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My two companions for the evening -- I’ll call them Steve and Jessica -- and I walked into the unassuming San Francisco Mission District flat on a Saturday evening in early August.
We were all virgins to the sex party scene and more than a little nervous. We were young, we were jaded, and we were more than a little bit tipsy already.
This wasn’t the case for me and the Russians, but then, they didn’t break any of my personal boundaries, so no confrontations or lectures were required.
There was also something really hot about being caught off guard, about someone knowing what you want without having to ask for it.
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I also happen to abide by the Writer’s Manifesto: A good story is better than a good time.The first guy I met was also a volunteer, and he was dressed kind of like Aladdin. It made me really uncomfortable, so I made an excuse, grabbed Jessica, and together we took a tour of the house.Since I was nervous, I immediately made a sex joke, which I assumed would be well received at a sex party, but which instead made him laugh anxiously and then start rubbing my thigh. In addition to the Room of Beds, and the bar/lounge, there was also a dance floor, an enclosed patio for smokers, and a play room, which didn’t really have much equipment, save for a spanking bench.After it was over, the girl and I made polite small talk as if she hadn’t just been riding my face a few minutes earlier.“So, you come here often?” she asked, and I smiled to myself at the backwardness of such a cheesy, post-sex pickup line.“No,” I said. Long after our wild night together, a night that cemented our friendship in unexpected ways, I asked Jessica why she agreed to go to the party, what motivated her.