The Why of it All
I was at the naked loft party last Saturday pondering the terrain inside people’s heads, trying to understand the why of it all. Perhaps group sex isn’t quite as strange as mainstream culture would have us believe. Sex is social, after all. Even for the chronic masturbator, fist pumping away furiously as he sits hunched in his easy chair, sexual gratification is still essentially about the other. And if a person can be expected to fit at least one other into his erotic scenarios, what’s so unnatural about bringing along a few more? Yet the sex party takes this social urge to the extreme, and I get the sense that some people would explode in a mist of jizz if they didn’t have this outlet.
Particularly interesting to me are the people who need to see and be seen. Sure, many of us have our exhibitionistic or voyeuristic tendencies but some people have elevated this to an art form. There was one couple who spent the better part of the night screwing in the center of the giant play room. Apparently not sated by the long session, the male half pranced over to a curtain and parted it to leer at the action in a side room, stroking himself furiously like a coke-addled mouse taps at its pellet-dispenser. I watched this unfold as I lay on a saggy mattress in a post-blowjob haze, stroking a cat. Later on we spoke with this couple as we all shared a cab back into Manhattan and it was still tough to uncover the “why”. What is it that makes some steal off into a corner while others proudly put themselves up for display? For me, desiring a certain amount of privacy is probably less a matter of inhibition than of connection. I like being watched, but for the most part I like to know who’s doing the watching. Similarly, I enjoy watching but usually only get off on seeing people I have an interest in fondling at some point. I gotta have some skin in the game.
To be sure, there were some tasty vignettes though. Two brown-skinned girls lay side by side uttering salacious moans as their dates lapped them up. A cute couple walked around most of the night, unsure of what to do with themselves, until finally the big-titted lass hiked her skirt and mounted her man as he sat on a couch. A threesome was going on in the little room where we had fucked The Cock and Schoolgirl at a previous party; one girl ground her hips into a young man as he pounded another girl in the missionary position. At first it looked as if the girl behind him might have been fucking him in the ass with a strap-on, and Leslie and I looked at each other as if to say “that’s different.” As it turned out the girl was just grabbing him. That night Les and I enjoyed our share of exhibitionist play, but we had the most fun tucked away together in one of the little loft spaces. I fucked her from behind while sort of suspending myself from a pipe. Only my upper body was visible from the room below.
And so, too, looking at the bodies arrayed around me, I was contemplating the nature of attraction, a subject that’s been very much on my mind since the Cindy debacle. These parties have opened my mind. I’ve met women who wouldn’t have earned a second glance from me on the street yet turned out to be gifted lovers and very pretty girls who offered little beyond the purely mechanical aspects of sex. The stuff that happens between my ears is a big part of the “why” for me. I can’t help but think that people who are overly rigid in their physical requirements are missing out on something significant.
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