Writing about the NYC Sex Bloggers' party gives me the same problem I have writing about any sex: I want to put in everything, and there's no way you can get all of Proust into a single blog post.
It happens every time. Even thought I don't always remember names (who was that chick in the polka dot dress?), I remember a million other things. And I want to describe everything, from each peak and dip of my mood to the drink in my hand to the color of the lights and the color of Diva's corset...and that doesn't even begin to describe all that happened there. There were burlesque dancers and a raffle that was so rigged one woman got a dozen things and awkward conversations with famous sex educators and sudden conversations with people I had never met before but were as easy as if I had known them for days. How did something that lasted only four hours have so many things packed into it?
I might not even write about this at all, except that he wanted me to. He told me so as we walked back to the subway the next morning: "I wanna be Mister Something."
I can't call you Mister X., I told him, there's already an X. on here and people might get confused.
One of the most amazing things about the sex blogger party wasn't the fact that I got to meet lots of people whose words had inspired me...or that people who I'd never heard of knew who I was from the comments I'd left on other people's blogs. (OK, that was at least equally amazing. When Tess asked me if she could introduce me to Diva I got so overwhelmed by all the cyber people suddenly becoming real I had to excuse myself and checked in my coat to gain time to recover from my attack of shyness.)
But in hindsight, the most amazing thing was that I got hit on.
See, outside of the internet, I NEVER get hit on. In the course of a week I probably IM, email, and webcam as many as five feedee boys, but I've pretty much crossed parties and bars off my list as places to meet people. The last time I was in NYC, me and my friends went out to bars for several weeks. I don't think I got hit on once, though I made advances toward maybe five guys. I finally got horny enough to solve the problem with my first and last Craigslist experiment, but still, whenever I get laid, it's usually because I make the advances.
But in the crush of the partygoers, as crowded as in any rave club where I'd danced alone, something was different. I dunno if it was the fact that I was at a party filled with some of the kinkiest people in NYC, but suddenly I could feel eyes on me. As many boys as I had hit on during those few weeks in NYC were looking at me over their drinks as if they were devouring me. They weren't ugly scary guys either. I think they were all in their mid-20s to 30s, which was gratifying, to say the least. But none were quite what I was looking for. Even though I'd been drinking water all night, I felt a kind of haze grow around me. Different boys would dip down towards me, to exchange a few words, but none were caught up in it the same as I was. Who would it be? A boy, a girl, or something I'd never had before, a creature I'd only caught glimpses of in the flickering light of a computer screen?
I came out of the bar for a breath of air. Two boys were looking at magazines, but the minute I showed up shoved them back in their pockets. I laughed and said something like, "Don't hide the porn! It's a sex blogger party!"
They were looking at a Njoy magazine, it turned out. We began talking, and one of the boys excused himself, so I was left alone with the other. I used the line that I had been using on everyone that night with such success, "Do you have a blog?"
"A secret one," he said, lighting a cigarette and grinning at me.
He asked me if I blogged, and I said yes with great pleasure--I belonged to the secret sexy organization of bloggers of smut! He wanted to know what my blog was about, and I cautiously explained feederism to him: "It's like, you think eating is sexy. But it's also extremely rare, so the blog is more about me looking for one. I haven't actually found one!"
He perked up when he heard that. "Where did you go to school?" he asked me.
I knew he was flirting with me. A year ago I wouldn't have been able to figure it out, would have been asking myself Is he/isn't he omg what if he is? But now I was getting the signal loud and clear. With him it was easy, he was like the scruffy philosophy majors I knew from college. And because he was known, I was able to relax and regain my confidence.
"You don't really have a blog!" I said, gleefully piercing though his joke, "you just say that to get girls!"
I decided to go back inside, try again. I was able to do the thing I had always been told to do but hadn't been able to: turn a boy down.
But after that I think nothing happened. I certainly don't remember anything happening. The party had begun to thin out by then, I circled around trying to find the few people I hadn't introduced myself to yet. I drank another glass of water.
I saw him again on one of my circuits of the room, he put himself in my line of sight and said, "Have you found any guys to like, feed yet?"
"No..." I wasn't sure where this was going.
"I'm kind of curious..."
"Ooooh," I said, acting stupid to gain time. He wasn't who I had expected to go home with. I had been expecting someone with feathers or sequins or extra sillicone parts. I suddenly remembered that before leaving my apt. that night I had finally decided I wasn't going to try and hit on anyone at this party, that I had left my "emergency kit" of condoms and lube at home.
But he was so nice I didn't want to say no.
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More to come.