Some years ago, before I had ever had sanctioned sex outside our marriage, I visited The F Club in London. We were, at the time, planning our first visit to a sex club or party (I don’t now remember if it was “the Trap” or another place), and I thought I’d just get a feel for what such a place was like on my own. I was in London for work, and so was stag.
It was a Thursday night. As I recall, the F Club had an event called “Office Party” or some such. In my mind, there would be dozens of hot London secretaries, all dressed like the chicks on one of my favorite porn sites. I guess I imagined their boyfriends or husbands might also be there, but honestly, they didn’t loom large in my vision of the evening. The club was in Southwark, in an industrial loft-type building, in an industrial park that was, at 10 pm, all but abandoned.
I walked in, somewhat abashed, after paying my fee, and sat at the bar. There were maybe four couples and a few single guys there. The place was big, with lots of rooms, and in one of them, there was some sex eventually, which several of us stood around, leering at. A woman at the bar spread her legs while a guy, on his knees, licked her pussy. A man sat in an armchair while two women sucked his cock.
I felt awkward – I didn’t know the rules, didn’t know what to expect.
I spilled a drink on myself. And no one noticed.
I left – went home to jerk off in my hotel room.
Nothing had turned me on there, except for the hopes and expectations I brought with me. All of which were dashed in the course of the evening.
SO… it was with some trepidation that I decided, on this recent night, to take myself to a regular sex party, one that I’ve been to many times. I knew that they typically allow one or two unescorted males to attend, if they’ve been previously, and are known good behavers. I asked the host if I could come, and was told, “Sure, we can squeeze you in.”
I’m in a very different place than I was all those years ago at the F Club. Not least, I’ve dispensed with a huge amount of shame. And 40 pounds. And in general, I just feel better, more confident, more desirable. Also? No secrets.
I arrived early, figuring I wanted to be comfortably ensconced in conversation with others when most people arrived. I talked with the hosts a bit, and as I fixed myself a drink, I was approached by Mary-Anne, a woman without a male companion. Her friend, Aisha, was joining in a bit, she said. Mary-Anne was cute/hot. About 5 feet tall, busty, with a tiny waist and a big ass, she looked like a cross between Betty Boop and a hayseed. She had an intense regional NYC accent (da Bronx), but was a gifted conversationalist, even if she wasn’t that interesting, or interested. She was good at small talk. I found myself wondering about just how it worked: I’d never noticed this before, but was she, perhaps, paid to be there? I couldn’t tell.
Anyway, she and I talked. Not sexual talk, really (though there was a bit of it); mostly just chitchat about our lives, relationships, etc. Aisha arrived – a shy, chunky, African American woman in her early 20s. This was her first such party, and she seemed anxious. The evening proceeded, other couples arrived.
Jeff and Donna: He is 50, good-looking, short, boisterous. I instantly loathed him. (I don’t loathe very many people. I loathed him.) Was I threatened by him? Envious of him? His confidence? His stunningly gorgeous date (Donna is in her 20s, Middle Eastern, elegant, glamorous, hot)? His goofy jokes and puns, at which he demanded we all laugh? I don’t think so. I think he’s just an asshole. We all heard the improbable (was it true?) story of how he “hooked” Donna. But Donna is hot. Long, black hair. Slender, curvy, a gorgeous smile. She could be a model. This was their first party.
Bill and Ginny: Bill is probably 40; Ginny probably 30. Were they married? Both white, professional looking. Bill wore khakis and a button-down shirt – he looked a Wall Street type. Ginny wore a tiny black dress well, over her curvy body. Her face was pretty, her body hot. She seemed a little… out of it. Like maybe she’d had a drink or four before they arrived? This was their first party, too, and they kept very much to themselves.
Pedro and Marisol: a Latin couple in their late 40s/early 50s. Both attractive, friendly, warm.
There were two other single women, both of whom seemed to be working the party in a non-sexual way. (Neither they nor Aisha ever disrobed.)
Ofri and Michelle: a bit older, regulars at the party. Attractive in their way, friendly.
And there was Ken, another single guy, burly, strong, heavy, maybe 45.
The host of the party dispensed with the ground rules, we all went around and introduced ourselves by name. And Ofri and Michelle were off to the bedroom, where they immediately began fucking loudly. Mary-Anne, Aisha and I wandered to the doorway and watched. I stroked Mary-Anne’s back, and pulled her gently but firmly toward me. She rested against me, my cock not yet hard, for a moment. She excused herself, and went to the bathroom. Moments later, she emerged, stripped to her bra and panties. “Step 1!” she announced, loudly.
I pulled her back against me, my cock growing harder, now. I reached up with my left hand and undid her bra. “Step 2!” I said, grabbing her breasts. She dashed to the far bed – there were two in the room – and sat on it. “Step 3!” she said.
I walked over, grabbed her head, and kissed her, hard. I pushed her back on the bed by her throat, and kissed her hard, again, pinching her pierced nipple hard. “This ok?” I asked. “Awesome,” she moaned.
We kissed for a few moments. I whispered in her ear, “I’m gonna tease you.”
I slid down her body, kissing her curves, and I licked and kissed her thighs, smelling her pussy through her panties, which were soaked. The truth is, I didn’t tease her much, and not for long. Very quickly, I pulled her panties down her legs and over her ankles. I grabbed those ankles and flung them back by her ears, and kissed her mouth again. She squealed. I kissed my way down her torso again, and as I pressed my face into her pussy, she squealed again. And again. I made myself comfortable – still fully dressed (black leather boots, worn jeans, green t-shirt) – as I set to devouring her pussy. She was tasty, clean, and I was happy.
I should say, while she squealed, was vocal, was responsive (the hostess, as she closed the door separating the bedroom from the front room, shushed her, “Mary-Anne! We want to be able to come back here!”), I quickly got the sense that this was not a woman who particularly liked receiving oral. The signals were all there: “FUCK ME, or at least, let me suck your cock!” She didn’t say it, but I knew she meant it.
But I wasn’t that hard.
I stood, and walked around the side of the bed. I kissed her again, hard, as I shoved first a finger, then two, of my left hand deep into her pussy. I fucked her hard with my hand, and she bucked, and writhed. I held her down by her throat, and her squeals continued. Did she come? I don’t know. “Suck my cock,” I said. “But tease me, first.”
I shed my clothes and lay down. She kneeled between my legs and commenced teasing.
She rubbed my cock – it was getting harder, but I wouldn’t say it was hard. She touched my thighs. She stroked my balls. Her idea of teasing wasn’t quite my idea. I grabbed her hair and pushed her down on my cock. She sucked like a champ, fast, hard, as if she were auditioning for a porn film. It wasn’t exactly the blowjob I wanted, but it was a ferocious, rollicking blowjob.
Bill and Ginny were at the foot of the bed. He leaned against a window, his khakis around his ankles, his button-down shirt obscuring what I imagine was his hard-on, while Ginny kneeled in front of him, giving him head. His belt was around her neck, and occasionally, he gave it a tug. The whole scene, though, seemed almost narcotized.
Next to me, Jeff and Donna were lying on the bed, talking, loudly, obnoxiously. They were fooling around, lightly, and it was getting a bit more serious. They weren’t generous bed-sharers.
Donna lay on her back, her dress still on. Jeff lifted himself up and was fucking her, now. She was smiling, pleased, but in a low-key way. I reached over, Mary-Anne’s mouth still pumping up and down on my cock, and my hand hovered over Donna’s beautiful, small, breasts. My eyes darting back and forth between Jeff and Donna, I asked, “May I?”
Jeff somewhat roughly grabbed my hand and forcefully lifted it away.
I was a little stunned at the physicality, the violence, of his response. Not by the “no” – I was more than half expecting it. But by the show of physical force in his grip on my wrist. As I turned my eyes back to Mary-Anne, busily guzzling me, Jeff placed his hand on my chest, roughly, squeezing, saying sarcastically, and loudly, “May I?”
It’s worth noting that this is a violation of at least two unwritten rules, one of which I don’t particularly care about/for, and one of which I do. The one about which I don’t particularly care is the rule that says “Boys don’t touch boys!” This is a common rule at just about every swinging or group sex venue at which bi males are not specifically targeted. I’m not really bi, but I’m not crazy about the rule, about the double-standard (women are presumed to be bi), or about the conventional homophobia that informs it. (“If a guy touches me, he might make me gay!”)
And the other rule, the one which actually is important, is that everyone’s meant to be respectful to one another. At all times.
I wouldn’t say I was exactly rattled, but I was annoyed.
Anyway, Mary-Anne continued sucking my cock, and I got the sense that she was tiring. (Something I never do when a woman is sucking my cock. Unless she’s doing it badly. Nor do I ever do it when licking a woman’s pussy.) I knew my cock wasn’t likely to stay hard for much fucking: I’ve written before about both my general relationship to the act of fucking and my occasional performance issues, particularly in group sex settings. Jeff’s close proximity to me was kryptonite; I knew it. But I had to try.
“Jeff, would you hand me a condom, please?” I said. The condoms were in a bowl on the table on his side of the bed.
Mary-Anne said, “Great minds!” and lifted herself up over my cock, waiting for me to be sheathed.
He reached for one, held it out for me, and as I went to take it, he pulled it away. Like we were in a school yard. And were 8 years old.
“Dude,” I said, all seriousness. “Give me the condom, please.”
He passed it toward me again, and again, withdrew it as I reached for it.
“How much are you willing to pay?”
In my mind, the room went silent.
I glared at him.
“May I please have the fucking condom?” I said.
“Geez,” he said, and handed it to me.
I rolled it on my cock, and Mary-Anne lowered herself on to me. We commenced fucking. I grabbed her hips and pulled her violently back and forth, up and down. She was heaving her pussy down onto me, fucking me as hard as I’ve ever been fucked.
And after about two minutes… my cock wilted.
I just wasn’t that into it.
I flipped her over onto her back and fucked her with my fingers hard until she came, apologizing at one point. “If you’re having a good time, baby, I’m having a good time,” she said. I didn’t know if she was speaking the truth or if she was really just indifferent.
I went down on her a bit. She sucked my cock a bit more. And then, we took a break, wandering back into the living room.