I'm not sure if I've ever been in an orgy. I think technically I have, but the distinguishing factors aren't always as clear as you'd imagine. Then again, orgies are probably like orgasms, if you think you might have maybe been in one, you probably weren't. It's a tenuous process and takes a lot of deliberate attention and subtle coaxing to bring one about. Even with all the pieces laid out, it takes a driven mind to be able to assemble something with those pieces beyond the instinctual Tab A into Slot B configuration.
The first time the pieces assembled before me I was sharing a hotel room with some friends. Our room had two queen-size beds. In one was a friend who I was desperately in love with, and her girlfriend. I was in the other bed with a woman who I liked a lot, but whom I just wasn't attracted to. We had spent the night out in a larger group of friends, drinking, dancing, taking taxis to and fro. We came back to the hotel late and flopped in our beds not wanting to fall asleep just yet. It didn't take long before C and her girlfriend were entwined. I watched them coil around each other like nubile wrestlers, teasing and tugging, wholly transported.
I was in bed with M. We weren't seeing each other and hadn't so much as kissed before. We were just friends. I liked her a lot. She was a tomboy with a penchant for foul language and binge drinking. She was impossible to offend and perennially upbeat. I looked at M, then back at the other bed. I had no idea what to do. I wanted desperately to climb into the other bed and join the serpentine knot of ecstasy that was in the process of winding itself up. If I tried that there was a sporting chance of rejection and, possibly, being thrown out of the room altogether. I was anxious and it had been several minutes of awkwardly sitting on a bed with M watching two other people start to have sex on the bed opposite.
I grappled with my discomfort by going to the window and peeing. We were on the fifth floor, and the window looked back into an alleyway. I pissed right out the window and watched the yellow stream tumble down into a dumpster below. All the voyeurism and conflicted lust had made me immediately aware of my penis. Following the leash of my Freudian spirit guide, it seemed like the easiest way to acknowledge it was to scurry to a window and start peeing like some punch-drunk spring breaker.
Sensing the tension coming from my side of the room, C's girlfriend got up and forcibly moved M on top of me as I sat back down on the bed. I took this as an encouraging sign, the separation between our two beds had been broken by the other side. There was hope for an escalation. I started kissing M, keeping one eye fixed on the other side of the room. Soon my pants were around my ankles and M was giving me head. I began to feel deeply conflicted. I became distinctly aware of my lack of sexual interest in M. "I shouldn't be doing this with her," I thought.
Suddenly I was doubly conflicted. I had an angle on getting into the other bed, but it involved escalating things with M, and I didn't want to. I froze again, I didn't want to give up on moving over, but I couldn't go any further with M. The whole thing started to make me sad. Suddenly C darted out of the room, wrapping herself in a towel as she ran. She returned a minute later with one of our other friends. "How many times does a naked woman come knocking on your door at 4 in the morning saying she needs you, hurry up," he recalled in the morning. Seeing him join them, I suddenly felt like all my hope had slipped away. I felt like I was marooned on my bed, with M now bouncing drunkenly on top of me.
A large part of why I failed to insinuate myself into the other bed is that I didn't really want to have an orgy. I didn't care about anyone in the room besides C. She was the one I wanted to be with that night, and even if I had summoned up some small modicum of courage and walked over to the other side of the room it wouldn't ultimately have been what I wanted.
I'm not sure what the incentive of group sex is. It seems like the ultimate vindication of sex as a pure mechanism. It's scary to give over completely to the idea that sex and pleasure can be validated through raw quantity and workmanship. We are machines of ecstasy whose primary purposes are most in focus when writhing in the sensual ether. It insinuates some subtle loss of identity, like gliding through the universal abyss held up by a tangled sea of anonymous arms. It's a concession to oblivion.
I don't think that's a concession I want to make. I want one of those arms to pull me back down again and hold me tight.
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