Posted by Lex Konrad in Relationships | Nov 08, 2007
Dating people separately is not new to us. There was a time, back in the day, when each of us saw other people regularly. On a few occasions we went as far as to schedule double dates (our last MFM threesome was the outcome of one of these — it should have been an orgy but my date was a total bitch).
So the world did not end when Leslie took a male lover.
Not that many people appeared to grasp this fact: upon hearing the news (delivered in passing, usually) people would pause for a moment as if they were expecting me to make some tearful confession. Unlike our threesomes, orgies, couple-swapping, months-long triads, Leslie’s girl-on-girl dates, and even my own shore leave, it was a radical act for Les to see another man on her own — a sign, even, of trouble in paradise.
Of course, people’s discomfort with equal-opportunity extracurriculars derives from the horribly fucked up way our society views gender, sexuality and relationships. But it surprises me how often even sexually liberated folks tend to fall back on social programming. A few weeks before Les and I were married my favorite prank was to tell friends I had renounced non-monogamy, that I planned to stop fucking other people because “that’s just what you do when you get married.” Almost no one called me on it.
I find myself having a recurring conversation with guys. It goes like this:
Dude: “I’d love to have a sex life like yours.”
Me: “There’s nothing stopping you.”
Dude: “But I’d lose my mind if I saw my girlfriend with another guy.”
Me: “And that’s why you don’t have a sex life like mine.”
I understand jealousy — I don’t identify with jealous people but having been there I understand the emotion. What I’ve never been able to get my head around is the peculiarly male preoccupation with being the only cock in the hen house. I know several men who would probably benefit from non-monogamy (and whose significant others would probably be up for it), and yet these same men are paralyzed at the thought of granting the women in their lives the same freedoms they desire for themselves. Some of these blokes would rather cheat than talk about doing what Les and I do.
The irony is that more often than not I do end up being the only cock in the hen house. This is probably because I don’t try to impose arbitrary sexual constraints on the women I’m with. Sexual liberation — sexual fulfillment — is an exercise in letting go. Time spent preventing other people’s satisfaction is time better spent finding your own. Even then, it can be less about actually doing it than simply knowing you can.
And so on the night of Leslie’s first date with a man in ages I sat at home and watched Law & Order. To be honest, it slipped my mind for a couple hours that she was on a date and I nearly called her at work. It occurred to me that perhaps there was something wrong with me — that maybe I ought to have been upset that my wife-to-be was with another man. But then I remembered I knew where she was and who she was with and, most importantly, that she would be coming home to me.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Relationships | Nov 04, 2007
“Would you like a kiss?” I asked her, carefully freeing the chocolate from its foil wrapper.
“No, but I’ll have a real kiss.” The actress winked at me when she said this. She had delicate features, pale skin. She wore a purple wig with little green horns protruding from the top.
“Are you making a move on me young lady?”
“I think I am.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of this; I’d seen her canoodling with a friend. After all I’ve seen and done it still surprises me when women appear to operate on my wavelength. Her lips melted into mine. It was delightful.
I ran into her at Madame X a few days later. Bespectacled now, no longer wearing the costume she’d worn to the party, she looked like a sexy librarian, like a hot nerd, like the “ugly” girl in one of those coming-of-age movies (who inevitably transforms into a supermodel as soon as she lets her hair down). “You are a woman of a thousand faces,” I told her.
Little did I know how true this was.
Addressing Leslie now, the actress said: “Sit down… I’m going to give you guys a lap dance.” I remained standing, and as the girl undulated over Leslie’s lap she backed her firm ass against me. As the night wound down we sat together on a comfortable couch. The actress pulled down the top of her blouse and offered me a very pink and very erect nipple. “Put your mouth on me,” she intoned, smiling. There was something sweet in her voice — her request didn’t sound at all like a demand.
I offered her my index finger. When she took it into her mouth it seemed like a promise of things to come…
We never did fulfill that promise though: her boldness had been for show. I suppose it made sense, her being an actress. After two tepid dates I summoned my newfound powers of saying ‘no’ and delivered the dreaded words. Let’s. Just. Be. Friends.
It has been asked why men are so often hesitant around a forward woman. Perhaps it’s that women are so often content to nip at the edges of sex. We can never be certain what anything means. Sometimes a kiss is just a chocolate confection — sweet and delightful and forgotten in an instant.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Relationships | May 16, 2007
Central Park, 2007
Unless you’re a night-owl (or, of course, in another time zone), by the time you read this we’ll be on a flight to the Bahamas. We’re in desperate need of a Bahamavention — and a marriage. Yes, after over a decade of shacking up, Les and Lex are finally getting hitched. Obviously I have much more to say about this, but for now just know that I am happy and very much looking forward to being a married man.
You may notice I’ve posted a couple hot parties to our new events section. There’s much more Naked Loft Party awesomeness on the way when we get back. See you next week… and wish us luck!
Posted by Lex Konrad in Relationships | May 11, 2007
Now don’t be wishin’ of switchin’ any positions with me cuz when you in my position, it ain’t never easy to do any type of maintainin’ cuz all the gamin’ and famin’ from entertainin’ is hella strainin’ to the brain and… but I can’t keep runnin’ I just gotta keep keen and cunnin’
-The Pharcyde, “Runnin’
”
Peaches fell into my lap.
She spoke in a high-pitched southern twang, her voice cracking a bit as if she’d been up all night: “Hi, how are you?” I’d met the strawberry blonde before, at Audacia’s porno party. I introduced her to a few friends sitting nearby. “Hey, this is Peaches. We’ve been dating for six months.”
Grinning, she smacked my arm. “Now why don’t I remember any of this?”
“Oh baby, I’m hurt that you don’t remember all the wonderful times we had together.”
Eventually Peaches played along. Women love little games like this.
Leslie and I had come to the Poly Cocktail Hour at Madame X to shake off the late-winter blahs (the name of the event is surely false advertising, as the cocktail “hour” tends to run well past midnight), and, perhaps, to take some practical steps in the direction of seeing people separately. “Now that I’m getting married,” I was telling Porno Jim, “I need to have adult relationships. No more girlfriends for me — they’re my mistresses now. Doesn’t that sound so much more sophisticated?”
I recalled that it was only last year when Jim and Dicie made the leap my fiancée and I were now contemplating. But for the moment at least I wasn’t in any hurry to get involved with someone else. I wanted to put the long winter behind me and have some fun. Also, I desired mental respite from our marriage preparations — oh I like the idea of being married well enough, I just don’t care for the drama of getting married.
Peaches and I wound up on a couch feeding each other animal crackers. Every time I looked up I saw Leslie flirting with people, charming everyone with her bright, dimpled smile. She fell into the arms of the fetching, Lindsay Lohanesque hostess and already my naughty gears were turning. At that moment I decided I want to be reincarnated as a bisexual woman. In between mouthfuls I kissed Peaches, both of our tongues dry from the crackers. I peered into her blue eyes and told her she was the sweetest girl I’d met in a while. This was actually true.
Peaches is in show business. “Think you’d like to audition for the part of my mistress?” I asked her.
“Listen to you!” she responded, indignant but laughing. “I never let guys talk to me this way.”
“There’s a first time for everything, sugar.”
I enjoy being outrageously forward with women; it feels, at any rate, more honest than regurgitating the usual warmed-over stock phrases that pass for seduction in the postmodern era. There is a fine fucking line between turning a woman on and offending her, of course, but if one toes that line anything is possible. You give me a hard-on and I enjoy spending time with you — is there any better compliment? Maybe this is what I will say to Leslie on our wedding day.
When I left Madame X that night I felt the first hard kiss of spring. I felt positive that, much like expanse of park across from my bedroom window, my inner landscape was about to change radically — and, I hoped, for the better.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Relationships | Jun 13, 2006
Les and I stop by a bar on our way home from Anya’s birthday party because, hey, it’s a Tuesday night and it’s still relatively early for insomniacs. There aren’t many people at the bar, just a few stragglers; not much people-watching fodder save for two hot-ass Asian chicks, the whale tails of their little thongs peeking out above the backs of their jeans. When I eventually step outside for a smoke I see that their boyfriends are having what appears to be a Very Serious conference about a Very Serious subject.
“I think I may be getting bored with her,” one says.
“You’re not gonna dump her, are you?” responds the other one.
“I dunno.”
The scene reminds me of an aphorism from male folklore, one of those nuggets of wisdom that has passed from barstool to barstool since at least the time of Shakespeare: No matter how hot she is, the saying goes, some guy is tired of putting up with her shit.
I chuckled to myself since moments ago I’d been undressing his girlfriend with my eyes. The two gentlemen look in my direction so I lie about the source of my amusement. “I was just thinking it’s funny how I’d much rather be unhappy than bored; at least unhappy is interesting.”
“You’ve got that right,” says the bored one before heading inside. His friend stays put.
“The truth is I’m a little bored of my girlfriend too,” he confides, checking his cell phone for a text message and then stuffing it back in his trouser pocket.
“You two living together?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s harder than you thought it would be, right?”
“Hell yeah. I feel guilty because she moved here to be with me and now I just… don’t know.” The soft-spoken guy seems genuinely torn up over his dilemma.
“Cohabitation changes everything. When you’re not living together, no matter how often you see each other it’s still like a date. Then you move in together and neither of you are on your best behavior anymore and, let’s face it, given the size of the average New York apartment you’re practically on top of each other.”
“How long have you been with your girl?”
“Fourteen years.”
He laughed. “Fourteen years? Holy shit! That’s what I want some day.”
“I sorta lucked out when I was very young. It can’t be exciting all the fucking time though; you need to figure out whether you’re really bored with her or you’re just getting that itch, you know? Because everyone feels that itch from time to time. Scratching it raw won’t get you anywhere.”
The guy’s friend returns with the two girls in tow. I find myself wondering whether the feeling is mutual—whether these babes are already way ahead of their boyfriends. Perhaps each one is already plotting her escape; perhaps each has suitors lined up around the block. Who knows? And in the end I guess I don’t give a damn, because when I step inside my beautiful woman is sitting on her barstool waiting for me. I can’t help but grin from ear to ear.
