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.
- - - - - - -
