the back of beyond.
TO BE CONTINUED
B mentions rather wistfully, almost shyly, that he has a 3-year-old son. I am feeling sad to hear this, I wonder where/with whom the kid will end up. But B doesn't want to dwell on that, he is still keen to devise more fun with us that night.
Only now the night is into the next day already. B thinks it would be great if we headed to Tijuana, he knows this great bar where he can buy me a private lap dance. He really is set on buying me a lap dance. A cross-border raiding party at two a.m. Great, we're thinking, but it's getting late we say. Well, why don't you drive by my house tomorrow on your way back to L.A. and we can have more fun, B suggests. That does sound great, so we plan for that.
B finally leaves, he seems really reluctant to break the spell and walk out the door. D and I stay awake a bit longer, trying to unwind ourselves. The cellphone rings, it's B. He is having second thoughts about meeting the next day. He had forgotten that his wife was coming over to the house to move some stuff out. It would not be prudent if she interrupted his little sex party. We concur with B's sentiments, that would NOT be a good position for him to be caught in. Especially with a kid involved.
But we are wondering if he is having second thoughts about the entire night. Did he bite off more than he could chew, after all?
We dropped him a friendly email once we got home, thanking him for a lovely night. But we would never know, since we never heard from B again. My partner D is a bit crestfallen; his feelings were already turning into an attachment for the guy, and D is not one to feel that way normally. Not that he doesn't want to find a steady male friend, but he feels like I do about his own sex. He has a hard time trusting men emotionally, as I do women.
For this past year though, since that encounter, I have often thought of that powerful image of B, lying down atop that motorcycle. Naked. Hard as a rock, somewhere beyond the back of beyond.
TO BE CONTINUED
BENDOVER BOYFRIENDS I HAVE KNOWN (Part 5)
So B was not entirely a perfect first-timer for us, but he was certainly putting himself out there, as we were. Things would get better over time, I hoped. OK, so he needed a woman there before he could fuck a guy. But his next step probably WOULD be fucking a guy all on his own. He was fascinated to know about D's encounters in bath houses. D readily obliges with some feedback on that, but I don't see B running out to a bath house anytime soon.
But he's letting his mind work its way around the prospect of incorporating male energy into his life, and that's always the first and maybe the biggest step. We all have to start somewhere. And then somewhere down the road, B might eventually hook up with a guy who could fuck him and rework the guy's mind. He seemed into that. That was why he chose working with chemicals as his life's work. He appreciated how they could rework a guy's mind.
He tells us a story about his teenage years, when he was at odds with so much, especially his father. He had this BSA motorcycle, in the garage. B would go out there sometimes, into his own little realm of power, whenever his spirit needed recharging. He would take his clothes off, then drape himself over the bike, unscrew the gas cap and breathe deeply of the fumes.
Apparently there is some secret ingredient in the gas that gives guys a hard-on like crazy. It sounded akin to glue-sniffing, only better. Poppers for those on the move, as it were.
I liked that everything B explored with us seemed to be fitted into his own level of comfort. He knew his boundaries and limits and he worked well within them. D and I were quite happy with him, and felt no need to demand more or push him further.
B was as fastidious between sessions as we were. Lots of hand washing went on. After showering at one point, D came out of the bathroom and was rather delighted to see me on my stomach, getting fucked anally by B.
"You had this dreamy look on your face, it was so cool, like you were happily dazed," he told me days later. Dazed. Bewitched. Bothered. Bewildered. Sounds like me.
Later on we all hung out some more and smoked more pot. I am especially pleased to feel the vibe between my partner and B. They seemed happy talking together, and were clearly enjoying each other's company. B is basically a sweet, bright but somewhat shy man. He lets his hair down though more and more as the night progresses, and he clearly seems to relish my partner D's enthusiasm for nearly everything.
"Are you always this animated?" he asks D with amusement in his tone. D is like Quentin Tarantino doing film interviews, just non-stop commentary about everything. So yes, D can often be quite animated. B seems to enjoy basking in that energy, and I am viewing all this with approval, wanting to even keep a little off of it, just to see it develop.
TO BE CONTINUED
But he's letting his mind work its way around the prospect of incorporating male energy into his life, and that's always the first and maybe the biggest step. We all have to start somewhere. And then somewhere down the road, B might eventually hook up with a guy who could fuck him and rework the guy's mind. He seemed into that. That was why he chose working with chemicals as his life's work. He appreciated how they could rework a guy's mind.
He tells us a story about his teenage years, when he was at odds with so much, especially his father. He had this BSA motorcycle, in the garage. B would go out there sometimes, into his own little realm of power, whenever his spirit needed recharging. He would take his clothes off, then drape himself over the bike, unscrew the gas cap and breathe deeply of the fumes.
Apparently there is some secret ingredient in the gas that gives guys a hard-on like crazy. It sounded akin to glue-sniffing, only better. Poppers for those on the move, as it were.
I liked that everything B explored with us seemed to be fitted into his own level of comfort. He knew his boundaries and limits and he worked well within them. D and I were quite happy with him, and felt no need to demand more or push him further.
B was as fastidious between sessions as we were. Lots of hand washing went on. After showering at one point, D came out of the bathroom and was rather delighted to see me on my stomach, getting fucked anally by B.
"You had this dreamy look on your face, it was so cool, like you were happily dazed," he told me days later. Dazed. Bewitched. Bothered. Bewildered. Sounds like me.
Later on we all hung out some more and smoked more pot. I am especially pleased to feel the vibe between my partner and B. They seemed happy talking together, and were clearly enjoying each other's company. B is basically a sweet, bright but somewhat shy man. He lets his hair down though more and more as the night progresses, and he clearly seems to relish my partner D's enthusiasm for nearly everything.
"Are you always this animated?" he asks D with amusement in his tone. D is like Quentin Tarantino doing film interviews, just non-stop commentary about everything. So yes, D can often be quite animated. B seems to enjoy basking in that energy, and I am viewing all this with approval, wanting to even keep a little off of it, just to see it develop.
TO BE CONTINUED
BENDOVER BOYFRIENDS I HAVE KNOWN (Part 4)
We must have gone thru at least eight condoms that night. We made mental notes not to buy Trojans again, one of them broke. Not at a critical moment, praise be to Allah. Get Maxx next time, we told ourselves. For me, the most interesting moment was when D wanted B to fuck him. B was ok with that, but he added a slight twist to the mix. His fantasy of fucking another guy involved that a woman stand in back of him, and guide him in. Cool, I thought. I am your woman when it comes to playing at boy stuff.
Remember the sporting film about the girl athletes, "Personal Best?" There's a funny scene many women could relate to, when Mariel Hemingway wants to hold her boyfriend's dick from behind as he pees. The guy is so flustered of course he can't pee, so she turns the faucet on to help the cause. It's funny and sweet and underscores how many women often feel like they want to duplicate male functions, without feeling one bit compromised as women. There's hope for us yet, I suppose.
I have always been fascinated by male plumbing from just about the first time I ever saw a naked boy, or man. Whichever, I don't remember now. I liked as a kid to take the cardboard roll at the finish of the toilet paper, hold it over my urethra and pee standing up with it.
It was sometime into my relationship with D when I discovered he had a corresponding quirk - he likes often to sit down and pee. My mouth dropped open when I discovered this, I have never met a guy who did this before. He thinks he's being smart, especially at 3 a.m. when he stumbles into the bathroom and doesn't want to turn on the light. So instead he just sits down. That way he can relax and not have to worry about hitting the bowl. Or my getting on his case about leaving the seat up. Life is easier then, apparently.
Isn't it clear now why we're a couple?
So B fit right in with our mental outlook on things. But after that night though, I wondered about B and his needing a woman in back of him like that. The way I have come to interpret his behavior is that he was not entirely OK with the act. The woman's presence gave it a certain respectability. It made the encounter less "queer," if you catch my drift. I don't fault B for that. He also did not want to get fucked by D, I think he had kind of made that clear early on. D was not going to push that at all.
TO BE CONTINUED
Remember the sporting film about the girl athletes, "Personal Best?" There's a funny scene many women could relate to, when Mariel Hemingway wants to hold her boyfriend's dick from behind as he pees. The guy is so flustered of course he can't pee, so she turns the faucet on to help the cause. It's funny and sweet and underscores how many women often feel like they want to duplicate male functions, without feeling one bit compromised as women. There's hope for us yet, I suppose.
I have always been fascinated by male plumbing from just about the first time I ever saw a naked boy, or man. Whichever, I don't remember now. I liked as a kid to take the cardboard roll at the finish of the toilet paper, hold it over my urethra and pee standing up with it.
It was sometime into my relationship with D when I discovered he had a corresponding quirk - he likes often to sit down and pee. My mouth dropped open when I discovered this, I have never met a guy who did this before. He thinks he's being smart, especially at 3 a.m. when he stumbles into the bathroom and doesn't want to turn on the light. So instead he just sits down. That way he can relax and not have to worry about hitting the bowl. Or my getting on his case about leaving the seat up. Life is easier then, apparently.
Isn't it clear now why we're a couple?
So B fit right in with our mental outlook on things. But after that night though, I wondered about B and his needing a woman in back of him like that. The way I have come to interpret his behavior is that he was not entirely OK with the act. The woman's presence gave it a certain respectability. It made the encounter less "queer," if you catch my drift. I don't fault B for that. He also did not want to get fucked by D, I think he had kind of made that clear early on. D was not going to push that at all.
TO BE CONTINUED
BENDOVER BOYFRIENDS I HAVE KNOWN (Part 3)
We migrate back to our swell digs at Motel 6. Yeah, we're cheap, but they're also great places to party. And on a Friday night in a border town like San Diego, we got the distinct impression we were not alone. You can raise the dead and nobody blinks an eye. Perfect.
A little shyness inevitably seems to pervade the first moments of such encounters, even after a few tokes of weed and a drink or two. That's ok, it adds a certain sweetness to the moment. B is a strong-looking guy, with just the right amount of hair, and a beautiful curved dick with a nice flat surface on top. Very interesting, I am thinking. Useful too.
For me, he works just fine as a lover. Turns out B is married to a muff diver. Well, no wonder I'm thinking, when he tells us this. She has taught him well. I get the eerie feeling she's in the room with us. But then I feel that way about other lovers too, you inherit THEIR lovers, and their expertise moves your way.
Somewhere in the evening B uses that flat top ridge of his dick to rub lightly from top to bottom over my clit while he is inside me. His movements are very subtle and nice. What a great feeling, maybe I should cast this one in plaster. I have never seen a dick that can do this, so my first thought is posterity, of course. After which I send a "thank you" out into the ether to the absent but still present woman, who was smart enough to seize her advantage and direct that fine member to a useful purpose in life.
The erotic chess continues into the wee smalls. Before you can say ham on rye, I find myself getting sandwiched between them. I'm on top of B, while D takes me from behind. Both holes. "We got you covered," as D likes to say. I have fantasized about getting sandwiched for a long time, so I am feeling like I have died and gone to that big deli in the sky. It's a sense of total invasion, with a person intimately connected to me on the front of my body, and on my back as well. Quite an intense moment, however else you may want to interpret it. At this point, I don't. I will just let it ping and pong around in my brain later on, its natural percolation will take it wherever it needs to go.
TO BE CONTINUED
A little shyness inevitably seems to pervade the first moments of such encounters, even after a few tokes of weed and a drink or two. That's ok, it adds a certain sweetness to the moment. B is a strong-looking guy, with just the right amount of hair, and a beautiful curved dick with a nice flat surface on top. Very interesting, I am thinking. Useful too.
For me, he works just fine as a lover. Turns out B is married to a muff diver. Well, no wonder I'm thinking, when he tells us this. She has taught him well. I get the eerie feeling she's in the room with us. But then I feel that way about other lovers too, you inherit THEIR lovers, and their expertise moves your way.
Somewhere in the evening B uses that flat top ridge of his dick to rub lightly from top to bottom over my clit while he is inside me. His movements are very subtle and nice. What a great feeling, maybe I should cast this one in plaster. I have never seen a dick that can do this, so my first thought is posterity, of course. After which I send a "thank you" out into the ether to the absent but still present woman, who was smart enough to seize her advantage and direct that fine member to a useful purpose in life.
The erotic chess continues into the wee smalls. Before you can say ham on rye, I find myself getting sandwiched between them. I'm on top of B, while D takes me from behind. Both holes. "We got you covered," as D likes to say. I have fantasized about getting sandwiched for a long time, so I am feeling like I have died and gone to that big deli in the sky. It's a sense of total invasion, with a person intimately connected to me on the front of my body, and on my back as well. Quite an intense moment, however else you may want to interpret it. At this point, I don't. I will just let it ping and pong around in my brain later on, its natural percolation will take it wherever it needs to go.
TO BE CONTINUED
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Orgasms, Vasectomies, Sea Lions and Norman Mailer
Yesterday's New York Times' most e-mailed story of the day was "A Critic Takes On The Logic Of Female Orgasm." (5/17/05) Recent studies have attempted to analyze why women have orgasms, since there is no real biological reason for it as there is with men. One theory is that female orgasm enables her to retain more sperm in the vagina, giving conception a greater chance. Another is that it may allow her more selectivity in her choice of suitable mates. As my directing teacher liked to say, "A man chases a woman until she catches him."
The jaundiced among us could alternately suggest that female orgasm is nature's way of rewarding us for coping with the vagaries of the male species. There's got to be some sort of pay-off for all this angst, right? A good cum or two can eliminate those memories of the knock-down-drag-out they had before dinner, perhaps.
After reading this story, I applied my fevered brain to the task, and decided to come at the problem from a different direction. Let's look at the male side of things, I said. In the interests of Equal Time at least.
I recalled an episode with a male friend I knew and hung out with and liked, who once told me, with a very helpful tone, that he had undergone a vasectomy. He told me this, I'm sure, in full anticipation that I would be quite thrilled with the news, therefore no longer fearful of getting pregnant by him, therefore willing to immediately if not sooner hit the sack with him.
When in fact my reaction was just the opposite. I went home that night feeling rather discomforted, and vaguely annoyed. It took me a while to pin down how and what I was feeling.
Then I ran across something Norman Mailer wrote somewhere, that women - consciously or not - tend to instinctively seek out those males who are, as it were, not only going to "give it to them," i.e. an orgasm, but who also really give it to them, i.e. get them with child.
If you have doubts about this, I would like to take you on a visit to Ano Nuevo Wildlife Preserve near Santa Cruz, California. There in late winter the sea lions come ashore to mate and bear their young. Battle royals go on among the males to boink as many females as they can. Entire layers of behavior grow out of this need to perpetuate their species.
Certain levels of very gutteral noises for instance issue forth from the boy lions, to attract females and to tell the other guys to buzz off, basically. The behavior can get very aggressive, ranging from rearing up on their haunches to intimidate their rivals, to trying to gnash the throats of their male opponents. Even after the females have mated and borne young, they still can't count themselves out of the woods. The males will still chase solitary females as they try to scramble into the water, and some even manage to rape them. Such is nature's design that the line continues.
The struggle starts even before the males hit the beach. They appear to arrive separately from the females, but they have to be careful in ascertaining which beach the females are hanging out on. If they miscalculate and go ashore at the wrong one, they waste not only valuable time but even more valuable male energy trying to correct the mistake, and having to go out and swim further to find the right beach.
Isn't this what the human realm terms "spring break" around Fort Lauderdale? I thought it sounded vaguely familiar. Sounds just as rough being a sea lion, male that is.
So basically the last man standing gets the babe(s). That's what Norman, God rest his soul, was harping on. I think there's something to it, much as I do not care to end up on Norman Mailer's side in any argument, he's right here. What do I base that on? The fact that having sex with a male when you're in that mode is about the most powerful sex you can have, I maintain.
My male friend shot his chances to hell of my ever going to bed with him. And that's why I was annoyed. I have never had sex with a man, to my knowledge, who has had a vasectomy. I don't think it would appeal to me, even though I can say in the same breath that I have no desire to have children.
But I wanted the POSSIBILITY of fertility and pregnancy to be there. That was MY perk in the arrangement.
Now, let me hasten to add that while I subscribe to this theory of Mailer's - that women really will choose the most likely male partner she can - it does not mean that I as a female want to get knocked up every time I have sex. But the knowledge that fecundity lies lurking in the background is a very charged feeling to take into a sexual encounter. Especially if you are at a point as a woman where you WANT to get pregnant. Sex then becomes full of meaning and intensity, for more than normal.
I had this experience with my partner D, during an intense six-month period or so when I was actively wanting to get pregnant. I don't know what got into me. Raging Hormones, perhaps. And I really liked my partner. And I liked the thought of his genes, especially. I had it bad. Sex became something otherworldly, right up there with alien visitations, I would guess. Complete with anal probes. I felt myself plugged into a process of nature far bigger than I was. Overall, it was great stimulation, probably the only time I will ever personally come to honoring the fertility goddesses. Bless their souls. But I also know I am not a breeder. So it won't happen. But I am a biological female, so those feelings are there and they will rise up.
So, my answer to the Times' story would be that yes, orgasm may have many biological reasons for happening in women. We may never fully know all of them.
But I hope that one of the reasons stays obvious. As one researcher described in the article (a female, by the way), the female orgasm, like the clitoris itself, exists primarily as "fun."
- - - - -
The jaundiced among us could alternately suggest that female orgasm is nature's way of rewarding us for coping with the vagaries of the male species. There's got to be some sort of pay-off for all this angst, right? A good cum or two can eliminate those memories of the knock-down-drag-out they had before dinner, perhaps.
After reading this story, I applied my fevered brain to the task, and decided to come at the problem from a different direction. Let's look at the male side of things, I said. In the interests of Equal Time at least.
I recalled an episode with a male friend I knew and hung out with and liked, who once told me, with a very helpful tone, that he had undergone a vasectomy. He told me this, I'm sure, in full anticipation that I would be quite thrilled with the news, therefore no longer fearful of getting pregnant by him, therefore willing to immediately if not sooner hit the sack with him.
When in fact my reaction was just the opposite. I went home that night feeling rather discomforted, and vaguely annoyed. It took me a while to pin down how and what I was feeling.
Then I ran across something Norman Mailer wrote somewhere, that women - consciously or not - tend to instinctively seek out those males who are, as it were, not only going to "give it to them," i.e. an orgasm, but who also really give it to them, i.e. get them with child.
If you have doubts about this, I would like to take you on a visit to Ano Nuevo Wildlife Preserve near Santa Cruz, California. There in late winter the sea lions come ashore to mate and bear their young. Battle royals go on among the males to boink as many females as they can. Entire layers of behavior grow out of this need to perpetuate their species.
Certain levels of very gutteral noises for instance issue forth from the boy lions, to attract females and to tell the other guys to buzz off, basically. The behavior can get very aggressive, ranging from rearing up on their haunches to intimidate their rivals, to trying to gnash the throats of their male opponents. Even after the females have mated and borne young, they still can't count themselves out of the woods. The males will still chase solitary females as they try to scramble into the water, and some even manage to rape them. Such is nature's design that the line continues.
The struggle starts even before the males hit the beach. They appear to arrive separately from the females, but they have to be careful in ascertaining which beach the females are hanging out on. If they miscalculate and go ashore at the wrong one, they waste not only valuable time but even more valuable male energy trying to correct the mistake, and having to go out and swim further to find the right beach.
Isn't this what the human realm terms "spring break" around Fort Lauderdale? I thought it sounded vaguely familiar. Sounds just as rough being a sea lion, male that is.
So basically the last man standing gets the babe(s). That's what Norman, God rest his soul, was harping on. I think there's something to it, much as I do not care to end up on Norman Mailer's side in any argument, he's right here. What do I base that on? The fact that having sex with a male when you're in that mode is about the most powerful sex you can have, I maintain.
My male friend shot his chances to hell of my ever going to bed with him. And that's why I was annoyed. I have never had sex with a man, to my knowledge, who has had a vasectomy. I don't think it would appeal to me, even though I can say in the same breath that I have no desire to have children.
But I wanted the POSSIBILITY of fertility and pregnancy to be there. That was MY perk in the arrangement.
Now, let me hasten to add that while I subscribe to this theory of Mailer's - that women really will choose the most likely male partner she can - it does not mean that I as a female want to get knocked up every time I have sex. But the knowledge that fecundity lies lurking in the background is a very charged feeling to take into a sexual encounter. Especially if you are at a point as a woman where you WANT to get pregnant. Sex then becomes full of meaning and intensity, for more than normal.
I had this experience with my partner D, during an intense six-month period or so when I was actively wanting to get pregnant. I don't know what got into me. Raging Hormones, perhaps. And I really liked my partner. And I liked the thought of his genes, especially. I had it bad. Sex became something otherworldly, right up there with alien visitations, I would guess. Complete with anal probes. I felt myself plugged into a process of nature far bigger than I was. Overall, it was great stimulation, probably the only time I will ever personally come to honoring the fertility goddesses. Bless their souls. But I also know I am not a breeder. So it won't happen. But I am a biological female, so those feelings are there and they will rise up.
So, my answer to the Times' story would be that yes, orgasm may have many biological reasons for happening in women. We may never fully know all of them.
But I hope that one of the reasons stays obvious. As one researcher described in the article (a female, by the way), the female orgasm, like the clitoris itself, exists primarily as "fun."
- - - - -
Monday, May 16, 2005
GIRLS BEING BAD TOGETHER (OR TRYING TO BE)
It's a cold and rainy ho-hum kind of morning outside, so we can start planning that cruise in the Caribbean...or, we can talk about interesting subjects, like...sex parties, perhaps?
The first sex party I ever went to was an accident. It wasn't supposed to be a sex party. This happened over Thanksgiving, 1968. I had recently landed in Berkeley, to attend school in January for my last college semester. Berkeley in the late 60s was truly a place of beauty. Free love, the sexual revolution and feminism were weaving their magic inroads into this part of the world at that time. And the particular beauty of it all was that you didn't have to try and "create" any scene, scenes just happened. It was all part of the times. And clearly, they were a-changin'.
I was invited to a Thanksgiving turkey dinner at a friend's apartment, there were about twenty other people there. All of us women, all of us involved in some way with the lesbian community. But many of us were bisexual, although that word was not even a blip on the radar screen. Actually I don't think I heard that word until the early 80s. It was all very free form back then. Most of us had some connection to the university. Our Great Mother, as we liked to joke. Professor types. Students. Or students to be. Some of us were involved romantically, all of us were friendly in one way or other with each other.
I would not have expected this particular scene to morph into what it did. After all, we thought we were fine, upstanding, intellectual women who would never descend to the level of a sweaty, slutty orgy. But by the time we finished our bird ticket, had some drinks, and - lo and behold - shared a goodly amount of the old "hippy lettuce," the vibe in the place was distinctly groping its way towards erotica. Pot was always a good starter for parties at the time. In fact, I can't recall any that did not involve pot smoking. Although most "organized" sex parties today tend to ban the public use of drugs, we liked our pot back then. Some of us still do. It really loosened things up, and didn't manage to wreck the people to such an extent that sex was out of the question.
How the party started was a subtle thing. It helped that we had a few adventurous, butch of center women in attendance, who could push the action a bit. People started pairing up, pairs started hooking up with other pairs, hands started fumbling and the clothes came tumbling down. Suddenly, we all found ourselves in the middle of an orgy. I looked around the living room and saw bodies draped across the floor and over the furniture in a lovely daisy chain effect. It was beautiful. It was simple. No toys, but digits and mouths worked just fine. There weren't a lot of toys back then, at least not in my circles. Sex stores like Good Vibrations or the Pleasure Chest did not exist. Our own bodies were the sex toys.
It was a lovely evening, or so I thought when I rode back to my rooming house lodgings on my motorcycle. I was feeling good about things. The next few days presented another reality. People from the party were openly quarrelling, long-term relationships were suddenly called into question, former friends were getting testy with each other.
Fall-out, I guess we call this! And this is what I remember about my very first sex party. People, women people, were not ready to handle it. We all seemed to be enjoying ourselves, judging by the moan level and the dreamy looks on the faces of the participants, but the clear bright light of the morning after was too much.
Men really are different from women this way, I remembered thinking. They can enjoy themselves and go about their lives without too much complication. But women...well. Another story. Too bad there weren't a few men there, after all. I may have thought of myself as a dyke, but I realized that an occasional man around the house was a good thing. They could do more than drive nails, fix TVs, or whatnot. For me, they represented that good quick poke that I often craved then, even though I considered myself a dyke. More or less. Men present at the party would have had a more relaxed attitude, that would have chilled the women down a bit so they didn't feel so badly the next day.
Cearly, there was bad feeling the next day.
That night also stands as a defining line for me between an orgy, and a sex party, although I realize I have used the terms almost interchangeably here. But they are really not. A sex party has an airy feel, but to achieve that you need a little planning, just like a dinner party. A sex party has a more organized thing going on. But an orgy is a different critter, it morphs suddenly out of the woodwork, surprising everyone by its energy and chaotic feel. People who might normally be saying "no" before might be saying yes yes yes at an orgy. And then a big NO the next day, realizing what they've done.
Recriminations are not nice.
- - - - - - -
The first sex party I ever went to was an accident. It wasn't supposed to be a sex party. This happened over Thanksgiving, 1968. I had recently landed in Berkeley, to attend school in January for my last college semester. Berkeley in the late 60s was truly a place of beauty. Free love, the sexual revolution and feminism were weaving their magic inroads into this part of the world at that time. And the particular beauty of it all was that you didn't have to try and "create" any scene, scenes just happened. It was all part of the times. And clearly, they were a-changin'.
I was invited to a Thanksgiving turkey dinner at a friend's apartment, there were about twenty other people there. All of us women, all of us involved in some way with the lesbian community. But many of us were bisexual, although that word was not even a blip on the radar screen. Actually I don't think I heard that word until the early 80s. It was all very free form back then. Most of us had some connection to the university. Our Great Mother, as we liked to joke. Professor types. Students. Or students to be. Some of us were involved romantically, all of us were friendly in one way or other with each other.
I would not have expected this particular scene to morph into what it did. After all, we thought we were fine, upstanding, intellectual women who would never descend to the level of a sweaty, slutty orgy. But by the time we finished our bird ticket, had some drinks, and - lo and behold - shared a goodly amount of the old "hippy lettuce," the vibe in the place was distinctly groping its way towards erotica. Pot was always a good starter for parties at the time. In fact, I can't recall any that did not involve pot smoking. Although most "organized" sex parties today tend to ban the public use of drugs, we liked our pot back then. Some of us still do. It really loosened things up, and didn't manage to wreck the people to such an extent that sex was out of the question.
How the party started was a subtle thing. It helped that we had a few adventurous, butch of center women in attendance, who could push the action a bit. People started pairing up, pairs started hooking up with other pairs, hands started fumbling and the clothes came tumbling down. Suddenly, we all found ourselves in the middle of an orgy. I looked around the living room and saw bodies draped across the floor and over the furniture in a lovely daisy chain effect. It was beautiful. It was simple. No toys, but digits and mouths worked just fine. There weren't a lot of toys back then, at least not in my circles. Sex stores like Good Vibrations or the Pleasure Chest did not exist. Our own bodies were the sex toys.
It was a lovely evening, or so I thought when I rode back to my rooming house lodgings on my motorcycle. I was feeling good about things. The next few days presented another reality. People from the party were openly quarrelling, long-term relationships were suddenly called into question, former friends were getting testy with each other.
Fall-out, I guess we call this! And this is what I remember about my very first sex party. People, women people, were not ready to handle it. We all seemed to be enjoying ourselves, judging by the moan level and the dreamy looks on the faces of the participants, but the clear bright light of the morning after was too much.
Men really are different from women this way, I remembered thinking. They can enjoy themselves and go about their lives without too much complication. But women...well. Another story. Too bad there weren't a few men there, after all. I may have thought of myself as a dyke, but I realized that an occasional man around the house was a good thing. They could do more than drive nails, fix TVs, or whatnot. For me, they represented that good quick poke that I often craved then, even though I considered myself a dyke. More or less. Men present at the party would have had a more relaxed attitude, that would have chilled the women down a bit so they didn't feel so badly the next day.
Cearly, there was bad feeling the next day.
That night also stands as a defining line for me between an orgy, and a sex party, although I realize I have used the terms almost interchangeably here. But they are really not. A sex party has an airy feel, but to achieve that you need a little planning, just like a dinner party. A sex party has a more organized thing going on. But an orgy is a different critter, it morphs suddenly out of the woodwork, surprising everyone by its energy and chaotic feel. People who might normally be saying "no" before might be saying yes yes yes at an orgy. And then a big NO the next day, realizing what they've done.
Recriminations are not nice.
- - - - - - -
Sunday, May 15, 2005
BENDOVER BOYFRIENDS I HAVE KNOWN (Part 2)
Our first foray was the weekend we visited San Diego. Maybe we felt that, for our first time with another guy, we should proceed when we were safely out of town. Rule #1 in this fuckfest of fun is, never start off at home, at least not your first time. Go for a neutral place.
Also take along a couple of potential partners' info/email address/cell phone numbers. Because most of them will flake out or otherwise stand you up. This kind of Speed Dating in overdrive moves so quickly you have to be prepared for all contingencies. We advertised nearly a week in advance. Way too soon we discovered later. But we still heard from guys. With them, you can put an ad the same day and probably hook up that night. Women are a lot more reticent. There seems to be inherently with women a state of caution, where you size each other up. They take their time, thank you very much.
Our cute Asian boy flaked out. But we did get together with B, a really sweet, nice-looking guy around mid 30s. For our first playtime, he was exactly what our doctor ordered. We met him at a gay watering hole in San Diego on a Friday night for drinks and nibbles. We all knew it would be a "go" from the first sighting. He thought we looked exactly like our pix, we felt the same, although he did not send us a more "intimate" shot. What we saw of his head shot we knew we liked.
The table talk proceeded along the proper lines. D especially asked him certain things, just to make sure we were all on the same page. My partner has run across several guys who ARE just "bi-oral;" he tends to toss them back into the pond. He wants someone willing to explore all the orifices. And willing to top him, especially. No room for beginners here he feels. B says he has never gotten fucked by another guy, he is not sure about that, but he has no problems being the top for both of us. This is acceptable.
Unfortunately, he reminds me very much of my former writing partner, who had threatened me with a lawsuit some time back. Fortunately I move beyond that comparison rather quickly.
B had been with one other couple, they were married. They sounded voracious. When B came the second time to their house for play, they practically raped him as he walked in the front door. Not even a "hello" or "how are you" or "would you like a drink?" He sounded rather offended. I like that in a man, don't you? His charm was distinctly boyish though, and very appealing. He should be raped as he walks in the door.
TO BE CONTINUED
Also take along a couple of potential partners' info/email address/cell phone numbers. Because most of them will flake out or otherwise stand you up. This kind of Speed Dating in overdrive moves so quickly you have to be prepared for all contingencies. We advertised nearly a week in advance. Way too soon we discovered later. But we still heard from guys. With them, you can put an ad the same day and probably hook up that night. Women are a lot more reticent. There seems to be inherently with women a state of caution, where you size each other up. They take their time, thank you very much.
Our cute Asian boy flaked out. But we did get together with B, a really sweet, nice-looking guy around mid 30s. For our first playtime, he was exactly what our doctor ordered. We met him at a gay watering hole in San Diego on a Friday night for drinks and nibbles. We all knew it would be a "go" from the first sighting. He thought we looked exactly like our pix, we felt the same, although he did not send us a more "intimate" shot. What we saw of his head shot we knew we liked.
The table talk proceeded along the proper lines. D especially asked him certain things, just to make sure we were all on the same page. My partner has run across several guys who ARE just "bi-oral;" he tends to toss them back into the pond. He wants someone willing to explore all the orifices. And willing to top him, especially. No room for beginners here he feels. B says he has never gotten fucked by another guy, he is not sure about that, but he has no problems being the top for both of us. This is acceptable.
Unfortunately, he reminds me very much of my former writing partner, who had threatened me with a lawsuit some time back. Fortunately I move beyond that comparison rather quickly.
B had been with one other couple, they were married. They sounded voracious. When B came the second time to their house for play, they practically raped him as he walked in the front door. Not even a "hello" or "how are you" or "would you like a drink?" He sounded rather offended. I like that in a man, don't you? His charm was distinctly boyish though, and very appealing. He should be raped as he walks in the door.
TO BE CONTINUED
Saturday, May 14, 2005
BENDOVER BOYFRIENDS I HAVE KNOWN
About a year ago, when D and I still lived in L.A., we got the bug to play with boys. I don't know quite all the things that propelled us on our path into iniquity, but we realized the enthusiasm was there. Mind you, he and I have played with quite a few boys separately over the years. But as a couple, we had not gone looking for a third wheel. We did meet another bi couple once, but that is for another blog entry.
What we wanted were plain old threesomes, so I went on Craig's List, the internet dater's best friend, to place an ad. The ad ran something like this:
"Fit attractive bi couple, mid/late 40s, he: 6' 175, shaven head, well-endowed; she: 5'6" 120, short curly blonde hair, unshaven down below. She's a Berkeley grad, therefore crazy by education; he's from NYC, therefore crazy from birth. Please be experienced and beyond just the "Hi I'm bi-oral" stage. We want someone who can top us both. Upbeat, sarcastic, politically incorrect and very 420 friendly. Ub2. No wallflowers, no Republicans."
I had before this time been used to placing ads looking for women I could date. That was always a slow, lugubrious process, as anyone will tell you who has tried to deal with women doing ANYTHING online. So I was quite shocked by the overwhelming and nearly immediate response D and I got with our couples' ad.
Men don't waste time when it comes to sex. Thank God someone goes for the jugular. They not only replied rather directly to the ad, they sent all the requisite photos, without being asked. Here's my head shot, here's my bod, here's a shot of me and "mon petit frere," as the men of France are want to say. We could see exactly what we would be getting. I like that in a man, don't you? We got about thirty guys the first go-round. We culled out about four. Over half of them sent pix, the ones who didn't were almost immediately deleted. They must not know the score yet. Life moves quickly on the internet.
TO BE CONTINUED
What we wanted were plain old threesomes, so I went on Craig's List, the internet dater's best friend, to place an ad. The ad ran something like this:
"Fit attractive bi couple, mid/late 40s, he: 6' 175, shaven head, well-endowed; she: 5'6" 120, short curly blonde hair, unshaven down below. She's a Berkeley grad, therefore crazy by education; he's from NYC, therefore crazy from birth. Please be experienced and beyond just the "Hi I'm bi-oral" stage. We want someone who can top us both. Upbeat, sarcastic, politically incorrect and very 420 friendly. Ub2. No wallflowers, no Republicans."
I had before this time been used to placing ads looking for women I could date. That was always a slow, lugubrious process, as anyone will tell you who has tried to deal with women doing ANYTHING online. So I was quite shocked by the overwhelming and nearly immediate response D and I got with our couples' ad.
Men don't waste time when it comes to sex. Thank God someone goes for the jugular. They not only replied rather directly to the ad, they sent all the requisite photos, without being asked. Here's my head shot, here's my bod, here's a shot of me and "mon petit frere," as the men of France are want to say. We could see exactly what we would be getting. I like that in a man, don't you? We got about thirty guys the first go-round. We culled out about four. Over half of them sent pix, the ones who didn't were almost immediately deleted. They must not know the score yet. Life moves quickly on the internet.
TO BE CONTINUED
DA B.O.B.'s (Part 3)
Could such a phenomenom actually bring about some change in this fine country of ours? Could this finally be one of the chinks in the armor of the right-wing crowd, shoving their insane beliefs down all our throats with their undying love of the brain dead and fetuses, and their willingness to surrender their sons and daughters to the tender mercies of the Pentagon, who will turn them into sausage in Iraq as soon as possible? The Bendover Boyfriend movement may hit them where it hurts.
God I hope so. Then let's quickly proceed. SODOMY FOR ALL. Kittens included.
Anal exploration, enter stage left. You know, the religious right may hate homosexuals, and they probably should, because what the gay guys have started the hetero guys may end up finishing. Males digging buggery could foment a lot of chaos with the right's political agendas. In some dim, superficial way, the bigots already perceive that. They know a threat is out there. They may not fully get it quite yet, and when they do they will have a period of merriment, as they make fun of those "bendover boyfriends." Hell, my aged mom thinks the term describes guys who are willing to get down and dirty doing unpleasant household chores. When the truth finally dawns on people, it will be too late, the movement will be under way. The pummelling has begun.
Of course, there is a lot of crap for men to work thru on their way to sexual liberation via the bunghole. For years they've had to deal with the notion that only the weak girlie mans like "taking it up the ass."
The succinctness of that expression reveals how buggery is beneath (most) decent people's contempt. "Bend over and take it," I was told once, in my screenwriting days, when they offered me a deal that was pretty horrible. But as a new writer with no clout and not even an agent, I had to pay my dues. People traditionally "take it up the ass" as part of the way to bigger, and better things, hopefully.
I think we are on our way to Bigger and Better, all punning intended. So let me welcome you to the new room in the house, Manly Men, and - if and when your lady love comes after you with more gleam in her eye than usual - could be she wants to say, simply, "Bend over, Darling."
- - - - - -
God I hope so. Then let's quickly proceed. SODOMY FOR ALL. Kittens included.
Anal exploration, enter stage left. You know, the religious right may hate homosexuals, and they probably should, because what the gay guys have started the hetero guys may end up finishing. Males digging buggery could foment a lot of chaos with the right's political agendas. In some dim, superficial way, the bigots already perceive that. They know a threat is out there. They may not fully get it quite yet, and when they do they will have a period of merriment, as they make fun of those "bendover boyfriends." Hell, my aged mom thinks the term describes guys who are willing to get down and dirty doing unpleasant household chores. When the truth finally dawns on people, it will be too late, the movement will be under way. The pummelling has begun.
Of course, there is a lot of crap for men to work thru on their way to sexual liberation via the bunghole. For years they've had to deal with the notion that only the weak girlie mans like "taking it up the ass."
The succinctness of that expression reveals how buggery is beneath (most) decent people's contempt. "Bend over and take it," I was told once, in my screenwriting days, when they offered me a deal that was pretty horrible. But as a new writer with no clout and not even an agent, I had to pay my dues. People traditionally "take it up the ass" as part of the way to bigger, and better things, hopefully.
I think we are on our way to Bigger and Better, all punning intended. So let me welcome you to the new room in the house, Manly Men, and - if and when your lady love comes after you with more gleam in her eye than usual - could be she wants to say, simply, "Bend over, Darling."
- - - - - -
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Da B.O.B.s (Part 2)
God help us if men discover their prostates. They might feel pleasure, and having felt that peculiar kind of pleasure, which my own bi partner assures me is QUITE unique, almost on a par with the feeling of your dick inside a woman, then it's going to start influencing you, and eventually to bring change into your life.
The effects could be mindblowing, and perhaps far reaching. Cast your minds over the prospect of this, even briefly, and you can see how this could become a rather radical act of social disobedience.
The fact that my partner loves getting reamed as much as I do, if not more, is a really valuable cementing of our relationship. I have been fascinated about that side of him since forever. I love him for it. He doesn't feel there's anything groundbreaking that he is the way he is. After all, he is a hedonist.
I think one of the main reasons he loves fucking me anally is that he knows how a dick inside him feels. He knows every little curve and valley in my bunghole, because he's had his own little curves and valleys lovingly explored in bath houses over the years. He relives his own enjoyment when he's enjoying me. It creates a great bond of empathy between us. The sense of trust then in these moments is monumental. And trust is part of the operation. You can't have pleasurable anal sex without trust being there first and foremost.
He enjoys the pleasure of the sensations of getting fucked up the ass, there's nothing psychologically deep about it, at least for him. But I tend to project stuff onto him because of that. I love that he is open to being invaded. It makes him rounded and pliable and soft and easy to deal with, and we need those qualities in our lives. Men need these qualities especially, since they're taught to deny they even have those needs in themselves; they learn how to disparage men who reveal those needs.
Anal sex, more than other forms of sexual expression, relies especially on qualities of empathy, trust, gentleness. What's not to like about those? Wouldn't we all like to have a little more of them around us?
I am not talking about the feminization of men here. These are qualities present in them already, I would like to see them called out a little more. Good things are going to keep on happening to the guys out there now, they're ready for it. They will keep expanding sexually, trying things that were once decreed as off-limits to real manly men. The rest of us can only be the beneficiaries.
TO BE CONTINUED
The effects could be mindblowing, and perhaps far reaching. Cast your minds over the prospect of this, even briefly, and you can see how this could become a rather radical act of social disobedience.
The fact that my partner loves getting reamed as much as I do, if not more, is a really valuable cementing of our relationship. I have been fascinated about that side of him since forever. I love him for it. He doesn't feel there's anything groundbreaking that he is the way he is. After all, he is a hedonist.
I think one of the main reasons he loves fucking me anally is that he knows how a dick inside him feels. He knows every little curve and valley in my bunghole, because he's had his own little curves and valleys lovingly explored in bath houses over the years. He relives his own enjoyment when he's enjoying me. It creates a great bond of empathy between us. The sense of trust then in these moments is monumental. And trust is part of the operation. You can't have pleasurable anal sex without trust being there first and foremost.
He enjoys the pleasure of the sensations of getting fucked up the ass, there's nothing psychologically deep about it, at least for him. But I tend to project stuff onto him because of that. I love that he is open to being invaded. It makes him rounded and pliable and soft and easy to deal with, and we need those qualities in our lives. Men need these qualities especially, since they're taught to deny they even have those needs in themselves; they learn how to disparage men who reveal those needs.
Anal sex, more than other forms of sexual expression, relies especially on qualities of empathy, trust, gentleness. What's not to like about those? Wouldn't we all like to have a little more of them around us?
I am not talking about the feminization of men here. These are qualities present in them already, I would like to see them called out a little more. Good things are going to keep on happening to the guys out there now, they're ready for it. They will keep expanding sexually, trying things that were once decreed as off-limits to real manly men. The rest of us can only be the beneficiaries.
TO BE CONTINUED
Monday, May 02, 2005
DA B.O.B.s (Part 1)
So I have this fantasy that keeps playing in my head...I am at a sex party, wearing the skimpy leather fetish outfit I rigged up...leather collar with rings, crossing straps over my bare chest, and a harness. With dildo attached. I am moving along a row of preacher curls, three of them. A naked guy is draped over each one, his butt positioned nicely in the air. Ready for me to pummel, which I proceed to do. Since I am feeling rather good about things, I untie their hands, so they can diddle themselves as I'm fucking them. This makes them extremely happy.
- - - - - - - - -
Men getting off on getting fucked up the ass? Unheard of, you say? Unlikely to happen in anyone's lifetime soon? Well, I would beg to differ. Welcome to a new phenomenom making its way from private bedrooms, around the sex party circuit, onto blog pages, and probably - if it hasn't already - even hitting the pages of a publication like Playboy.
It's the occurrence of the Bendover Boyfriend phenomenom. Da B.O.B.s as I am want to call them.
I am writing about this as part of the larger topic of polyamory, because I believe anal sex is becoming more of a mainstream thing. It is one of the more "radical" styles of loving under the larger umbrella of polyamory, indeed it is one of the unique tools of polyamory.
A further sign of this development can be seen in the arrival of Toni Bentley's erotic memoir of anal sex that came out last fall, entitled "The Surrender." It's a hot little read, let me tell you, and rather beautifully written. If you like your sodomy dressed up a little, that is. For her, the forbidden act becomes a doorway of personal discovery.
If it can work that way for a woman, then it certainly can for a male. That's what I see taking place out there today.
You see, men are discovering their prostates. And I don't mean just in their annual visits to the doc. Nor does it mean either that they're sodomizing their female associates any more than usual these days. That act I always thought might be saying more about what the guys really wanted for themselves, rather than anything they intended for their girlfriends.
Guys are liking it up the ass now too. They may not come out too openly and drop the news at the next Sunday family barbie, but explorations are under way. Usually with wives, or girlfriends. Less frequently with other males, but that is changing too, judging by all the Butt Work I saw being done at recent sex parties my partner and I have attended. Not only does it feel good to them, it represents a symbolic movement towards revealing their own inner natures, and being comfortable with that.
TO BE CONTINUED
- - - - - - - - -
Men getting off on getting fucked up the ass? Unheard of, you say? Unlikely to happen in anyone's lifetime soon? Well, I would beg to differ. Welcome to a new phenomenom making its way from private bedrooms, around the sex party circuit, onto blog pages, and probably - if it hasn't already - even hitting the pages of a publication like Playboy.
It's the occurrence of the Bendover Boyfriend phenomenom. Da B.O.B.s as I am want to call them.
I am writing about this as part of the larger topic of polyamory, because I believe anal sex is becoming more of a mainstream thing. It is one of the more "radical" styles of loving under the larger umbrella of polyamory, indeed it is one of the unique tools of polyamory.
A further sign of this development can be seen in the arrival of Toni Bentley's erotic memoir of anal sex that came out last fall, entitled "The Surrender." It's a hot little read, let me tell you, and rather beautifully written. If you like your sodomy dressed up a little, that is. For her, the forbidden act becomes a doorway of personal discovery.
If it can work that way for a woman, then it certainly can for a male. That's what I see taking place out there today.
You see, men are discovering their prostates. And I don't mean just in their annual visits to the doc. Nor does it mean either that they're sodomizing their female associates any more than usual these days. That act I always thought might be saying more about what the guys really wanted for themselves, rather than anything they intended for their girlfriends.
Guys are liking it up the ass now too. They may not come out too openly and drop the news at the next Sunday family barbie, but explorations are under way. Usually with wives, or girlfriends. Less frequently with other males, but that is changing too, judging by all the Butt Work I saw being done at recent sex parties my partner and I have attended. Not only does it feel good to them, it represents a symbolic movement towards revealing their own inner natures, and being comfortable with that.
TO BE CONTINUED
