Dating Confessions by You "Callin' me baby when I'm trying to get over you doesn't help. I just don't have the heart to ask you to stop because my heart skips a little each time you say it to me."
As she bounced atop the mass of flesh, Claire kept glancing over to me, occasionally mouthing, "You okay?" as I sat expressionless, shoving another canapé or Ritz cracker into my mouth. The evening was giving me weird, unprecedented feelings, and I couldn't hide them. Claire looked concerned, even as she writhed on top of a man called Steve whose appendage would come in handy if you ever needed use of a crowbar.
I went to get my stuff from the coat check, stepping around J., who had taken up position behind Karolinka. The Russian was face down in a pile of cushions. Her shouted-yet-muffled instructions were inaudible to me, although the man with the disco 'do seemed to be getting the gist of it. I grabbed my gear, thanked Palagia for a truly eye-opening time and waited for Claire to say her goodbyes. She was the real star of the party, collecting several very innocuous-looking business cards and swapping email addresses with a few men and women. One of the men at the party who was, I learned, a legendary regular would later email Claire, requesting to "enjoy her unique sparkle once more."
We left around four. As I closed the door slowly, I glanced down the hallway and saw the back of J., who was relentlessly hammering away at yet another woman.
Summarize your findings. Don't forget to attempt to identify possible variables that could result in different findings for others trying to recreate your test results.
Most people will go through life experiencing a sex party only through the prism of the silver screen: You were stunned by Gore Vidal's Caligula, you balked at Eyes Wide Shut, you may have even cringed and chuckled your way through the Collins's 1978 classic The Bitch (written by Jackie, starring Joan). But a real-life orgy is a somewhat different animal. Perhaps my experience would have been improved by Kubrick's digital obfuscation of the appendages that are otherwise only witnessed in urology textbooks. From my perspective, masks would have been handy too, not to obscure the faces of the ugly folk there were none but to give a degree of anonymity that a cheap Ringo wig and white pedal pushers simply couldn't provide.
What set me apart from the more active revelers was that they had the will and fortitude to translate fantasy to reality. Perhaps, like me, they were all a little coy on their first go-round. Being in a room of people who were getting it on was certainly liberating, but I'm not sure that I ever felt comfortable. Most of the other people at the party came along with their serious partner or spouse. I think I'm too jealous to watch a serious girlfriend get humped by J. and his ilk, but the experience of attending with a near stranger was a lonely one. Palagia had told me that this party was really for like-minded partners in a serious relationship. And Claire was a great sport, but her exuberance at the party didn't do much for our burgeoning friendship.
For the moment, I was shellshocked. The party had been exquisitely executed: with its cool venue, slick use of secret passwords and general sense of subterfuge, it was a fuckfest worthy of the KGB. Nonetheless, the whole experience left me feeling shaken, not stirred.
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