Recognition

Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Apr 13, 2007

Y’alls niggaz better recognize
Focus your eyes cause my homey is high
Y’alls niggaz better recognize
E… E… E… E… Eastside

-Warren G, “Recognize”

I barely drank during my birthday celebration. I could lie and tell you that, panicked at the thought of my advancing age, I’d resolved to become an upstanding citizen. I wouldn’t, however, be fooling anybody. In truth, the party was something of a three-ring circus. For one, we’d accepted Chris’ gracious offer to host us in the downstairs room at Katra, a Moroccan-themed club on the Bowery. And my dear, sweet Leslie invited a fuckton of people — swingers, sex bloggers, sex workers, sundry perverts, a handful of kink-friendly vanillas — including a couple of old flames whom I hadn’t seen in ages. People were instructed to wear a shirt that “makes a statement” and, much to Leslie’s delight, most people showed up wearing wild blouses, or else t-shirts with slogans on them.

I wanted to get soused. I truly did. But then I’d find myself reminiscing about Mexico with Frank and Lana, or talking shop with Viviane, or catching up with Jamye, or discussing the philosophy of sex with Selina, or trying to keep Jorge from getting bounced, or flirting with Tess, or trying to decipher the meaning of the t-shirt Flint gave me, or grabbing the Greek girl’s ass. And if this weren’t enough, I was pressed into the role of matchmaker (“Your friends are all so sexy,” Lisa told me).

By the time Miriam showed up — Miriam being the tasty piece of cake we’d picked up at CAKE — I was clipping a pretty good buzz, even if it had nothing to do with the alcohol. I was pleased to see that the Bad Man immediately took a shine to Miriam’s equally tasty friend. I didn’t say much to Miriam, the frantic pace of the proceedings forcing an economy of words upon me. But then again, when it comes to talking someone into exploring your bedroom you can say a lot without saying anything.

“I’m not afraid to go for what I want,” she told me.

“And what might that be?”

She smiled. “Oh, I think you know.” Miriam’s wholesome appearance belied her depravity. I always appreciate this in a woman.

Later on, speaking to Miriam and Flint, I said, “I’m just helping people get what they want tonight. I’ll take the leftovers.” Upon hearing this Miriam laughed and struck my arm.

A few days earlier Les and I had reprised the conversation we have each year as my birthday party approaches. “What do you want for your birthday?” she asked.

“The usual.”

“And if I can’t get a girl in time?”

“Then a nice sweater, maybe?”

The birthday threesome has its origins in the darkest days of 2001, when Leslie brought a shy 18-year-old flower to my birthday dinner. And though that threesome later metastasized into a foursome when another woman showed up, I’m not nearly lecherous enough to expect that sort of thing year after year.

Now it was a simple matter of logistics. Fearing I might wind up with an unreasonable number of people at my apartment — and having had my fill of circus sex in Mexico — I decided upon a venue change, knowing this would pare the group down to a few stragglers. Frank pulled me aside before we left, nodding in Miriam’s direction. “She is hot!” he said, wide-eyed.

Sip was crowded with uptown revelers, a diverse mix of college students, local homeboys and homegirls, and grizzly old fossils still hanging on in the hope of snagging a young piece of ass. Jimmy snapped pictures of us. I pinned Emma against the bar and pressed my lips to hers. When Leslie and Miriam began making out I braced for trouble. Fortunately, the men arrayed around them got the hint and politely retired from the fray. “What the heck are we still doing here?” I asked Miriam.

Raising her eyebrows and grinning coyly, she said, “Maybe we’d be more comfortable at your place.”

Not even at home could I get my drink on. Martini glasses were pushed aside as soon as I filled them. Leslie straddled Miriam’s face and then lowered her torso, my fiancée’s curly hair spilling over our playmate’s thighs. Miriam tilted her head backward and I eased myself into her mouth. Her blowjob face was divine. When Leslie came up for air I dove between Miriam’s legs. The girl was no delicate flower: she had hips; she had ass; she had curves. She had a plump, well-groomed cunt — the kind of cunt I’m only too happy to bury my face in. “Oh fuck!” she cried. “Oh! Fuck!“

Les, still straddling Miriam’s face, asked our fuckdoll how she wanted to get off. “Penetration,” was her answer. And so I pistoned into her. And her pretty grey eyes locked with mine over Leslie’s brown ass cheeks. The girl lowered herself onto me now as I sat upright on the couch. I took her big, pale, jiggling tits into my mouth. Leslie played with Miriam’s ass and my balls as Miriam bounced up and down. She got off, shuddering in my arms. Her chest was red, as if she’d suffered a nasty sunburn. It’s funny how some women wear their pleasure on their skin.

I fucked Leslie from behind. Miriam bent over my girl’s body, perpendicularly, kissing her and whispering into her ear. I laid a hand on each of their asses. When I came I pulled out and splashed across Leslie’s ass and the small of Miriam’s back. I’d nearly forgotten how intense threesomes can be.

When I opened my eyes in the morning Leslie was already in the throes of ecstasy, our playmate employing her tongue and hands with devastating results. When Leslie was spent I settled between Miriam’s thighs once more, and once more she cried out, “Oh fuck!” I fucked Leslie again while Miriam lay curled up next to us, smiling.

“I’m glad we found each other,” she said later on. “Can I come back?”

“You can come back anytime you want,” answered Les.

Anyway, that’s why I didn’t get trashed on the night of my birthday party. I’ll try to do better next time.

More: Threesome | Voyeurism | Sexy Parties

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