|The Sex Party| In this summer of sexlessness that really became a summer of mostlybadorpatheticsporadicsexwheniwastooweaktowithstandmyurges, i came up with the brilliant idea to join an organized sex party. My reasons were polyfold: a. Sex. b. Lots of it. c. Not having to go out and find it. d. Not looking for it in the meantime because I knew it was coming. e. Snacks. And, several weeks later, I am returning from my first members only sex party. Bear in mind, I arrived to the party at 8pm, 6.5hrs ago. But the last 2.5hrs was hanging out with the golden people of the party at a local tex-mex-every-burger-under-the-sun-and-some-from-a-few-other-galaxies joint. My lips feel raw, my ego feels stroked. With the exception of one hot guy who (and this is just heresay) was "not feeling the mix" who departed early, almost all of the guys there who I found to be hot were totally into me. In the cast of partiers, there was Pinchey McMuscle, the super muscular guy who was a big fan of grabbing my sidefat and, well, I can only assume he was trying to juice me; the Dynamic Duo (really, Tritastic Trio, but I can't include myself as having met myself), two great, very hot vers guys who were as mutually strangers to each other as I was to them who descended upon me like the alien ship of Princess Carolines for Jon Lovitz in "My Stepmother is an Alien"; Puppy, the loveable but overly interested and therefore highly unsexy guy who we all decided it was best to just ignore, who seemed to find being ignored very erotic and pleasuring; and a host of others who I'm too tired to name. The best part of the evening came mid-coiti, after I'd fucked both members of the Dynamic Duo and gotten them both to cum (on the coattails of a drawn out discussion about how neither of them can get there quickly or easily -- although I guess you might not call what we did quick or easy), when the conversation invariably turned to online sexhunting and Dynamic Duo Blond reveals his screenname on a particular site. Of course. He had looked familiar... so familiar... he's one of innumerable guys to have given me the blow off. I did my best to fight my natural instincts and say something about it -- I'd already made the mistake of letting it slip that I have a difficult time finding sex (which was met with typical incredulity), and I was not about to bring the party down with my depressing talk about gaies and hookups and shiz. And post-party gnoshing with the Dynamic Duo, the host and his boy did not make it any easier. Honetly, how do you work into the conversation, "You know we've spoken before? Yeah, years ago, before you came to NYC. You were on gay.com scouting the lay of the gaie cyberland and we talked because you were going to be moving to Harlem. But when you finally arrived here you kept ignoring me online and being mean/argumentative on the off-chance you didn't ignore me until I finally stopped trying to talk to you altogether." There really is no good place to work that into a conversation. But all-in-all, a truly marvey event. There were guys who I wasn't into, there were some guys who I was into who weren't into me, but there are few things I think brought the night down ::coughs::Puppy::. And what have I learned (here comes a second list, this must be a really amazing post, right?): i. Perhaps I'm just better (looking, seeming, sounding, etc.) in person. ii. I haven't read enough books about or seen enough movies from the Golden Age of Hollywood to be the kind of gaie I would be if I were trying to be any kind of gaie at all. iii. There are sex parties happening everywhere all of the time. Boy parties, straight parties, bi parties, parties of a different color -- all the time, and all in the same apartment. iv. There may be a NYC teacher strike in the fall. v. Carbonated beverages (soda, water, and even juice) may be used as a further tool in the fight for safer sex. vi. Nothing should be taken too personally at a sex party. vii. Hitler did meth. viii. And, finally, someone somewhere needs to write a musical about a 13yo boy who works a horrible job in Hell's Kitchen in the 1940s to save up the money each week to buy a standing room ticket for the Metropolitan Opera and proceeds to give the old(er) men there head. Now, for the big question: will I masturbate before going to bed?
I went to an Ivy League undergrad.
I go to a top NYC law school.
I date men (well...).
I live in Bed-Stuy.
I don't need more to say,
just more room to say it.
Etc.