Authors: Dossie Easton
The Ethical Slut (37 page)
Go with the goal of making a few acquaintances and getting familiar with the scene and your reactions to it. If you do get inspired to play and find someone who wants to play with you, that’s fine, and if you don’t, that’s fine too. Just walking into a play environment for the first time requires a lot of courage, so be proud of yourself. Always remember that this is your first party, potentially the first of many. You don’t need to accomplish a lifetime of fantasies tonight. You have the rest of your life to do that. You just need to take your first steps.
Deal with your relationship before you go to the party. This is important. Are you going as a couple, to show off your incredible sexiness? Are you cruising for thirds and fourths? Or are you going as two
separate individuals, to meet people and share sex with them? If one of you connects with a hot number, is the other welcome to join in? Do you need your partner’s agreement before you play with anyone? If you need to pause in a flirtation to check in with your partner, experienced sluts will admire your thoughtfulness and integrity. Are you committed to going home together, or is it okay for one or the other of you to sleep out, and if both want to, what about the babysitter? The reason you decide all this in advance is that it is way too ugly to have a disagreement about this sort of thing in public, where if you do disagree, you are likely to feel embarrassed and angry and make a big unhappy mess.
Two friends of ours got locked in a disagreement about going to sex parties. They both wanted to go, but one wanted to go and play with the other, and the other wanted to play the field. What to do? Well, there are parties at least once a month around here, so they decided to go one month as a couple to do things together, and the next to support each other in separate cruising.
We like to watch couples make love with each other at parties—you can see the intimacy, and how well they know each other’s ways, how beautifully they fit together, how exquisitely orchestrated lovemaking can become with years of practice. We like it as a fine experience for the voyeur and because we can learn a lot from watching people who are experts on each other. We like to point out that showing off your wondrous beauty together is excellent advertising for the next time when you come to the party ready to welcome new partners.
Play parties can also offer you the opportunity to process fears and jealousies about your partner. How does it feel to watch your partner make love with another person? Is it really awful? You might be surprised to find yourself feeling pretty neutral, like “Gee, I thought that would bother me but actually it doesn’t!” You might like the chance to observe your lover, how powerful she looks when she thrusts, how sweet he looks when he comes. It might even turn you on. There is definitely arousal to be found in taking risks. Some couples find that group sex can rev up their sex life at home by providing a lot of stimulus, new ideas to try out, and the motivation and energy to make their home life as hot as an orgy.
Expect to get your buttons pushed. Expect to discover your biases. At a group sex party you will share unprecedented intimacy with a bunch of strangers, and sometimes that will be difficult. You might start into a three-way with your girlfriend and another man, which seems like a hot idea but might turn out to push some buttons. Yeah, we know, you set out to both make love to her, but there you are, with this man, being sexual, and probably in physical contact, and how does that feel?
We like to attend pansexual group sex parties, which means that attendees may identify as gay or lesbian or bisexual or hetero or transgendered but are generally comfortable and happy to play side by side with people whose desires and identities may be entirely different from their own. We are always running into issues about the unfamiliar: the lesbian who has never been naked in the presence of men; the gay man who fears judgment from women or violence from straight men; the transgendered woman who gets to wonder if that person who is so attracted to her knows what she’s got under her skirt, and does she care, and if she cares what is she going to do?
Whatever your prejudices are—the people at this party are too old, too young, too male, too female, too queer, too straight, too fat, too thin, too white, too ethnic, whatever—it really is good for you to learn to get bigger than your biases. Sexy, too.
Never Thought of Doing in Public
In our fantasies, we all come together as smoothly as Fred and Ginger, carried away by the music on a rising tide of passion—and sometimes it will be like that. But you probably will need to practice first, just like Fred and Ginger. Your erection might refuse to cooperate as you near the moment of truth, especially when you suddenly remember you need to put a condom on it. Orgasm might be more difficult to focus on in a noisy environment with an unfamiliar partner. What if you set out to play with someone and you can’t find your turn-on?
If you find yourself internally panicking, we encourage you to breathe. Slow down. Remember that you are not in a race, and you are not in a hurry. This is not the Olympics. You have nothing to prove—you and
your new friend are setting out to do things that feel good with your bodies. Touch feels good. Stroking feels good. Taking time feels good. Slow down enough so that you can truly feel what you are doing. Worrying about the future will not help you get there: focus on what you are feeling in the present. Erections and orgasms might come, might go, but you can never go wrong by doing what feels good.
The noise and hectic energy of a party can lead people to rush, when slowing down is the best way to connect with your turn-on. People don’t get turned on by magic, at least not very often, or very reliably. And different people are turned on in very different ways. A very important kind of self-knowledge will come in handy at these times: know what turns you on. Whether it’s biting on the neck or sucking on the backs of knees, when you know what gets your juices flowing you can ask for it, and then your play partner will know what turns you on and feel freer to tell you what turns her on, and before you know it there you all are, completely turned on and floating down the river of unbridled lust.
We’ll end this chapter with a true story of love discovered during public sex, just to give you some inspiration to explore.
June had never been to a play party before. That’s evidently what they call orgies in California, she mused. Well, at least it’s a lesbian orgy. How on earth, she wondered, did I come to be the guest of honor at an orgy?
Actually, she knew how it came about. She was visiting her dear friend Flash in San Francisco, and Flash announced that she had the use of a house in the country for the weekend, and she wanted to throw a party and introduce June to her friends. Sounds like fun, thought June … and then Flash began to talk about having a Chick Rite to celebrate the advent of spring by setting up mattresses and safer-sex supplies in the middle of the living room.
June had argued and at first had refused to attend. But Flash talked her into it, pointing out that she didn’t have to actually have sex with anybody if she didn’t want to. June finally said okay, adding that if she couldn’t stand it she would hike down to the local coffeehouse with a book. So Flash went on setting up the house for the convenience of
sexual pleasure, and June hid in the kitchen making dip, one party function that she at least understood.
As the guests began to arrive, June began to wonder whether she’d be able to stay at this event. She was introduced to a parade of the most outrageous dykes she’d ever seen, femmes and butches like birds in bright plumage, sporting exotic garments designed to display a gallery of tattoos, gleaming here and there with jewelry set in body parts that June did not want to think about. And they were all so young! June felt the full weight of her forty-eight years. She figured you can’t go wrong being polite, so she said the same how-do-you-dos she would anywhere else, wondering how she’d respond if one of these enthusiastic orgiasts actually told her how she
did
do.
In, at last, came a couple of women of unabashed middle age. One of them, Carol, was a dead ringer for June’s Great-Aunt Mary, if Great-Aunt Mary had ever chosen to dress in high butch gear complete with boots and cowboy hat. June felt relieved to have found one woman she could relate to. Then Carol smiled a dazzling smile and announced that she would like to put her hand in June’s cunt.
June, swallowing a gasp but resolutely polite, said that she didn’t really feel quite ready for that, and Carol replied cheerily, “Okay, then, I’ll check in with you later.” Great Goddess, thought June, there’s no escape. June knew about fisting, had learned to do it with a lover who liked it, knew it was safe when done properly—but it seemed an odd way to get acquainted with someone whose name she’d only learned in the last half hour.
Then Lottie came in—close to June’s age, but not dressed like it. Lottie’s obviously dyed, flaming red curls set off a black chiffon dress through which could be clearly seen long black stockings, a black leather corset, and a great deal of voluptuous pale flesh. How does she balance on those heels, June wondered, as Lottie hugged, kissed, and chatted her way through the progressively less clothed mass of partygoers. June overheard Lottie thanking various women for their participation in a previous orgy held in celebration of Lottie’s fiftieth birthday. Do these people ever get together and
not
have sex, wondered June.
Puppy piles began to form on the floor in front of the couch where June was sitting—untidy heaps of women necking and petting, smiling
and laughing, Lottie and Carol conspicuously among them. June decided to retreat to the deck, where she could perhaps soak out her terror in the hot tub.
The hot tub was quieter, and June managed to chat with a few women and began feeling marginally more comfortable. Then Lottie reappeared. Off came the dress, the stockings, the shoes—June found herself wondering what it would feel like if she could see Lottie’s pussy and instantly wondered if anyone else had noticed her looking. Lottie slipped into the warm water and immediately asked June if she would rub her neck, because it felt stiff. “Sure,” June heard herself say, “I’d be happy to.” Oh, no, she thought, what have I let myself in for?
Lottie’s skin felt warm and silky under her fingers, and June rubbed and soothed. June felt relaxed by the rhythm of massage and reassured as Lottie conversed about perfectly normal things: her work and June’s, their philosophies of life, June’s Buddhism, Lottie’s paganism. Eventually, Lottie’s neck relaxed, and the hot tub began to feel too warm, and Lottie brightly suggested they find out what was going on inside. She climbed out of the tub, pulled on her stockings and heels, and darted inside. Holy Minerva, thought June, can I follow her in there? No, she decided firmly, I can’t. June found a table in a corner on the patio and determinedly admired the stars.
Lottie, meanwhile, was finding she had a thing or two to think about as well. In the living room, her friends were happily disporting themselves on couches, in armchairs, and in front of the fire, but Lottie was thinking about June. What is it about her that turns me on so much? Does she like me? Will she play with me? Doesn’t look like she’s used to playing at parties—ah, well, there’s always a first time. Now where did that girl go?
Lottie scanned the living room, but there was no June to be found. The living room was actually pretty interesting, and Lottie contemplated giving up the chase and finding a friend to play with, but intrigue triumphed. She made her way toward the kitchen, stepping over various happy people and lingering here and there to appreciate some particularly exciting activity. Pausing to check out the dip and replenish her blood sugar, Lottie looked out the window and there was June, hiding out on the patio.
Ah, here’s the opportunity, thought Lottie as she arranged a few goodies on a plate and trotted outside to share them with June. But, although they were chatting quite amiably, Lottie felt she wasn’t connecting. Her most flirtatious sallies were met with no response whatsoever: June, petrified, would only breathe deep and consciously hold as still as she could. Lottie, frustrated, decided on the direct approach. “I think you’re really attractive. Would you like to play with me? What sort of things do you like to do?” June, cornered again, stammered, “I don’t think I’m ready to have sex in public, so sorry.”
Just then, Carol, sans cowboy hat but still wearing her boots although she seemed to have lost her shirt somewhere, sauntered up to the table and sat down. While June wondered how she could disappear into the bushes without appearing gauche, Lottie greeted Carol by placing her thigh—which Carol, being a woman who knew how to act, promptly stroked and admired—in Carol’s lap. Lottie, not out of revenge but simply from a desire not to waste a perfectly good party, asked Carol: “How’s your dance card tonight? Got room for me?”
Carol asked what was her fancy, and Lottie suggested that she had a yen for a sensitive fist, and Carol said she would be happy to oblige but first needed to check with Susie about a plan they had for later. Both happily trotted off, and June was left to herself. Was she relieved, she wondered? Well … not exactly.
Returning to the living room, Lottie was surprised to see Carol and June both sitting in the window seat, backs to the sides, feet in the middle. Lottie, never slow to leap on opportunity, sashayed across the room, climbed up on both pairs of feet, and proclaimed, “Here I am!” Carol, well versed in the ways of femmes, called for gloves and lube and firmly pushed Lottie into June’s lap: “Will you hold her for me, please?” June opened her mouth, but nobody waited for her answer—and next thing, there she was, holding Lottie’s gently squirming body. Amazing, thought June, just amazing. She got a good grip on Lottie, took a deep breath, and off she went on the ride.
June concentrated on keeping up a good front and trying not to notice several smiling women who had settled down to watch the action on the window seat, while Carol competently went to work to turn Lottie on, lube her up, and get her off. Omigod, thought June, how
am I going to get through this? I’m touching this woman’s breast and I hardly know her. Maybe, she thought, I can pretend this is someone I’ve already made love with.
Lottie had braced her foot over Carol’s shoulder against the window frame and was energetically pushing herself down on Carol’s hand. She let out a big groan as the hand slipped in, and they both started fucking hard and loud. June had all she could do to prevent Lottie from writhing out of her grip and falling onto the floor. Lottie finally came—loudly, noticed June, very loudly—and June noticed she hadn’t breathed for a while and took a big gasping breath. All three let their bodies go limp on the window seat and invested a few moments in just feeling good.
Reality eventually asserted itself. Lottie sat up and politely offered to fuck Carol in return. Carol said no, thanks, I already promised Susie, and Lottie and Carol went off in different directions, leaving June alone on the window seat and feeling a bit thunderstruck. I must have fallen into some other universe, marveled June. Who
are
these women, anyway? Although it was kind of fun, and I think I did okay. But it was still too much. I think I’d better go to sleep.
A day passed. Back at home, Lottie found she could not stop thinking about June. She called Flash and discovered that June had flown out of San Francisco that morning. Two days later, June received this letter:
Dear June,
It’s a beautiful morning up here on my mountain, the sun is streaming through the redwood trees, the sky is very blue with little cloud puffs—yesterday, walking up on the ridge, I saw a huge jackrabbit. The irises are finished, and it’s time for morning glories, rhododendrons, and lots of tiny bright exquisite flowers to whom I have not been properly introduced. Do you live in the city? If I make your mouth water for the mountains, will you come visit me?
Who are you anyway? Write me and tell me about yourself. I am particularly interested in how, as a Buddhist, you deal with desire and passion. I’ve been thinking some about this since we met and realized that I am not a Buddhist because, although I have gotten a great deal from my connections to Zen, including learning a lot about letting go of desire, my spiritual path is about grasping desire (passion might be
a more appropriate word here) as if it were the ox and riding it as a vehicle to communion with the Tao. I worry that this might not be an acceptable practice to you: although I am used to being various people’s version of anathema, I would rather that not be the case with you.
I really like you. I really like the connection we made at Flash’s, and I hope we get the chance to explore it further. So write and reveal yourself to me. What are your thoughts about sex, connection, art, nature? What are your fantasies? I really want to know. I bet you dream up some great bedtime stories.
I wish you were here—writing to you is making me nervous and I would like a cuddle. As I read over this letter trying to decide how far to go, I realize I have probably already gone too far—oh well, I always do.
Love,
Lottie