Kiss Unrequited

I wanted to kiss her last night. But I didn’t, of course, I couldn’t. Why didn’t I? Because I wasn’t supposed to. Because it’s antithetical to everything that I committed myself to: Charlie and our sexually exploratory but non-polyamorous relationship. I didn’t want to kiss her. But my knee wanted to touch hers, my hand wanted to rub her neck, my arms wanted to pull her close to me, casually, playfully. When she turned to say something about the music to me, whispering almost, and I smelled the pungent sexy cigarette breath, my mouth wanted to taste her. Even though I know that if I were to go there and continue to go there, unabashedly following my desires, in two to three months time I would be repulsed by that breath. Just as I am sometimes repulsed by the fat of Charlie’s belly. This will pay off in the end, I think. This restraint. The choice to be reasonable. “Desire has no reason…” I heard myself saying to her as I, in my spinning brain, leaned my face into her neck, my pelvis pressed against hers in the dark red corner of Stonewall bar. The place that spawned freedom for the gays: this is where I wanted to kiss her, but didn’t.

When we said good-bye, in her embrace I could feel her instinct to pull. When she kissed my cheek, it was almost a default that her lips landed there. We’re both faking it terribly.

So I went home and watched “Grey Gardens” which I won in the raffle. I tried to forget, to pat myself on the back and convince myself that I did well to resist temptation. It will pay off, this struggle, it will be worth it, she will thank me for it in the end, when she’s in love with someone who doesn’t have a man in her life. Yeah, sure, it will be worth it when I’m living as a recluse with my mother and eight cats, regretting all the things I didn’t do. Slap me for writing that. But he comes home in the middle of Grey Gardens, I look around at the mess our apartment has become, and the possibility doesn’t seem too far from reality. I, after all, enjoy being alone. I’m three cats away from being a cat lady. I have not yet achieved the artistic success I desire. So I could be that eccentric prancing around an old house with a scarf on her head, thinking I could still be on Broadway, if only they could see me now. Maybe she’ll make a documentary of me and I’ll get famous anyway as a caricature of myself, as drunk drag queens impersonate me in piano bars thirty years later.

Why didn't I kiss her? Because she wants what so many lesbians want: a relationship with a woman who isn't tied up with a man. In my case, that man happens to be her friend. They've known each other long before he and I met, long before I was an adult. And the funny thing is, he practically orchestrated this dramatic sex triangle. He encouraged me to go out on a date with her and do whatever I want. I said, "Sure, why not?" without expecting anything. She didn't have any expectations either. He wasn't expecting, but hoping this arrangement might lead to a threesome. None of this would've happened if she hadn't drunkenly kissed him and said some things that gave him the impression she was interested in playing with both of us. I was not there. He came home and told me. Then he set us up. On our date, she practically denied ever having any interest in being with him. "No, it's just a fantasy. I do not want to have sex with Charlie. Charlie's my friend."

I went back to her place. Still no expectations. Though I said in the elevator, "I think we should at least make out." I had to get even. More than that, she was sexy. And I was on fire with possibilities. Possibilities that live in the land of no expectation.

Is it any surprise that we had sex, after all this anticipation of nothing, but possibly something? It was good, not great, as most first-time encounters are. She was nervous, unsure about the situation. "What am I doing sleeping with my friend's girlfriend?" I had to convince her it was okay. So it was not great, but intense. It had been a long time, over a year, since I had a one-on-one sexual experience with a woman. Maybe it was the refreshing newness, maybe it was the weirdness of the situation, maybe it was her oral devotion, her unflagging determination to make me come, that made it more than a casual one-night-stand. Then later, in the nest of sweaty sheets, we shared some things about ourselves. She saw me laugh, acknowledged it as something sweet. "When I first met you, you had an edge," she said.

It's true. To most people I have an "edge." Most people don't see the side that Charlie knows so well. But in a moment, without intending to, I let her see it.

I didn't realize how intimate we were until I saw her a week later. She had been on my mind, but I thought it was inconsequential, a natural lingering that would fade after a week of sex with Charlie. But when I saw her again, I held her for a while. I felt the buzz of seeing a new lover after the first fuck. The kind of buzz that makes me want more, not only sexually, but mindfully, emotionally. I wanted to discover her. Polyamorists call this phenomenon New Relationship Energy or NRE for short.

But I don't want a new relationship! Or do I? She doesn't want to have a threesome with us! Or does she? She can't seem to handle being with me in any way that involves him, whether he's physically present or not. And Charlie, my love, doesn't like the idea of me longing to be with a woman without him.

Where does that leave me? Pondering a kiss that never happened, in the grey gardens of my mind.

Hitachi, My Love

What did you do on New Year's Eve? Mine was pretty uneventful. I used a vibrator on stage while singing in lingerie. Man, I really got to get a life.

For my last Forbidden Kiss performance on New Year's Eve, I re-wrote the lyrics of the song "Freddy, My Love" from the musical Grease, which I sang as an homage to my favorite vibrator, the Hitachi Magic Wand.

HITACHI, MY LOVE

Hitachi, my love
I love you more than words can say
Hitachi, my love
(Please) stay plugged in as I squirm away
Thinking of you can make the day so much better
Playing with you makes my pussy so much wetter
My roomate’ll flip cause I came all over her sweater

Hitachi, my love…

Hitachi, you know, abstinence makes me feel so blue
That’s ok though, your pulses makes me lust for you
My clit will have a hard attack when it catches
That change of speed with the part that attaches
Oh how I wish I knew a girl who loves snatches

Hitachi, my love

Don’t keep your magic from me
I thrill to every vibe
Your buzzing’s kinda funny, but honey, it feels fine
I treasure all that humming, your size is really stunning
They say you can be numbing, but I’m cumming for the 5th time!

Oh, oh, oh, oh!

Hitachi, you’ll see, I’ll use you on a girl someday
And I will be wearing my roommate’s lingerie
Thinking about it my twat’s throbbing already
Knowing when she comes home, we’re bound to be ready
To make her cervix spray all over her silk teddy

Hitachi, my love…Hitachi, my love!


Also check out my performance of "Orgy Etiquette," a column I wrote for New York Press.

Enjoy!

CARNIVAL OF DESIRE

He had never been to a party like this before, an Eat-In that is. He had been to other erotic parties with me, but he was a One Leg Up Virgin. It was a few days before Halloween, so the theme, Carnival Masquerade, was fitting. My boyfriend and I were dressed to the sixty-nines for a night of erotic delight. In the lobby sprinkled with rose petals, I slipped off my trench coat and slipped on long pink evening gloves. We both put on our masks, the final touch. A single masked woman, who had arrived at the same time, complimented our costumes. We took the elevator with her and learned that it was her first time as well. Hmmm.

The elevator opened to a reception fronting a coat-check. We checked in some of our things with the sexy coat-check girl. (Why don’t all sexy coat-check girls wear lingerie?) Then we began exploring the space. It was black and red with gothic furniture, various racks and machines, whips and paddles, cuffs, straps and ropes hanging from hooks on the walls. We guessed it was either a dungeon or an apartment belonging to one kinky person. Yet the feeling in the air was sensual and mysterious. As always, One Leg Up goes over the top with the aesthetic spread of fresh fruits, veggies, cheese, breads, and chocolates, a classy counterpoint to the S&M décor. In my humble opinion, my masked love was the hottest guy there, and I felt sexy in my black corset topping a pink and white furry skirt that opened in the front like two curtains parting to reveal the window, the hot pink panties, the star of the show.

My show, that is, for him. If others want to watch, they may, as long as they make me feel good. They’ve already bought tickets and are entitled to a performance, although no one is obligated to perform. I have the power to withhold my theatrics from critics and hecklers. That’s the beauty of an Eat-In. There is no obligation to do anything other than respect your fellow performers and audience members.

It had been a long time since I attended an Eat-In, so I was reticent at first, standing near the food, observing guests hiding behind their masks. Like most sex parties, a One Leg Up soirée gives people the freedom to check out sexual prospects, without the fear of offending someone or feeling that the gesture is inappropriate to context. The whole point of an Eat-In is to pursue your desires and act out fantasies in a safe environment. If you cross the line of respect (touching before asking), there will probably be someone eager to teach you a lesson with a well-deserved spanking.

I received a proper spanking (just because I wanted it, not for lack of respect) on a beam-like structure called a horse. My spanker (I’ll call her M) was a professional domme who knew what she was doing with a paddle. She was so friendly and considerate that I felt as though I was in the presence of a doctor or professional masseuse. I trusted my body in her hands more than I trusted any other stranger I encountered at the party. It goes without saying that Palagia (the founder of One Leg Up), has a knack for hiring professionals. Earlier in the evening, Palagia suggested I tie my love onto a swinging table suspended from the ceiling with chains. M taught me the ropes (pun intended), and introduced my love to nipple clamps. He didn’t get the pleasure at first. Then I fondled his balls as the lovely masked sprite from the elevator appeared behind him, and he seemed to forget the pain.

The Sprite had been holding our attention since we arrived. She was pretty, hungry, fresh, and ALONE. We surmised that she would be open to playing with a couple, and as the party was dominated by heterosexual couples and I was not interested in any men other than my horny prince, I broke the ice with a strawberry. The idea came to me when I was feeling like a fish out of water, having been so long away from the scene, standing next to the fruit, hesitant and almost indifferent about approaching anyone. I was feeling out of the loop of lust. Then the strawberry gave me an idea. It wasn’t so much that I desired her. I didn’t want to leave disappointed. I especially didn’t want to disappoint him. My satisfaction didn’t matter so much. I had been to dozens of orgies, and this would not be the last. I could’ve gone home without a taste, but I didn’t want to taint his initiation into the world of One Leg Up. I knew that once I committed myself to a simple physical action, lust, desire and juices would follow in flow.

“I have an idea,” I said. “Follow me.”

Tease him with ambiguity. We walked into the room with the swinging platform. A muscular dude with a low-hanging cock tucked into a leathery pouch of a g-string was splayed against the wall. Various couples were scattered around the space. I was delighted to see a lone lesbian couple playing on the platform or swing or whatever it’s called. The butch was sitting on the swing, big breasts heaving beneath her black button-down shirt, her lover wedged between her legs. The butch reminded me of my ex-girlfriend. Then the feeling washed over me—that desire for women that soars beyond mere curiosity. I turned to the Sprite.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m having a problem and I was wondering if you could help me.” I looked away, feeling awkward and out of practice.

She smiled.

“I have this strawberry and I want to eat it, but it’s too big for my mouth. Will you help me?”

My Prince stood behind me, watching, letting me drive the action of the play. She smiled as I offered her the strawberry. Then she took it and fed it to me. She got my gist. The strawberry passed back and forth between our mouths several times. The dance had begun.

A little later, we found her playing with the dude with the pouched cock. He had been standing against this large metal X on the wall, stroking his cock since the party began. He had been hired as part of the live entertainment, but seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his work, licking something off the Sprite’s chest. We stood casually next to them, fondling each other. She turned around and presented us with a jar of chocolate sauce made specifically for skin. She dipped her finger in it and frosted my Prince’s nipple. We both licked it off him. X-man retreated into the background. Then the Sprite, the Prince, and I spent the next several minutes frosting and licking each other: breast, nipple, navel. I’m not sure what we enjoyed more—making a mess or cleaning up.

It wasn’t long after this human fondue experiment when Palagia blew her whistle to announce “undies time.” The fact that everyone must strip down to underwear at the same time is a unique part of the Eat-In. You could probably refuse if you want, but if you were shy about wearing nothing but undies among beautiful strangers, then you wouldn’t be at this party, now would you? At an event where nothing is structured, where etiquette is understood (hopefully) and unspoken, you can always count on undies time to bring everyone together. Maybe you’ve had your eye on someone since you arrived, but you haven’t had the courage to let her know you’re interested. Now you have an excuse: “I love your panties,” you could say.

I’m shy in some ways, but when it comes to communal stripping, I’m one of the first to start. In this case, something inspired me to turn it into a show. Maybe it was the sight of my Prince and the Sprite, already demasked and disrobed, sitting on the swing. I slinked into a sensual dance, unhooking my corset slowly as if I were doing a burlesque routine. The furry skirt took at least five minutes to leave my body; before I abandoned it, it became a flag for an imaginary bull, a veil for my eyes, a mink stole for my Prince. With my hot pink panties in full view, the party was now underway…

The Sprite became our girl of the night, drifting in and out of our space, leaving, but always coming back. There was an unspoken agreement to take care of each other; our connection was sealed. The rest was foreplay. She came and went, came and went, and finally came for good against my thigh, as I sat on my Prince’s lap upon a gothic throne in the corner of the master bedroom. She stood before me and moistened my thigh with her juices, letting out a sweet moan as I squirmed in my seat. Then he fucked me on the chair. Not bad for two virgins.

The night dissolved into sweet kisses and whispers between me and my Prince. We stayed until the lights turned on. Our Sprite was gone. No more naked bodies entwined in orgiastic bliss. No more music. No more masks. As the leather was being wiped down, we marveled that just an hour ago, the carnival of desire was in full swing. It seemed as though we were departing a dream. I’m looking forward to my next erotic adventure. Next time I won’t be so shy.