Not My Kind Of Party

Okay:

A little while back I did something that I never imagined I would do. I went to one of those sex parties.

As you well know, dear reader, I have been promiscuous. But even in my wildest of days, an occasional visit to the strip club was about was freaky as it got for me. Dildos, wax, ass beads—who needs it? I’ll take my vagina regular, thank you.

But a friend of mine was hosting one of these little shindigs, so I said fuck it and agreed to go. First, I had to find me a friend that was freaky enough to be my date. Which was not difficult.

See, it’s been my experience that women on the whole are far freakier than men think they are. The kind of stuff your lady would go for if you presented it in the right way might blow your mind. The first woman I asked jumped at the chance. We did have to set some things straight first.

“I’m not doing no orgy,” I said.

“Me neither,” she said.

“And if anyone tries to stick something up my ass, I’m leaving.”

“Ditto,” she said.

“And you’re not allowed to do freaky shit with anyone else. If you decide to get freaky, I’m the one who reaps the benefits.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I’m serious. I don’t wanna go to the chip bowl and come back to find you making out with some asshole on the couch. That’s the kind of nasty shit they do at these things. I’m just going for shit-and-giggles.”

She agreed to the terms and we set out on our date having no idea what to expect. A kind of Eyes Wide Shut deal? Wall-to-wall, hot, half-naked women just waiting and willing to do whatever? Freaky Middle- Eastern music playing in the background? Cages, chains, whips? A smoke machine? Mosquito nets?

Fruit?

Sadly, there were no such accoutrements.

We arrived at the hotel suite a little after midnight. We could smell the weed from the elevator, which pleased my date but did absolutely nothing for me. In fact, I thought to myself—Great! Everyone’s going to be high and I’ll have no one to talk to. Proof-positive that I am getting old and boring.

I knock the special knock and notice immediately the sound of porn. We are let in and low-and-behold the porn is being projected on the wall. I’ve never seen a two-foot penis before and I hope I never see one again.

I typically try to avoid clichés like “the smoke was so thick you could cut it with a knife” but, goddamn it, I don’t know what else to tell you. It was smoky as hell in there. Smoky like, something-in-here-is-on-fire smoky. In the sitting area there were at least a dozen guys and one chubby girl sitting on the couch. Everyone was higher than giraffe pussy. It was like “Night of the Living Baseheads” in there. Or that scene in Jungle Fever when Flip tried to find Gator so he could get their mother’s television back and he found Gator in that crack-house with Halle Berry and he was like “I’m smoking the damn TV!”

It was like that. Except instead of crack, these motherfuckers were blowing serious reefer.

Serious reefer.

The shit I smoked in college didn’t make you look like this.
My date stuck close to me and said nothing but I sensed she wanted to ask someone where they had the shit stashed. I asked someone about my friend, the host.

“In the back,” said the random stranger.

Oh my God, I thought. What the hell is going on ‘in the back’?

Though nervous, I ventured to the back with my date close behind. Three guys and a different chubby girl. This one was wearing a teddy. My friend was nowhere to be found though. I looked to my right and saw a closed door. There was a light on in the adjoining room. Then it hit me.

Oh my God, I thought. They must be...’in the back of the back.’

What in the fuck is going on in the back of the back?

I decided I did not want to find out. Like my Uncle Beau always told me. Curiosity killed the cat and it fucked up the dog too.

My date and I left as quickly and quietly as we came. Not our bag, really.

It was an interesting experience. I don’t know if it’s anything I would try a second time. But kudos go to my friend, who reads this blog regularly, for inviting me and having the balls to do such a thing.


Thanks for reading.

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Confession: I wore my lucky underwear (black boxer-briefs) just in case.