Sex Parties.

Warning: long & rambling one.

I still feel like I'm on background-posts. The events described in this article happened several months ago. But I promised sex in this post, and I am a woman of my word.

This summer, I attended my first-ever sex party. (Also, later, my second, and this fall brings another...) Now lest you imagine a scene of careless, drunken, disrespectful debauchery, note that at this party nobody was inebriated and drugs harder than tobacco were banned. The event began with a short seminar on how to say no, how to say yes, how to ask before touching, STD safety and etiquette, and advice on icebreakers. Condoms, sanitary wipes, lube, and proactive communication were sprinkled throughout the mattress-adorned rooms. Mom & Dad, it ain't quite as bad as you might fear!

Prince B and I were awfully pleased to be attending our first such event together, popping each others' cherry, as it were. I was nervous as we mounted the steps. I hadn't worn anything crazy, not wanting to overdo it; I figured at this party I'd find out what the etiquette was, what everyone else was wearing, and be better prepared for the next one. I was imbued with enough self-consciousness already to worry that I just wouldn't be in the mood all night. But I was wearing a stretchy pink cotton dress, casual, cute, slight cleavage, at least with what modest lumps I'm capable of mustering. Skip the bra, wear cute panties, that should do it. I had the wrong shoes on, but fortunately it was a shoes-off kinda house, so I didn't need to go around committing fashion felonies all night.

Until 10pm, it was just a party. People drank some wine in the kitchen, lounged on the pillows in front of the fireplace, chatted amiably. A few, like me, drifted awkwardly from room to room, not quite settling down. I knew a few people there, not a ton. Everybody seemed very nice and ridiculously attractive. I had a lovely conversation about artistic doubt with a woman I found myself immediately somewhat smitten with, who will be important enough later that she gets the moniker of Duchess J. I found myself impatient for the event to get underway, unable to focus on any length of interaction, wondering what time it was and trying to relax.

At ten o'clock, the doors were closed to newcomers. The excellent hosts conducted the aforementioned communication seminar. The doors to the downstairs room were opened with some fanfare, and the event was announced officially begun.

Nothing changed for a little while. Prince B and I ventured downstairs only to find the well-appointed, candled and flowered and cushioned downstairs play area empty. We made out a little bit to get ourselves into the swing of things, but I felt acutely aware of not really knowing what to do with myself. We drifted back upstairs. People were dancing, some wearing fewer layers, but nothing scandalous seemed to be going on. I decided to stop pacing and settled down on the couch, talked to someone else about birthday parties, watched as the crowd in the upstairs room started to thin a bit. Someone started a game of spin the bottle, which I joined in relief--a structured way of touching people, hurrah!

So I got to smooch some cute strangers and watch Prince B smooch some cute strangers, and that was nice and sexy and non-threatening. Before the party, we had agreed--any sort of protected physical interaction with others was okay, and the biggest ground rule was to monitor our own potential feelings of jealousy and hurt, and if we started feeling any sort of left-out-edness or jealousy or pain then we were to bring it to the other, and ask for a bit of attention.

In fact, I'm going to leave the party for a moment to talk about that. I think the only honest way to conduct an open relationship is to acknowledge that it leaves the participants more open to feelings of jealousy & insecurity, and I think it is wrong wrong wrong to pretend not to have those feelings, or to fail to respond to them, or even to feel badly about having them. They are GOING TO HAPPEN. It is not an indication of the failure of the feeling-bearer to be "cool" with things, and it is not an indication that the relationship isn't working. It has been an awfully powerful experience to dive headfirst into a situation in which I know jealousy is a possibility, feel it, say out loud that I'm feeling it, and watch the rush of love and reassurance that comes back from my partner, heads straight to the source of my insecurity, and dissolves it. I think most jealousy does stem from insecurity, and invoking that emotion leads me to the source, allows me to shine the light of day on the dark unadmitted fears, and mostly disperse them. It's a frightening process and a potent one, like diving into a lake of snowmelt. Why the f&^% do people do that? Maybe the same reason I do this.

So watching Prince B kiss a boy for the first time: hot, and I had to crane my neck to get a better view. Watching him kiss other girls: also oddly arousing. For the first time, recognizing in myself that I get off on seeing my partner with other people.

But spin the bottle's charms wear thin as the game grows, and the bottle hadn't pointed to me for a while, and I became curious about downstairs again. I rose from the game, leaving Prince B behind, and ventured down.

And oh my! Three people fucking on my right! People tied up in the middle of the floor, giggling and being ordered around by other people with whips! A heap of people to my left, all naked, making rather exciting moaning noises as they ate each other out! I tried to be all nonchalant, hang out, but oh my god it turns out that EVEN AT SEX PARTIES, I AM A BIG DORK. It figures. I felt as awkward as I ever feel at parties where I don't know many people; which is to say, pretty awkward. No WAY did I have the balls to saunter up to a puddle of naked asses waving in the air, clear my throat, and ask to join. Instead I sat down on a chair at the side of the room, sipped my water, and tried to pretend I was totally chill, just havin' a sitdown by myself, checkin' out the action, no self-consciousness here. I pulled it off for about one minute and then I went back upstairs, failing at not blushing.

Now, lest there be confusion, let it be known that all my life I've been a sweetly kinky girl; I've done the bondage, I've had the group sex, I've done the role plays and the spankings and the catalogue of positions. I can talk dirty and scream with the best of 'em. I can be nasty, whorish, commanding, slavish. No one in the room was doing anything I hadn't. But this was a WHOLE NEW SOCIAL CONTEXT. And all the time, preparing to go to this party, I was remembering that I am good at sex, but it wasn't until arriving that I remembered that I am bad at parties. So that was sort of an embarrassing moment to re-realize it.

Back upstairs, the kissing circle was disintegrating, and Prince B was just getting up to go downstairs. I was happy to see again someone I was comfortable with, and I diverted him long enough for him to sit on the piano bench with me. We kissed, which felt good and made me notice that I hadn't been completely oblivious to the sexiness that was happening downstairs; I was already wet, and dying to take advantage of it, and then Prince B's hands were on my thighs, under my dress, over my breasts. I sat in front of him on the piano bench, between his legs, and closed my eyes and let his hands roam over my body, getting a little bit high on the notion that everyone in the room could see him play with me. I imagined them enjoying watching us; when he pulled my dress higher on my thighs, so the room had a view of my soaked panties, I nearly came. Finally! And hotter and hornier than a widow on hormones, I persuaded Prince B or consented--I don't remember which--to go downstairs together.

Still hot action going on downstairs, still self-consciousness in myself, which was now shared with my equally conscious partner. We found a vacant mattress and made out for a bit, but I was too aware of the people around, too aware of myself trying too hard, to really have fun. Eventually we stopped and just cuddled, watching the people around us. Kissing, stroking, trying not to obey my performer instincts to try to provide a show--that room had little need of one. At some point, we relaxed enough to start a real makeout session up again, and at that point our host (who I'll call Pinto) passed by, asked if we were having a good time. I invited him to join us, with a glance at Prince B, who nodded. And he did. My memory of this moment at the party is a bit hazy (four months have gone by! Gimme a break!) but there I certainly had a blissful moment lying on the floor with Pinto and Prince B kissing each other over me, hands on each other's hips, hands caressing the tops of each other's sexy tight boxers, twin bulges facing each other, happy happy princess on the floor. Yes. Our host circulated on, but the seal had been broken, and I finally felt like a part of the party.

Prince B swept me up into one of the comfy chairs, where we had noisy and satisfying sex in a room full of other people having noisy and satisfying sex. Spreading my legs for my disheveled, hard Prince, glancing around at the people glancing around at us, feeling sexy and witnessed and slutty and free. Orgasms. It only ratcheted up the sexual energy in the room, though, and I didn't feel at all spent afterward.

Oh, what else? Let's see...an old lover (old as in former, not aged) of mine was there, and I made out with him in a chair, straddling his thigh, rubbing my mostly-naked body over his half-naked one, and felt comfortable and happy. And then, looking up to see Prince B, sitting in the corner chatting up none other than Duchess J from early in the party! She was naked, had another naked girl wrapped around her, and they had the sleepy glowy look of having concluded their business. I joined them for a bit, feeling quiet, listened to their conversation, saw them start to touch each other's arms and, not wanting to cramp my prince's style, removed myself to the other side of the room where some dear friends were starting up a circle-jerk, which I joined. Oh lordy, lying on the floor touching myself, surrounded by other people lying on the floor, pleasuring themselves with vibrators and moaning together, coming together, hot. And Pinto asked if he could masturbate watching me, and I invited him to come on me and whipped off my clothes. A handful of people gathered around (he, like me, likes to be observed) and watched as he stroked himself over me as I rubbed my own pussy, moaned, fingered my nipples, waited. We came together, his cum all over my breasts, my pussy squeezing my fingers in plain view of a dozen people, and I thought, as he cleaned me off, is it possible that I am truly this lucky, that this is not some extended fantasy? I was buzzing, aroused, multiple-orgasmed, ready for more; the sexiness had extended for hours at this point, and I was floating.

I kept checking in with my prince, across the room. He had slowly become entwined with Duchess J and the other woman (whom I'll call Birdie) and they were deeply involved with each other. I felt something--some kind of pang--and my aforementioned dear old lover (henceforth DOL) asked me: is Prince B having a good night? And I chuckled and said, look for yourself! And smiled fondly on my man across the room, in a pile with two women, but was less steady inside than I behaved. And I thought of going over to him, but Pinto offered to go down on me and really, that was an awfully appealing alternative, so I relaxed and allowed myself to be pleasured. Again. In plain view of a dozen humping or merely lazily and lustily observing. Oh god. But somehow, something made me keep looking over at Prince B, Duchess J, and Birdie--he was awfully into Duchess J! And I had met her first! But the excellent cunnilingus kept coming, and I kept being happily pulled away. I was nearly ready to come again when I saw him reach for the bowl with the condoms, and that was suddenly more than I could bear. I extricated myself quickly and apologetically from the heroically tongue-laboring Pinto, and rushed naked to my naked love in the act of applying a condom, and murmured "hey, hey--I don't mean to interrupt, but before you do that...could I have some attention?"

Oh happiness. Both Prince and Duchess were on me before I needed to say anything else, and I was swept away into a welcoming, loving, sexual maelstrom. She is beautiful, not tall, dyke-y haircut, perfect breasts, soft soft skin and eager lips, a honey-coated moan--I was entranced. Pinto joined the three of us and the subsequent foursome is as intense in my memory as the details are hazy; it was limbs and lips and wetness and hardness and sucking and moving and moaning and happy. It was four in the morning, the guests were departing, but we finished out the night like that, warm, me happy in the relief of my thwarted jealousy, feeling part of things and full of love and gratitude for my prince. We slowed, relaxed into cuddles, stroking, kissing. I became aware of the fact that I needed to wake up at 9am and go clean my apartment; I was officially moving out the next day and doing a walkthrough with my landlady, so much work, suddenly so little sleep. Pinto offered to let the three of us stay the night, set up a bed in the other room for the prince & I. I needed to sleep, and the other two showed no signs of wanting to end the night, so I decided to extricate myself. I stood up, and my prince followed suit. "Time to go to bed?" he asked.

I was stupid here. I wanted him to come to bed with me, but I was happy for him to have met someone and play, someone he definitely seemed somewhat excited about (up until this point in our polyamorous relationship, the outside dating had been largely mine; he'd had a girl that had faded away) and I had this weird idea that I needed to support that, and I didn't want to feel guilty for pulling him away. So instead of asking for what I wanted, I said "no, you guys stay up until you're ready to sleep. I just really need to sleep." And he said, looking at me closely, "are you sure?" and I, with my best actor-chops and a little self-delusion, said "of course! Have fun!" and winked at him or something inane like that, and then kissed them both goodnight, and said "Duchess, if you want to join us in bed when you guys are ready to sleep, you should!" and then I left the two of them alone and walked into the bedroom and immediately started BURNING with jealousy.

Oh, jeez. And I had just totally done it to myself. There was no way I was going to sleep; I was suddenly insecure and afraid and hurting and nearly crying, and totally unable to go back out into the other room and take back what I had said. So I lay there awake, kicking myself and worrying that my Prince would fall in love with this woman and like her better than me, maybe leave me, maybe realize I wasn't all that great, oh god he wanted to spend these last moments of the night with her and not me, oh oh oh why did I leave them alone why did I not ask for what I wanted I am a stupid idiot etc.

I don't know how much time passed. Ten minutes? Twenty? And I was struggling with myself to let go, let the emotions come and pass, having decided it was impossible to go and confront those two again, just trying to get the sleep that I actually needed so badly. And then I heard them stirring in the other room, and she went into the bathroom, and he came into the room and asked me again, softly, if it was really ok if she join us. And I said, "...well..." and he was immediately like "Oh! It's not. I'll tell her." And I was like "but I invited her, I feel stupid taking it back." and he was like "no, no, don't be silly. This is more important. I'm sure it will be fine." And without allowing me to protest again, he left the room and spoke to the Duchess for a moment, and then came back in alone and got into bed with me.

I had said "I love you" to him many times before. This was a scant five months into our relationship, but I was crazy about him already. But looking back, I date my real love, my trust, my overwhelming gratitude at having this amazing person for a partner, to that moment. I usually pride myself on being honest with myself and others about what I need; in this case, I failed myself. The consequences could have been emotional devastation and the ruin of the relationship, and it would have been my own damn fault. But he saw what I needed, and picked up the slack with total generosity and not a bit of hesitation, and I love him love him love him for that.

Too early in the morning, we stopped in Pinto's room, where the Duchess had ended up passing the sleepy morning hours. We hugged and kissed them goodbye, and I got to apologize to the Duchess in person for my confusing change of heart, and she was not at all offended and grateful to me for being honest about everything and happy that she had caused no inadvertent harm, expressed great affection toward both of us. And snuggling on the bed, the four of us, I felt ecstatic. Cuddling Pinto, watching Prince B wrap about the Duchess, I felt nothing but the bliss of generosity and pride in what we'd built, in how vulnerable I could be and get away with it.

Duchess B doesn't live in the same city we do, but a few days later we started up a pretty incredible three-way email correspondence, and we saw her again at Burning Man, and will be visiting her again in a few weeks. And that's a big long story in itself, but this post is already novella-length, so I will sign off with just one more thing about sex parties:

You know when you've had a night of really great sex, you wake up the next morning with an image or a sensory memory that hits you again, over and over, and gives you that pleasant little buzz, a tingle, a lick of warmth in those sensitive erogenous zones? Waking up the day after a sex party was like paging through a whole photo album of such moments. I was turned on for days afterward, and suffused with the glow of happiness that I get after a really satisfying orgasm, but for a much longer time. I was hooked. I went to another this summer, and I really don't think I'll miss any opportunity to attend similar events for a good while. I'm sure the novelty will wear off at some point. But it really is a chemical high, a brain lovefest, and it lacks all the nasty brainkilling side effects of controlled substances. Sex: the only drug I'll swear by. Oh my.

Polywhat?

My mom thinks I'm never gonna get married if I keep this up. I think it might be the only way I ever get married.

It's not a super new idea. It's not particularly popular right now, but there're people who dig it. I found some. Some people talk about it to an annoying extent, like me. An ex-boyfriend of mine, who is NOT interested, claims it is "a religion. A false one." He rolls his eyes sometimes. Some people practice it more quietly, and only their loves know what's up.

Wikipedia sez: "Polyamory (from Greek πολυ [poly, meaning many or several] and Latin amor [literally “love”]) is the desire, practice, or acceptance of having more than one loving, intimate relationship at a time with the full knowledge and consent of everyone involved."

There're some mythbusting sites about it and some long descriptions of it, and, not being interested in rewriting the wheel, I'm'a gonna give you some links if you care:

Polyamory? What, like, Two Girlfriends?

alt.polyamory Frequently Asked Questions

There's more. You can google it.

Mostly what I'm interested in doing is having my own selfish forum for my own private experiences with the thing.

So this is something that I've been thinking and talking about since high school. I had a boyfriend then who was wonderful enough to agree with me that if we found the right person, we could add them somehow to our relationship and we could have a beautiful sustainable love triangle. I have no idea how this notion popped into our heads. I know we were all about it even before we read Stranger In a Strange Land. But our interest was irrelevant, because that fabled right person never really came along, and we were pretty happy with just each other anyway, at least for the three years of high school/college that our relationship lasted. We broke up, I was sad, life went on. I had a wild year o' love in which I got to satisfy my desire to sleep with lots of people (always safely, sanely, and with great respect. Thanks for teaching me how to politely say no, and how to communicate openly about sex, Mom!)

And then I fell in love again! With somebody seriously awesome. Who thought the notion of polyamory was the stupidest, most ridiculous, inane and blatantly wrong idea he'd ever heard of. But that was fine--I was in love, polyamory was just an idea, not anything I'd ever really done, I didn't have any good arguments for it, and I was in love. So that happened for five years, and was mostly wonderful. I *did* notice that my inability to commit seemed related to the notion that not sleeping with anyone ever again sounded like a vaguely oppressive idea. But also, there were other things; it's a story for another long, self-indulgent post, but we broke up too.

And I was like "Dude! First of all, I've been in a relationship for five years; I'm gonna have some fun. And then maybe I'll finally get a chance to try this weirdo relationship style I've been wondering about for so long." So I started acquiring lovers, but pretty quickly noticed: casual sex wasn't quite so much fun anymore. It was kind of...boring, and not very good. I think this is called Growing Up. And instead of the Year of Love I had envisioned repeating, I *did* collect lovers...but I kept them. And I didn't consider myself With any of them, not With with a capital W, but some time passed and I realized that I was literally dating four people who I had been dating consistently for 8-15 months. I was carrying on these four light, long-term relationships (one of them was long-distance, two more had other significant partners, one was single like me) in parallel, and it was kind of great. They all knew about each other, and the whole thing was remarkably drama-free.

But there was a problem: I wasn't in love with any of them, and I didn't appear to be heading in that direction. And ultimately, that's what I wanted, like everyone, right? I wanted love, I wanted a partner (at LEAST one!); someone I might someday put down in the "emergency contact" field when I'm filling out paperwork for new jobs, someone who knows everything about me, whose toothbrush lives in my bathroom, who would look after my dog if I left town for a week. If I had a dog. Someone that I would skip the party for in order to bring soup to when they're sick. You know. I wanted that.

And the only person in my life I was falling for was a good friend who, once again, was TOTALLY not down with the whole poly thing. But love won out, I broke up with four people and asked him to be my boyfriend and he said yes, and I was happy until he dumped me two months later and then I was heartbroken for a little while. I picked up some of the old lovers again but it wasn't the same; dumping people and then taking them back is a little bit of a trust-killer, and I was sad about that too.

And then a fellow came along who we'll call Prince B. And he was cute and smart and funny and dorky like me, and when I told him I was seeing other people, and was he okay with that, on like our second date, he paused and thought and said that he wasn't sure yet but that he'd give it a try. And at first I thought he was too young and maybe not quite right but then I started missing him on days I wasn't seeing him and then one day he didn't want to hang out when I did and I almost cried, and then one day we said okay, we're With each other! And that was a good day. And then, you know, love. And magically! Still seeing other people! Still talking about poly like it could go away any day, and it still could, because as fascinating as all this is, love still wins out over freaky relationship-style. But so far?

It's kinda working out great.

It's been just 8 months and some change, so I'm not leaping to any conclusions. But already, in 8 months, I've learned some fascinating crazy shit about myself because of what turns up when you try and love lots of people. And I sorta want to write about it. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the long, boring story of why this blog exists. I promise, later on, there will be some sex in it. If you're good.

Thanks for reading!

Like I'm even edgy enough to pretend I need to hide

Hello!

So I have another blog that has my real name attached to it, but I am also a teacher and a tutor for middle-school and high-school kids, and some of the things I wanted to write about would be sorta inappropriate for some kid randomly googling their teacher to find out about. Not because I think they couldn't handle it, but because I think their parents couldn't handle it, and I really don't relish the thought of a lawsuit regarding sexually inappropriate behavior around a 10-year-old. Which I would never engage in! But I do wanna talk about sex on my blog. So. There. Now I am anonymous. I hope that people googling for "sexually inappropriate behavior around a 10-year-old" aren't disappointed by ending up here. Actually, I'm kinda disappointed if they end up here. Actually, maybe I'll stop being such a recursive dork and end this introductory post.