Posted by Lex Konrad in Dispatches | Jul 31, 2003
I chatted with Grego for half an hour today after I retrieved the Mephistos I stupidly left behind at Saturday’s naked loft party. I had been expecting some pretty-boy, artiste type. Instead I found a guy channeling Hunter S. Thompson. Grego came to the door sporting shades, a safari hat with broken chinstraps and a half-buttoned patterned shirt revealing his chest hair. He was short and a bit soft, and might have been losing his hair. He chain-smoked and went on little tirades about how people were always trying to screw him, and not in a good way. “A year ago there was no scene,” he said. “I created one with my parties.” Grego didn’t have kind things to say about the other people who are throwing parties in New York, referring to them as “amateurs”. Well, it’s true I suppose, Grego has credentials dating back to the BDSM scene, which was probably the last Really Big Thing in the sex life of the city. VH1 is doing a special on his parties in either August or September and they plan to do some shooting on site. This should make things interesting.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Jul 29, 2003
We literally fucked and sucked our way into the inner circle on Saturday night. This, the third of the Brooklyn loft parties we have attended, hosted many more people than the last two, as well as several familiar faces and asses from the first party. A little overwhelmed by all the action in the back room, Leslie and I spent some time yukking it up with a few of the regulars in the kitchen. After the relative isolation of our threesome years we are relieved to have finally met some like-minded souls. And it is truly remarkable how many of these people know each other. More often than not, a dropped name elicits a response of “oh yeah, we know them.” Several people knew the BDSM couple we played with at the after party a couple of weeks ago, in fact. Anya, a cute large-breasted Jewess from the first party, arrived in full PVC nurse costume. We smoked together and I hinted at needing a full physical later on. “Certainly,” she said, smiling. It’s true though. I haven’t had a physical in ages.
After a while we meandered back into the cavernous play room and set up camp on a folded futon along the back wall. This afforded us a good view of the action on the big mattresses to the left and the bed to our right. If I looked hard enough from my vantage point I could even discern a bit of flesh in the curtained side rooms. Sex was in full swing in little vignettes all around us. Over on a couch in the corner of the room, two men pistoned into their dates in tandem. Anya mooned the room from her position on the bed as she took a cock in her mouth. A wife was fucked hard by an athletic black man as her husband clambered onto the bed to avail himself of Anya’s expectant twat. A few couples stood around chatting, incongruous in their clothes. There was more going on, of which I couldn’t make heads or tails. Leslie flipped up her little blue dress and I placed my hand between her legs, probing the folds of her tidy little pussy. In less than two minutes she squirmed and orgasmed.
Eventually the rest of the fuckers and suckers orgasmed, almost in unison, and in their post-orgasmic glow they mingled around us talking. The Cock, a lean muscular man with long hair, emerged from one of the side rooms with Schoolgirl, a tall, pretty girl with her hair done up in pigtails. I admired Schoolgirl’s cunt as they sat on the couch directly across the room from us. “That’s a nice cunt,” I said to Leslie. “Yeah,” she said. I had wanted to taste that cunt since I saw it at the first party. They came over and sat near us in the middle of the knot of chatting swingers. I went to take a piss and found myself accosted by the girls in the kitchen, who shamed me into removing my belt and corduroys. When I returned Leslie was having a conversation with The Cock and Schoolgirl, who I learned is his girlfriend of four years. I couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but they discussed their early experiences and how learning what they wanted out of this had been a long evolution. I struck up a conversation with Candace, a tall, thin short-haired blonde who would later receive her first-ever double penetration (sadly, I missed that one). We talked about the general conviviality of couples events.
In my peripheral vision I noticed that The Cock and Schoolgirl had begun lightly stroking Leslie’s thighs and breasts. I moved a little closer to enter the fray. Much to my surprise, Schoolgirl had a syrupy Russian accent; she’s originally from Moscow as it turns out. The two girls kissed and as the play gained momentum we decided to adjourn to the comforts of one of the side rooms. Positioned on her knees at the edge of the futon, Schoolgirl lapped at Leslie’s pussy as Leslie took my shaft into her mouth. The Cock played with his girlfriend from behind. He took a turn at licking Leslie’s pussy and Schoolgirl moved to the futon, kneeling before me and parting her pouty lips to accommodate my erection. I grabbed one of her tight, jiggly ass cheeks and pushed a finger or two into her slippery cunt. Amusingly enough, she even moaned with a Russian flair. Schoolgirl’s hips rocked as I manipulated her. She was deft with her hands and tongue and I told her as much. I said I had fantasized about her cunt. She might have orgasmed, but sometimes it’s hard to tell with a new lover. I made her flip onto her back and I hungrily dived between her legs. I sucked on the delicate folds of her protruding labia. I thrusted my tongue into her, and then pulled back to finger her as I admired her pussy and tight pink asshole. I consumed her.
Leslie was by now sucking The Cock. “You want to take it to the next level?” he asked. Leslie and I looked at each other and shrugged, as if to say “why not?” The Cock quickly rolled his condom on and pumped Leslie like a rabbit on speed. It made for a good visual, but Leslie later told me his technique was too hard and artless for her. Schoolgirl sucked me tenderly for a bit as I stood at the foot of the bed and then, like a good whore, placed a condom on the tip of my cock and rolled it down with her lips. She lay back and I propped myself above her, slowly filling the warmth and wetness of her inviting pussy, impressed that I didn’t even need to guide it in with my hand. I fucked her this way for a while, alternating between hard thrusts and long, slow strokes. She moaned. I thought about how pleasantly strange it was to finally penetrate this girl I had fantasized about. I’m actually fucking her, I thought. I made Schoolgirl flip over on all fours and entered her from behind, which was a mistake for several reasons. One, although it was nice to smack her behind and grind my hips into her, the position felt too impersonal for a first time fuck. Two, the low lighting made it difficult to observe the union of flesh and flesh. Three, some people were in the room and apparently took this position as an invitation to, like, start a casual conversation with me. I was too distracted to come. Nonetheless, we had gotten what we came for, and our induction into the inner circle was complete.
As we sat on the bed and exchanged numbers with The Cock and Schoolgirl, Anya came in to share a cigarette with us. Anya wanted us to come to Friday’s underwear party. “There’s no actual sex at the party but we can always go somewhere else later and fuck,” she purred. Leslie and I sucked her nipples as she dressed. Her boyfriend’s apartment was near us in Chelsea so we decided to share a cab back to Manhattan. In the cab, Leslie and Anya compared notes on The Cock. Anya also thought he was too much of a piston and said she had to teach him to slow down with her. She said The Cock and Schoolgirl are the group’s ringleaders. Not ready to let the night end, I brought up the little private after party we’d had last time. Anya took the bait. “Your place or ours?” I asked, smiling inwardly at the cliche. Her boyfriend, a slim tall guy with a friendly face, wanted to see our three foster kittens, as he was planning on getting kittens of his own. That settled the question.
Later on, after playing with the kittens for a while, we all settled on the couch and began watching the Rocco Siffredi DVD Leslie and I had recently purchased for just this purpose. Anya was quite taken with Rocco’s cock. Leslie and Anya heaved into one another, kissing deeply and pulling off each other’s clothing. Anya removed everything but her little PVC nurse hat. I stood to remove my clothing and Leslie demonstrated her deepthroating talents on me, much to the delight of all. Anya lay on the couch to spread herself for her boyfriend’s, and then Leslie’s tongue. But, essentially, the night was characterized more by the exchange of partners than female play, and I soon found myself straddling Anya’s face as I buried mine in the short, light brown hairs of her cunt. Leslie was on her knees beside the couch, blowing Anya’s boyfriend as he stood. Like Schoolgirl, Anya boasted a nice set of protruding labia that I enjoyed sucking into my mouth. As Anya’s boyfriend began to finger Leslie, Leslie’s period made an unexpected reappearance. Everyone laughed and took it in stride. As Leslie and the boyfriend went to the bathroom to clean up, Anya and I stood in front of the TV chatting, my erection dancing against her soft belly and the underside of her breasts. After admiring me in my shaved glory, she grabbed those big tits together and teased the head of my cock. I ran my hands through her hair and she dropped to her knees, taking me once more into her mouth and sucking slowly, shallowly. “Dude, your window is open,” she breezily remarked. “Anyone could see us.” “So it is,” I replied. “Whatever.”
By now, Leslie had returned with the boyfriend and she knelt on the floor to blow him as he reclined on the leather sofa. So I plopped onto the other end of the sofa with my legs apart and Anya crawled over to give me some more of her sweet lips. She tongued my cock and eyed me seductively. This girl was a skilled little cocksucker, and a good talker. “Now I’m going to give you a testicular exam,” she said as she moved her head lower to lap at my balls. One of the kittens pounced on her leg and she jerked her head up with a start, giggling. “Meow,” I said. “Meow,” she replied, and rubbed her cheek against my member in a cat-like manner. She made purring sounds before locking lips with the swollen head. The girl climbed onto the sofa, pushing her breasts to my mouth for a moment before settling next to me with her head resting in the crook of my arm and legs splayed over the arm rest. We sat there making witty asides about Rocco’s on-screen exploits as she tugged at my shaft. I rested my left hand on her bush and made small circles over her clitoris with my middle finger. “Not like that; yeah, there, softer,” she sighed. Soon her leg muscles began to tense as she bucked up into my hand, almost riding my finger. I used my free hand to toy with her nipples. The tension in her legs grew until they stuck straight out in front of her. She brought her hand to her pussy and climaxed with a shudder, spasming deeply into my embrace. The boyfriend had been sitting next to Leslie jerking himself off and he soon splattered himself. I took my twitching member into my hand and jerked myself slowly as Anya and Leslie watched, Leslie occasionally teasing me with the tip of her tongue. The girls commented on how much they liked watching me masturbate.
I felt the tide of my orgasm ebbing and flowing, endlessly it seemed, until finally I felt the inevitability of its arrival. Le Petit Mort. Pearly gates opened. Angels sang. Not death, though; more like birth, I thought. I closed my eyes and let the spasms wash over me. “Wow,” I heard Anya remark as I orgasmed, her voice seeming to resound across some great distance. Consciousness restored, I opened my eyes to witness what I had wrought. Anya’s left breast and arm were painted with thick, white bands of semen that glowed in the pale light of the television, as if infused with bioluminescence. “You came like a geyser,” she purred. I suppose I passed my physical.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Opinions | Jul 27, 2003
Some folks commented that yesterday’s entry was a bit of a downer. For this I cannot apologize. I am committed to bringing you a human experience rather than some utopian dream. With so many self-serving fools out there attempting to blow smoke up our collective asses, I can only promise to keep it real. If what I write can be considered masturbatory fuel, it only serves this purpose coincidentally, as sex is simply another point of entry along the intermittently painful continuum of human experience. Many people seem to think this life of erotic experimentation can or should be easy. Or else they think it’s impossible, and it’s simply not worth going there. All have been lied to, led terribly astray by the distorted figure of human sexuality in the funhouse mirror of conventional wisdom. This is why there are so few among us who have truly sucked at the folds of freedom’s sweet, dripping labia and lived to tell the tale. To loosely quote Henry Miller, this is not erotica. This is libel, slander, defamation of character. This is a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of Art, a kick in the pants to God, Man, Destiny, Time, Love, Beauty. I am going to sing for you, a little off key perhaps, but I will sing.
I compared notes with the dirty whore yesterday as she blogged for twenty four hours straight. This unburdening of my soul, coupled with last night’s return to that by now infamous naked loft party in Brooklyn, renewed my faith in my project. In the true spirit of Ludwig Van, we’ll permit the key of D major to triumph over its brooding sibling. We’ll let a newfound spirit of optimism part the gloomy heavens and cast its rays upon us. And so, for a time, the dark interlude is concluded and we return to our regularly scheduled programming.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Relationships | Jul 26, 2003
Do you know what you are talking about? Love, yes. Word known to all men. Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus...
James Joyce, Ulysses. Latin roughly translated to mean “love truly wishes some good to another and therefore we all desire it.”
I didn’t grab the pack containing the last two Marlboro Lights 100’s (“light” ciggies, now there’s a conceit). The fags were rattling around in there, which I hate, and I’m in the midst of making a vain effort to smoke less. Plus I was, like, rushed on my way out to Ciel Rouge because the girls wanted to relocate to Centro Fly. I knew I could bum a cig or two if I wanted. No expectations tonight. The girls were standing outside the bar smoking. Scorpio was cuter than I expected, all dark hair and protruding curves. Ripe. Strange accent though. Southerner? No. New Yorker. Upstate. Time served in the Bronx. Face somewhat angular. She smiled. Leslie posed in her blue sundress. The rear patio was quiet, humid. We talked. Scorpio placed her hand on my knee a couple of times. Nice ass which strained against her brown cords as I watched her strut toward the bathroom. Leslie said she’s cool so the night would continue. Knocked back a godfather, sweet scotch and amaretto, a syrupy drink cut down somewhat by the rocks, but still potent. We paid. On our way to Centro a petite girl with brown hair marked by blonde highlights asked us for directions. Whereto? Centro Fly. Odd coincidence. French girl in town for the summer, she walked with us. She doesn’t smoke, which I find odd for a Frenchwoman, but what do I know? Nice girl. We spoke about Baudrillard, Foucault. Not her thing. Economics. We bypassed the line. Eddie was working the door, all smiles. Girls comped; lone penis ten dollars, which French girl made up for by purchasing my drink. Not too busy. While Leslie toured the club with her date, I spoke with French girl about party life in Paris. Small clubs there… everyone stuck-up, which she indicated by putting an index finger to the tip of her nose and pushing upward. Her favorite group is Blur. She gave me her email address. We all negotiated our way into VIP lounge, featured in Dasani commercial. I winked at the bartender in her sunken pit. The French girl and I stood chatting as Scopio straddled Leslie in a secluded corner, the cleft of Scorpio’s ass barely visible above her cords. Are they together? French girl asked. No, just met. French girl was looking for her housemates. I walked over to the two busy girls and told them I’d be back, planting a soft kiss on Scorpio’s left shoulder. The two of us left VIP and I helped French girl find the housemates. Danced for a while. Discharged of my obligation, I went downstairs to take a piss, then back to VIP. Leslie and Scorpio were still at it. I sat next to them, and as I opened my mouth to say something Scorpio filled it with her tongue. I ran my hands along her back. Leslie got up to go use the bathroom. Scorpio sat next to me and pressed her body into mine. We chatted about nothing and everything. She told me about a sex party she went to. I bought her a drink and we toasted. She got up to go find the bathroom, drink and purse in hands. Mesmerized by the thumping bass, and the pulsating lights filtered through the oval cutouts of the VIP lounge walls, I lazily watched the pretty people socialize. Leslie came back. Where is Scorpio? Bathroom. Leslie went to look. Came back twenty minutes later. Nothing. Looked again another twenty minutes. Still nothing. I looked. In the darkness of a crowded club everyone looks like someone. Twenty minutes. Nothing. Leslie looked again and checked Scorpio’s bar tab at the main bar for good measure as I sat waiting in VIP. A woman said you had three girls now you have zero girls. Thanks, I thought. Leslie came back. Nothing. Bar tab still open. We were worried and angry. What if something had happened? No cell phone reception inside. We left. Called. No answer. Argued. Misdirected anger. Went to bed bewildered, angry and worried.
Is this the new freedom we’ve fought for? Are we all so many disposable sex toys? Are there souls, hearts, minds involved or is everything a mechanical means to a selfish end? Is this anything to celebrate? We escaped the meaningless camraderie of the drug scene only to end up selling another kind of drug, this time cutting pure lines of orgasmic ecstasy for a soulless, fickle clientele. Empty vessels. So many masturbatory aids masquerading as fully fleshed-out homo sapiens. A confusion of body and soul. After all, it is not LOVE that I am after, as one might find it in romance novels or checkout-counter cliches, but love: the genuine desire to see some good come to another. Respect. Warmth. Compassion. If even in a fleeting moment. An even exchange. Something to remember and cherish. Word known to all men? I wonder.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Relationships | Jul 25, 2003
Katrina emailed Leslie today with a rather strange proposition. It seems she was feeling the chemistry at dinner and wants to have sex with both of us.
Separately.
Yes, she still wants to spend time with us as a couple but she wants to make it with us one at a time. I cannot even fathom the logistics. Will we each take her into the bedroom and “tag-in” at the appropriate time? Will we flip over who gets to answer the booty call? What if one of us wears her out? (Well, I suppose that one’s not likely; she seemed insatiable.) It’s not as if we haven’t played separately before, but the goal was always to bring everyone together into the same bed. I always think of us as two great tastes that taste great together.
Will Leslie go for it? Will I go for it?
