The Story Of A Failed Orgy

condomsIn an uncharacteristic moment of peace (trying to bend spoons with my mind is hard, yo), I went back and read Chrissy and Ken’s columns about threesomes again. I don’t generally have the time to do that these days, what with the spoon bending and all, but I was trying to figure out what I should write about. Following up a post about cancer is kind of tricky and requires more finesse than I have.

And suddenly was like the heavens opened up and smiled down upon me. My muddled memory banks opened up and I remembered the delicious story of my failed foursome. See, unlike Chrissy, whom I love and adore and would scrunch up and put in my back pocket because I find her so adorable and charming and hilarious, I think threesomes are kind of awesome. Of course, I’ve never actually had one, so for all I know, they could be the worst thing on the planet. That’s just it, I don’t know, haven’t had one. But given the right situation I probably would. I do not know what that situation would involve, but I’m guessing unicorns, glitter and probably a whole lot of bourbon. This story is more funny than erotic which is pretty much my entire existence these days, but that is neither here nor there.

Back when I was in college, a couple of my friends were sitting around my parents house. My parents were often out of town when I was in college, probably to avoid being in the same zip code as my smarmy college self, which led to many parties thrown at my house. One of these friends, a guy named Mike, worked at a local video store, the kind that actually had a porn section roped off in the back. Frequently, for entertainment, we’d visit him at work and pick out the most ridiculously titled porn movies to watch together after his shift. (aside: this habit has made it hard for me to take porn very seriously now)

The night that we came up with our Master Plan, the four of us; Mike, Chris, Sharon and I had been sitting around my house, eating buffalo wings and watching Midgets Take Manhattan. During a particularly hilarious foursome scene, one of us made an off-hand remark about foursomes. For the life of me, I cannot remember what it was, and trust me, I’d give a lot to remember what it was. Like a kidney or, if not, at least a couple of dollars. From that remark, though, the conversation quickly turned into a spirited discussion about foursomes.

Specifically, we discussed how it was kind of bullshit that none of us had ever engaged in one. It was absurd that out of the four of us, not one of us had engaged in a threesome, foursome or any other -some. Complete and utter bullshit!

Well, we shrugged, looking around at each other, maybe we should try it. The midgets looked like they were having a good time. We should try it now before we’re all old and it’s too weird. Right?

(aside: we kinda had a point there)

The upside to the four of us having a foursome, we decided, was that we were not dating each other. We had no desire to date each other. We never would date each other. There would never be any emotional involvement or weirdness about how hard it was to see the others engaged in sexual acts because, well, it was just going to be fun. We weren’t going to have hurt feelings over watching our partners have The Sex with other women or men because we weren’t partners at all! Pure fun. I mean, look at the midgets!

Somehow, we’d decided that the night to Do The Deed would be a couple of weeks away rather than right then at that very moment. I think we’d needed to gather supplies like condoms and lube and alcohol (and chicken wings, obviously). We’d probably wanted to get some actual porn, too, because Midgets Take Manhattan was more for our entertainment rather than to get our rocks off.

Throughout the next couple of weeks, we hung out a couple of times. The first few times that we saw each other, we discussed the The Master Foursome Plan like it was a great jewel heist or a bank robbery we were carrying off, rather than some casual (safe!) sex. But as the date to have The Sex with each other drew nearer, I noticed an odd thing happening: we all started to get a little, well, awkward about the whole thing. Where we’d never been strange and shy before about The Sex, suddenly we were fumbling and stilted, each of us praying the others wouldn’t bring up The Sex.

Soon, the night of the Master Foursome was upon us and we gathered uncomfortably at my parents house, the four of us. We sat in front of the television set, a porn on in the background just as it had so many times before, and yet this time, no one was poking fun at the gigantic nutsack on the male star. No one mocked the overly loud, obnoxious fake orgasms of the female lead. No one even made fun of the horribly orchestrated plot lines (really, a pizza guy? AGAIN?) It was as though we’d been replaced by four stunt doubles who looked just like the four of us, but had no real idea how to behave around each other.

Not one of us mentioned the carefully planned orgy. Not once. I’m sure someone bought condoms and brought them, but no one mentioned or brought them out to show off. Minutes yawned oddly into hours. Still, we all sat there, glued into our spots on the couch, no one daring to move, in fear, perhaps that someone might whip out a penis or a boob or something.

Somehow, we’d managed to create the exact scenario we’d thought we were trying desperately to avoid: the awkwardness of a foursome. What’s worse, we didn’t even manage to have one. Thankfully, we managed to avoid any jealous lovers quarrels and hurt feelings, but I don’t think things were ever quite the same between the four of us. I’m not exactly sure why we didn’t have a foursome and I don’t know that any of the others do, either.

That was the way that foursome ended. Not with a bang (heh), but an awkward whimper (heh).

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0 comments

  1. I think that the major obstacle was the time in between the planning and then weeks until the act. Too much thought usually transforms into misgivings; Misgivings morph into doubt and doubt manifests as awkward porn watching. Just a bad path all together. My advice: from now on any time you watch porn have protection with you just in case an orgy presents itself. You certainly don’t want to miss out on the fun because you forgot to “pack.”

  2. DarkTouch

    You got further than my friends did. In college we were all hanging out with the alcohol in the big dorm room. Couples, semi couples, and singles. The conversation was charged but not uncomfortably so… not until the short little Jersey girl piped up with 'We should have an orgy! I'm serious. Orgies bring friends closer together.'

    This wisdom was mocked repeatedly but at no point did anyone believe that this was the proper road to take. Based on your story I'm going to go on record that I'm glad it didn't go further. I do miss that little red headed Jersey girl however.

  3. ken

    wow, that's pretty bad. all of the awkwardness, and none of the fun!

    i think we should have a TWM "get-together." we know each other, but we don't have to see each other all the time. perfect!

    having had group sex, specifically threesomes, on my mind for the last two weeks, i have come to a singular conclusion:

    worry is the enemy of sexual freedom/energy/actualization

    any time you have worry,* you're cutting into your good time. the more worry, the more impossible it becomes to really let go and enjoy yourself, and that really is the point, isn't it?

    worry creeps into your brain and distracts you, makes you think you're failing, makes you think you're not good enough, that you're lousy, that everything is wrong, and broken, and ruined.

    worry is utterly unsexy.

    sounds like you guys spent the evening worrying about which one of you was going to make the first move, and how the rest of you would back out as gracefully as possible!

    ken

    * i'm not talking about "fake worry" like "oh no we're fucking in the bushes what if someone stumbles across us." that shit actually HELPS. 😉

    • Great minds my friend. I didn't even see your comment when replied to Crissy above 🙂

      Perhaps more confidence would make those worries go away. If you communicate to your partner all the wonderful, amazing and truly talented things they do in bed it gives them confidence. More confidence = less worry.

  4. Chicken wings are the least sexy thing ever. I go out with my brother a couple times a month to get our wing on. Yesterday he sent me this text, "Small portions of atrophied limbs dipped in extracts of peppers and dairy by products tonight?" Raw sex. The end.

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