Monday, December 19, 2005
A Perfect Sex Party (Pt.3)
The sex party eventually winds down. I have never been to one when I stayed so long, and the time flew by so quickly. Those of us who are sleeping over start looking around for places to land. I've brought my sleeping bag and a small pillow. I am prepared. Some people just crash on whatever empty bed is available. It is nearly 4 a.m. when things reach an end.
The living room has cleaned out pretty much, so I throw my bag down there on the thick white carpet. Several other people join me.
Sounds of combat can be heard still emanating from one of the upstairs rooms. I can almost bet it's the hot little asian girl and her white boyfriend. He is covering her like glue.
Sleeping time is only a couple of hours, then people start stirring. The hostess traditionally puts on a fine brunch for the partygoers the next morning, and even those players who stayed locally in motels drive back for the brunch. This party is all about connections, it seems, and the brunch is a great way to close the festivities out.
Our deejay L and his wife R play head chefs here, as they fry up some spicy sausage and eggs for the group. I am of the opinion that they are making a TON of food, but they don't seem concerned. The food vanishes in short order, just like it did the night before.
What's going on here? These people eat like cyclists who've just done a century ride. Suddenly, the food disappears as quickly as it was prepared.
It's over brunch where people trade emails, stories, whatnot. You really get to know them here. One guy in a gray wool dress helps me with the dishes. Yes, you heard correctly. A perfectly handsome, normal guy who happens to be wearing a dress. His girlfriend comes up behind to buss him.
"That's how you should grab a man," I encourage her. "When he's soapy and defenseless."
The pair laugh at this. She spins him around, grabs the hem of his dress, and lifts it up for me to see his finely shaped naked ass. I guess he doesn't believe in Victoria's Secret underwear.
"Look at this butt," she exclaims. "Can you believe this butt is 53 years old?"
I whistle my appreciation. This guy looks as in great a shape at his age as I do at 60. I tell them that. They freak out. She comes over and hugs me. She and I concur that yes, men absolutely should wear dresses, especially when they have beautiful legs and bodies to show us.
The ease with which we converse about such things should clue you in to what type of party this was. And what type of partygoers we had here. I love this crowd. They are pretty much hetero, but they have such a good, healthy attitude.
And they wear dresses! What more could you ask for in the way of family values?
The deejay's assistant is named K, a lean asian person who at first I assume is a girl. Guess again. He is so fetchingly androgynous that I spend much of the morning going back and forth on him. Is he or isn't she? I have rarely seen such a person who puts out fem vibes and masculine vibes in such equal doses. I am very intrigued, but I have to go up and apologize to K when he gets a free moment.
"I thought you were a woman," I say to him somewhat sheepishly. He laughs, obviously this has happened before to him and he is not bothered by it.
By the time I prepare to leave, it's early afternoon now. Quite a party. I decide to ride back through the city, and along the way I bring K, and A too, my older fellow from Cape Cod. He seems to harbor no unhappy feelings about the night before.
The three of us encounter a thick drizzle on the drive back thru Marin into San Francisco. We have to pull over to figure out how the windshield wipers work in my rental car. A jokes that the collective IQs must be pretty high in the car, but you'd never know it. It takes us about ten minutes of messing around with the knobs before we can turn the damn wipers on. Some situations a college education just does not prepare you for in real life.
We drop A off first, I get out to share a quiet moment and hug with him. He hugs me in such a loving, affectionate way that the longing seems to flow out of every pore in his body. Suddenly it hits me: he's 62 and Jewish, he probably wishes he were my partner D, who is 46 and also Jewish, I have described him already to A. There is so much feeling in this hug, and for a moment I start feeling sad for A.
Later, once home, A writes me an email in which he apologizes for not having the equipment to satisfy someone like me, and that he is more affectionate than sexual. The latter I had already realized the night before, the former was not true. But I did not correct him on that. Why do guys assume it comes down to the "equipment?" His equipment looked fine from where I was, it was his hesitation that made it difficult.
Later, when I tell my partner D all this over the phone, his reaction is, "Oh, sounds like he was scared of you." I suddenly realize then he's probably right.
It also reinforces for me why I am with a younger man. I am one of those women who just never saw the appeal in having a guy who's a lot older than me. D is someone who harbors more interest in sex than anyone, male or female, I have ever met in my life. He says I have absolutely spoiled him now for younger women. Good.
Maybe I can still count on him for a few more good pokes when I'm 90.
- - - - - - - -
The living room has cleaned out pretty much, so I throw my bag down there on the thick white carpet. Several other people join me.
Sounds of combat can be heard still emanating from one of the upstairs rooms. I can almost bet it's the hot little asian girl and her white boyfriend. He is covering her like glue.
Sleeping time is only a couple of hours, then people start stirring. The hostess traditionally puts on a fine brunch for the partygoers the next morning, and even those players who stayed locally in motels drive back for the brunch. This party is all about connections, it seems, and the brunch is a great way to close the festivities out.
Our deejay L and his wife R play head chefs here, as they fry up some spicy sausage and eggs for the group. I am of the opinion that they are making a TON of food, but they don't seem concerned. The food vanishes in short order, just like it did the night before.
What's going on here? These people eat like cyclists who've just done a century ride. Suddenly, the food disappears as quickly as it was prepared.
It's over brunch where people trade emails, stories, whatnot. You really get to know them here. One guy in a gray wool dress helps me with the dishes. Yes, you heard correctly. A perfectly handsome, normal guy who happens to be wearing a dress. His girlfriend comes up behind to buss him.
"That's how you should grab a man," I encourage her. "When he's soapy and defenseless."
The pair laugh at this. She spins him around, grabs the hem of his dress, and lifts it up for me to see his finely shaped naked ass. I guess he doesn't believe in Victoria's Secret underwear.
"Look at this butt," she exclaims. "Can you believe this butt is 53 years old?"
I whistle my appreciation. This guy looks as in great a shape at his age as I do at 60. I tell them that. They freak out. She comes over and hugs me. She and I concur that yes, men absolutely should wear dresses, especially when they have beautiful legs and bodies to show us.
The ease with which we converse about such things should clue you in to what type of party this was. And what type of partygoers we had here. I love this crowd. They are pretty much hetero, but they have such a good, healthy attitude.
And they wear dresses! What more could you ask for in the way of family values?
The deejay's assistant is named K, a lean asian person who at first I assume is a girl. Guess again. He is so fetchingly androgynous that I spend much of the morning going back and forth on him. Is he or isn't she? I have rarely seen such a person who puts out fem vibes and masculine vibes in such equal doses. I am very intrigued, but I have to go up and apologize to K when he gets a free moment.
"I thought you were a woman," I say to him somewhat sheepishly. He laughs, obviously this has happened before to him and he is not bothered by it.
By the time I prepare to leave, it's early afternoon now. Quite a party. I decide to ride back through the city, and along the way I bring K, and A too, my older fellow from Cape Cod. He seems to harbor no unhappy feelings about the night before.
The three of us encounter a thick drizzle on the drive back thru Marin into San Francisco. We have to pull over to figure out how the windshield wipers work in my rental car. A jokes that the collective IQs must be pretty high in the car, but you'd never know it. It takes us about ten minutes of messing around with the knobs before we can turn the damn wipers on. Some situations a college education just does not prepare you for in real life.
We drop A off first, I get out to share a quiet moment and hug with him. He hugs me in such a loving, affectionate way that the longing seems to flow out of every pore in his body. Suddenly it hits me: he's 62 and Jewish, he probably wishes he were my partner D, who is 46 and also Jewish, I have described him already to A. There is so much feeling in this hug, and for a moment I start feeling sad for A.
Later, once home, A writes me an email in which he apologizes for not having the equipment to satisfy someone like me, and that he is more affectionate than sexual. The latter I had already realized the night before, the former was not true. But I did not correct him on that. Why do guys assume it comes down to the "equipment?" His equipment looked fine from where I was, it was his hesitation that made it difficult.
Later, when I tell my partner D all this over the phone, his reaction is, "Oh, sounds like he was scared of you." I suddenly realize then he's probably right.
It also reinforces for me why I am with a younger man. I am one of those women who just never saw the appeal in having a guy who's a lot older than me. D is someone who harbors more interest in sex than anyone, male or female, I have ever met in my life. He says I have absolutely spoiled him now for younger women. Good.
Maybe I can still count on him for a few more good pokes when I'm 90.
- - - - - - - -
