The Sex Talk of the Town
Even in this age of instantaneous feedback, hacking away at a keyboard can be a sad, lonely thing. It’s good to shake someone’s hand, to look a fellow traveler in the eye, to participate in a community—something larger than yourself—and put your creative demons out of their misery, if only for a short while. As Les and I reached Viviane’s door (half an hour late, naturally) I steadied myself with this comforting thought. We all had skin in the game.
Viviane, a charming and affable hostess if ever there was one, greeted us and promptly announced our arrival to the assembled dignitaries. They sat in the living room discussing the ins and outs of sex blogging in a somewhat hushed, conspiratorial tone. I couldn’t help but think that in this gathering there were echoes of the Algonquin Round Table, or of George Plimpton’s parties—it was as if the ghosts of old New York were watching over us.
So it begins, I thought. “I half expected you all to be dancing around naked by now,” I said. People laughed. Seemed like a friendly enough crowd. A quick scan of the room yielded only one familiar face, that of Dacia in those distinctive glasses of hers.
I needed a drink.
After I’d found my bearings (i.e., the booze), Viv beckoned me toward her desk, where she’d set up a webcam for virtual attendees Jefferson and Madeline. My mind reeled at the postmodernity of it all. I squinted at the keyboard and edged closer. “Go ahead and introduce yourself,” said Viviane.
“I shoulda brought my glasses.”
There was something wrong with the video but soon enough I was on the headset with Madeline while IMing with Jefferson. “Well hello Lex,” Madeline said, her voice silky, deep, resonant even over the tinny internet audio.
My jaw dropped. “Goddamn you have a sexy voice.”
She asked me to describe what was going on and I did my best, fighting through frequent technical hiccups. “You know, with this headset on I feel like Tom Cruise in Magnolia. Respect the cock!” I said this loud enough that I got some funny looks. Madeline laughed. Any anxiety I’d felt earlier on melted away—it was just a party, I reasoned, and when it comes to parties Lex Konrad is a consummate professional.
Eventually I joined the fray and found myself standing before the lovely Anakalia and the bodacious, impossibly busty Chelsea Girl. It took me a while to chance a glimpse at the words written on Chelsea Girl’s tee shirt—I didn’t want to appear lecherous—but then I shrugged and made an obvious show of it. “No one cares about your blog,” it read. I couldn’t determine whether the word ‘blog’ had been printed in a larger font or simply stretched wide by the shirt’s heavy payload.
“I feel like people pay more attention to the posts I toss off quickly,” Chelsea Girl was saying.
Everyone within earshot seemed to agree. Already I felt a certain kinship with these pervy bloggers. “Most people don’t like to think too hard about anything,” I added.
“Right. It’s all about the fat part of the bell curve—”
“The stuff I crank out of my ass having the most appeal to the most people.”
Picking up on the ass metaphor, Chelsea Girl steered the conversation to lesbian paint enemas and the nature of postmodern art. As the conversation continued I beamed inwardly, pleased at having played a bit part in creating a space where such a discussion was even possible.
Les and I had been speaking with J for all of five minutes when he offered us some weed. The three of us indulged in Viviane’s spacious bedroom; I went easy, though, on account of a slight cough and my desire to keep my wits about me. On the way out of the bedroom I ran into Porno Jim, a man I was pretty sure I’d met years ago at a drunken orgy.
“I remember you,” he said.
“Last time we met was at a sex party in Chelsea; a big loft or something?”
“Couples Events.”
“Yeah, right. We were standing around drinking and there was some skeevy couple screwing like crazy at our feet.” By now Jim’s pretty blonde girlfriend had joined us and we reminisced about swinger parties past. “People are always telling me to get into the sex party racket,” I said. “I have the mailing list for it but it just seems like a gigantic pain in the ass.”
“Plus, you don’t get to have sex when you’re running the party,” Porno Jim’s girlfriend added with a wry smile.
Perhaps it was just the marijuana fucking with my senses but everyone around me seemed to visibly relax. People rose to their feet and mingled. The gathering took on a decidedly festive air. One by one, Emma, the Bad Man and Natalia arrived. Les, Cherry Bomb and Anakalia were busy comparing tattoos. I cornered Viv in the kitchen and put my arm around her. “I’m glad we did this,” I said. “It worked out brilliantly.”
I found Bad Man sitting quietly in the living room. “You okay?” I asked.
“I had a long day at work. And I just smoked a lot of weed.”
I laughed. “I’m still trying to figure you out; you have this whole zen-like thing going on.”
Dacia was seated on the couch across from me talking about her many clueless internet suitors. I couldn’t resist joining the conversation. “I get ‘em too,” I said, “but probably not nearly the amount that female bloggers do.”
“I get asked out regularly,” Dacia remarked, “but I haven’t taken anyone up on it.”
“Oh, you absolutely should sometime.”
“It just seems so creepy.”
“But we’re here, right? I’ve met some wonderful people through Naked Loft Party—and not even just for sex.” People burst out laughing. “How absurd is it that I have to attach that disclaimer?”
Later on I joined Natalia in front of the webcam. She’d been chatting for quite a while with Jefferson and Madeline, who both sat topless in front of their respective cameras. Madeline appeared preternaturally calm, like the relaxed subject of a fine art portrait—sadly, her tits were tucked away below the video’s frame. I turned to Natalia: “Isn’t Madeline smokin’?”
“Yeah.”
I grinned broadly. “When’s she gonna show us her tits?” What is it about the virtual world that brings out our most adolescent impulses?
“She already has,” Natalia informed me matter-of-factly.
“And I missed it?”
“Maybe if you ask nicely she’ll show them again,” offered Viviane, who had crept up behind us.
And so I asked nicely, or rather typed a friendly query into the chat window. Much to my surprise it was Jefferson who began grabbing his nipples and mugging for the camera. I laughed. “That wasn’t exactly the show I had in mind.” I studied Madeline’s cam, biting my lower lip. C’mon baby, c’mon. She sat up in her chair and brought her hands to her chest. “Ohhh I see nipples!” Her sweater puppies looked gorgeous, even in jerky low res video. Les, Natalia and I repaid Madeline (and Jefferson) in kind, putting on a show involving breasts and tongues.
My night was complete.
Well, really, the party ran out of steam after the mirror on Viviane’s bathroom door came crashing down in an interminable cacophony of shattering glass. At first I was worried that our hostess might be upset but the unflappable Viviane just laughed it off. “It’s not a party unless something breaks.”
Soon Bad Man, the girls and I were on our way out, clutching erotic DVDs left for us by the gentlemanly Tony Comstock. The night had been a whirlwind clusterfuck—there just hadn’t been enough time to connect with everyone—but I was happy to have met such an agreeable group of people.
And I’m already looking forward to the next whirlwind clusterfuck.
More: New York | Sexblogs | NYC Sex Bloggers Soiree | Emma | Natalia | Voyeurism | Exhibitionism
