Due to computer problems, I'm posting this blog for A J Llewellyn. Hope you enjoy
A J's take on real romance as well as his little foray into wild abandoned sex!
I had a date on Friday night. We were introduced by mutual friends and having just experienced a bad online romance, I was open to a good guy who was promising me an adventure. Having been single and on the market for thirty-six years (crapola on a bagel, thirty-seven next Monday) and being a man myself, I should know the danger words. The run, do not walk language of er…amore. But nope, heart on my stupid sleeve, I walked right into this one.
My First sex orgy.
Now, look, let me explain. I understand there is a long and deep history of sex orgies in all cultures. In Ancient Hawaii, for example, there was a fondness for wife-swapping among royalty in a festive celebration called ume (say oo-may) in which the host would walk around a circle of excited men and women, pointing long feathers at people, pairing them off and sending them to their romantic privacy. The beauty of this arrangement was that it was understood by all parties exactly what was involved and with one person handling the feather of fate, participants were assured not to draw their own spouse.
I repeat the part about it was understood by all parties exactly what was involved.
There was a variation of the ume called a kile (say kee-lay), which to the best of my knowledge was the origin of spin the bottle. Kile involved a wooden dish being sent around a group landing at the feet of the participants who were supposed to go off and you know…bump uglies.
This is not my idea of romance, even though I did put a kile in my upcoming M/M erotic romance novel A Vampire in Waikiki for www.eXtasybooks.com…but that’s by the by. I mean, my character Jimmy Thunder is a gay-for-pay porn star who’s been kickin’ it in Waikiki for over a hundred years and a fella’s bound to get bored, right?
But I digress.
My Stupid Suitor showed up on time, looked nice, appeared to have all his teeth, a good grip on hygiene, and although he’d stressed his inclination toward being romantic in our phone conversations, he drove me to Sunset Boulevard where we stopped for an apple martini which was so bitter and odd-tasting, I should have guessed by angels in heaven were trying to give me a clue.
Next we hurtled up a tiny canyon road to a certain famous house (not in my social circle) and we were relieved of my date’s car by fresh-pressed valet drivers who gave us knowing smirks. I did briefly wonder if they really were valet guys and not just that car thief ring back in action. Yep, surprised they didn’t make a movie about those guys. They showed up at night spots all over town pretending to be valet drivers, zooming off to chop shops all over the city.
So we walked up the driveway and I noticed people were taking off jackets at the door. No big surprise, but taking everything else off too?
Now that my friends is an orgy.
I must say, as I plunged into the inner recesses of this little shindig, I thought at first my eyes were imagining things…but my eyes were not deceiving me. The entire room was a writhing mass of nekked bodies. Now I like sex and I would like to have some before I die, but not like this. As my date let out a hoo-yah! and threw himself into the mire, I stood rooted and bewildered to one increasingly damp spot on the floor. I was sweating. It’s hard enough for me to disrobe in front of somebody I like, let alone a bunch of ‘em.
A bar tender to my left told me I had to go and sit at the bar. I was entitled to one free drink, then I had to drop my clothing along with my inhibitions – or get out.
He coaxed me along to an empty stool – there was an embarrassment of riches there. I was apparently the only bashful guy in the place. The bartender mixed me the perfect apple martini. I asked him to marry me, but he just laughed. Every time I tried to sneak a peek at the festivities, he distracted me with jokes. But I did see my romantic companion cavorting with a frenzied passion that would have made Caligula look like an amateur.
I licked the glass clean.
But I still wasn’t drunk enough to lay down the boogie and play any type of funky music. I was escorted in an unfriendly way – okay I was frog-marched – back into the night and as I picked my way down the canyon (no street lights), a pathetic, scraggly looking coyote loped past me, glancing at me. Even he thought I was a wimp.
So, I got home okay and a volley of phone calls later, everyone I have ever met knew my sorry little saga. My friends swear I either make this stuff up, or that it happens to me because of the nature of my books.
Neither. I am wearing a big fat, invisible sign that attracts odd men, even odder experiences…and this led me to question my Disappearing Date who surfaced yesterday about whether he considered this to be a romantic experience. In his estimation, it was.
Now some guys I told an extended version of this story to, wanted the address of the orgy house. Some of them even claimed to have been there. One guy definitely had since he could describe the place in detail…but not one of them suggested this was romance.
Last night, I joined thousands of other Greek Orthodox men and women who crowded Saint Sophia Cathedral in downtown LA for the start of Orthodox Easter. Men, women, gay, straight, young, married, old, sleepy, happy, laughing, black, white and shades in between jostled for pew space as we listened to our wonderful Father John ponder the nature of faith. My BFF’s husband kept looking at her anxiously because she was exhausted and their newborn baby girl was fussing. My BFF’s DH turned to me and asked me to let him out of the pew so he could take the baby outside for some fresh air.
He told me his wife needed this church service. That she needed it for the caring of her soul.
Now, that my friends, is romance.
And God willing, I’m gonna find me some of that some day soon…