California Reaming - A Woman's Adventures In Polyamory

Our boy George is back in the news again, and no, I don't mean THAT George in the White House, but George Michael. Flamer,gay boy adventurer, trouble-maker. Last time we caught up with George he was getting arrested (again) for soliciting sex from a man up on Hampstead Heath. This time George gave another interview in which he extolled the virtues of pot smoking.

See what I mean? He's trouble, and nothing but. My kind of trouble. I am something of a rather steady smoker myself at this point. It helped my appetite immensely after I went through my ruptured aneurysm period and all the follow-up surgeries that pretty much gutted my appetite for food.

So I can relate to George's plaintive wail, which he gave in an interview this past week. As George puffed away in the presence of his interviewer, he pronounced himself wonderfully pleased that he had discovered pot.

It keeps me "sane and happy," says George.

What's not to love about this guy? He loves the scrambled brain effect too that comes with pot smoking. Personally it also ushers in for me probably the most creative moments of my day. George is out there in every sense of the word, and the world's cutting censorship does not phase him one iota.

My only regret, again, is that he is sexual nearly exclusively with males, it sounds like. Boo hoo. How many times in my life have I been disappointed, not to say annoyed mightily, that an attractive male is off-limits to me because he is totally gay?

Do you suppose there may be females out there like him? Who defend their private life vigorously and don't care if it spills over a bit into the public arena? I like to think so.

It gives me hope. Go George!

- - - - -

Dave left last Saturday for work on the road in Dallas. Just for the week. So here I am, three days along and I'm feeling horny and ornery and I've decided to act on it. But when I look around for my toy bag, I remember Dave saying something about needing to take my bag because something was wrong with his.

But did he take my toys too? Surely not. He has his toys, I have mine. Except he neglected to tell me where he stashed my toys. I started looking in various likely places, but could not find them.

So, now I'm really getting horny and even more ornery. Nothing like having your plans go awry to make a girl really really determined to have fun. Even if she doesn't see yet any visible means of penetration, as it were. And penetration was what this woman wanted, and nearly immediately, yes thank you very much.

Then I recalled the large zucchini I had bought for use on the following day. In a meal, that is. I let myself wander mentally back to my feral pre-pubescent years, when I had discovered my mom's vegetable drawer in the fridge. I had written about this experience earlier in this column.

I practically flew to the fridge and pulled out the cold but gleaming veggie that would soon be my means of impalement. Maybe not so cold though. I washed the item carefully and did a little trimming of one end to smooth it out, then I deposited it in a tall glass of hot water to take the chill off it.

Then away I went, amused and happy that I was indulging once again in a fine bit of self abuse. Dave has been with me at home since last Christmas, so my inclinations are really to take advantage of his presence while he is there. Playing with myself happens only rarely at such times.

Only I had to make my way carefully now, as the zucchini was a bit larger than I had thought it was. Large sizes are pretty good in my book, but maybe there comes a time when enough is enough already. This may have been one of those nights.

But I persisted, and finally inserted it. I wanted to do it without lube, and I did. After all this preparation, it did not take long before I got myself off. What an orgasm, I thought. It was really intense, mindblowing almost. One of those things where you feel free of time and space and you're just roaming around the universe.

Later I told Dave about it, and he is amused and pleased. He's always trying to fit large dildoes up his bum in his spare time, so he can relate to this. Playing with partners is nice, we decided, but diddling yourself can be a tremendously rewarding experience too.

It feels personally very centering, and we like that.

The Altamont free concert that the Rolling Stones threw that winter was probably the event of the year. It came together slowly over the preceding ten days or so, aided along by hoi poloi lawyer, Melvin Belli, and various other persons in the rock and roll field.

On that day in early winter you certainly needed a motorcycle to get to this event. The traffic was a monumental jam from about the outskirts of Oakland all the way up towards the Altamont Pass, which is about an hour drive east of Oakland. Stop and go, bumper to bumper. I flew past cars and in between cars. I smiled a lot at the people stuck in traffic. The world was headed out on that day to see the Stones.

Back then I wore paisley bellbottoms, a yellow button-down shirt and a yellow sheepskin vest, and short black boots. I had purplish-tinted aviator glasses and longish flowing blonde hair. I thought I was the shit. A woman in my dance class thought I looked like Mick Jagger.

Now here I was on my way to seeing the REAL Mick Jagger. You could probably not get away with tossing an event like that today. It was just too free-flowing a thing. Parking was basically anywhere you could, by the side of the road. I got in pretty close, parked my cycle, and staked out a decent spot for myself halfway up the hill.

It was still pretty early in the morning, like around eight o'clock or so. I think the concert was supposed to start around noon. I was a bit tuckered out after my previous night's dalliance, so I stretched out on the grass on my blanket and in a few minutes I was gone. Asleep, or passed out, if you prefer that. Either way will do.

I woke up to the sounds of the Jefferson Airplane, as they were known back then. I could have sworn Grace Slick was rasping directly into my ear, it sounded so close. Did she do threesomes? I wondered. Grace sounded like a ballsy kind of girl. No way I could sleep anymore. I looked around and nearly passed out again. The hillside was now packed with a billion people, it seemed. Where did they all come from?

And more to the point, where the hell did they all PARK?

My paranoia about crowds started to get the better of me. I didn't think I could survive this event. Hell, it had barely started, it was a little past noon, and the Stones weren't scheduled to come on until after dark. Already I was feeling whipped. Something said to me that I should go. Go I did.

It was probably good I left. We all know the bad stuff that happened later that night. The rockumentary film "Gimme Shelter" brought it all home to us about a year later. The Stones got the Hells' Angels to serve as bodyguards, and being the bad boys we all knew them to be, they got carried away with their new job title and stabbed some poor slob to death. He had a knife too, I recall, but it was an unfortunate ending. Glad I missed all of that.

Somehow I managed to find my motorcycle in among all the cars parked haphazardly by the side of the I-80. I went home and practically fell into bed, thinking I could sleep for a week, at least.

As far as my couple D and J went, we never did get around to another threesome. It just did not seem to work out time-wise. I developed a school-girl crush on J, but I knew she was not all that inclined to women so I did not push the issue. She was a very sweet, but rather conservative woman. Once I went up to the house and she and I just hung out; I remember she baked some blueberry muffins for me. That was nice.

But I did continue to play with D. He had decided he would rather fuck me that J, who had introduced us.

There was fallout, of course, and not just the concert. My ex lover J was rather pissed when I told her about the threesome. She wanted it to be her, and I had beaten her to it. But it was her suggestion, and she regretted that, no doubt. Since I had met the wife and D, I could have told her the chemistry was not quite there with her.

She and I were pretty much done with each other by now. Looking back on my time with her, I could see that I was vulnerable to being taken for a ride. J seemed to be an early sample of a polyamorous woman, she went out with men and women, and she went out with women even when she was seeing a "regular" woman. When the tables got turned on her though, she didn't like it.

But then, who would?

That first night with D and J was our only night together as a threesome. But it was a lovely experience.

D came onto me, and we started to have intercourse while J watched. J was really into watching. I discovered I was really into performing, and so was D for that matter. My lover G was correct about him, he was the best lover I had run across too. He was not all that big, but he certainly had been married for a while, and that showed in his expertise.

He fucked me for a while in the usual missionary position, which happens to be my favorite position of all when I am with a man. Why am I such a fuddyduddy about the missionary? Well, pardon me, it works for me. Very well, thanks.

D knew instinctively what some guys know, also instinctively, but what many guys never get to: that women like grinding movements, men like in-out. His ex-wife had trained him well.

He must have realized though that I didn't quite get off on the first fuck, so after he came he pressed his pubic bone directly on top of mine. After a minute or two of this, I came alright, and boy did I.

J was very impressed. For some reason she did not allow her ex to fuck her that night. But she was certainly all eyes.

I would have loved to have spent the full night there, but the Stones were giving their free concert at Altamont Pass the next morning. I did not plan on missing that, so after our little romp I rode home and caught a few hours of sleep.

When I woke up and went into the living room, one of my two roommates, L, with whom I had been intimate for one night some months earlier, was sitting on the sofa weeping copious tears. Her lover and our third roommate, K, was giving L grief. K was going out with one of my friends, S, with whom I had also been intimate on one occasion. Basically these women and I were friends, and we crossed the line once together. That was cool with everyone.

For some reason that morning the sight of L boo-hooing over her lover stepping out on her just pressed all my buttons. I gave her hell. "Don't just sit there and cry about life, get out there and do something to get yourself out of this funk," I think I said, or words to that effect. She yelled back with just as much vigor. "Listen, asshole, this is my life and I'll bawl if I want to," said she, or words to that effect. It never occurred to me to ask her if she wanted to see the Stones. Why bother? She was in such a funk it would have been a downer for all concerned.

The Stones deserved better. They deserved me. So I got out of that place and left L to stew in her tears and headed off to Altamont.

TO BE CONTINUED

My first sexual experience with a couple occurred in the winter of 1969. I had just graduated from Berkeley, and being uncertain about grad school yet, I decided to go to work for a while full-time. Until I could really make up my mind and decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. I landed a job in a local hospital. Before I had worked part-time during college as a ward secretary at Alta Bates Hospital. That got my foot in the door. Being a good speller, my second hospital job took me into radiology transcribing.

The hospital was quite a place. My immediate boss was a gay woman, and our boss in the department was a woman I ended up having an affair with.

In between all these comings and goings, I had also put an ad in the local paper, The Berkeley Barb it was called. That's how I met one of my longer relationships of the time, G was her name.

G and I developed our own little quirks in our relationship, which did not turn out all that well. But along the way she did me some good by turning me onto her current male sex partner. G, I should mention, was also bisexual. Even though the word was never part of our currency back then. Most of the people I knew had relationships with men and women.

Isn't that nice to hear? And they never felt a need to have to identify themselves. We just did it, baby.

G's male friend was named D, who was an insurance adjustor who was going to law school at night and studying for the bar. G remarked to me of him, "He is the best male lover I think I have ever had."

Hhmmm, said I, expressing probably way too much curiosity for my own good. D and G had started sleeping together, and it was their intention to bring along D's ex-wife, J, with whom he was still on good terms. Good enough to still have sex with her on occasion.

But before they could develop their little threesome plans, G suggested I call D and try him on for size, so to speak.

I did. In fact, D and his ex and I all made a date together. I rode up on my motorcycle to J's house in the Oakland Hills. We all liked each other. We liked each other so much we ended up in bed together.

It was fun. But when I told my lover G about it the next day, she got really pissed. I had beaten her to it and she realized she had jealous feelings after all.

TO BE CONTINUED