I was sitting on my bed in my underwear, next to the boy I liked fucking at the time, and with a smattering of friends milling around my bedroom in various stages of getting drunk and getting high on blow. Me? I was feeling testy, mostly because they all had all their clothes on and were not in the various stages of getting undressed and getting fucked by each other. Which is what I wanted. Which is why I brought them here at 3 am on a Monday. I didn’t invite all these people over just so we could drink more and do key bumps. Pffft. No. I brought them here because I thought that this would be an excellent opportunity for yet another summer night sex orgy.
I had been having group sex off and on already that year, particularly with the boy I was fucking and a handful of our other friends. It was something that I had started to really enjoy. I always hosted, which I didn’t really mind, because I knew my house was the cleanest and that I was the most gracious when it came to keeping people comfortable, liquored up and within arms’ reach of a variety of sex toys. The boy I fucked would always bring the blow, and I’d try to get my girlfriends excited for a 3-6 hours of getting tore up by him and his drug dealer buddies who lived down the street.
Unfortunately, tonight, it was just not happening. Which was how I found myself sitting on my bed in my underwear, feeling a bit like a fool (not because I was pretty naked, but because I had trusted my friends to be as maniacally DTF as I constantly am. They weren’t.). I was dying to fuck, and no instead of one big happy fuck feast, it seemed that there were 4-6 people in my bedroom who were directly impeding my ability to fuck at this exact moment because the forecast was looking like it was just going to be me and him that night.
Tactfully booting everybody who is raining on your sex parade is a difficult thing to do, mostly because everybody doesn’t know that they’re raining on a sex parade; they think that they’re participating in a normal, average after hour drug binge, and that the drug binge rules apply. However, that is not true. Sex parade rules are quite different from drug binge rules, and according to sex parade rules, if you’re holding up the train, you gotta get out. You can wet blanket your way through a drug binge and no one will really care, and that’s probably why everyone thought it was okay to just mope around with their clothes on: they didn’t know that this was a sex parade, not a drug binge. Well, it was both, but I guess they hadn’t received the memo about the whole sex parade thing.
I had probably done too much cocaine at that point, which might have contributed to my testiness. Blow just does that sometimes. Blow also contributes to my delusions of grandeur, which was probably why I thought I was going to be able to pull off a six person cocaine orgy on a Monday night, but, hey, can’t blame a girl for trying. And, just for the record, I do not blame my friends for not participating in the orgy. I like my orgies to be 100% consensual, with no pressuring of unsure parties. I was merely dismayed that the calculations for my social engineering of the sex party turned out to be way, way off and instead of a bunch of freaks fucking on my bedroom floor, I was back to the same old, boring two people sex that I’ve been engaging in for the majority of my life. Sigh. That’s okay. After everyone left, we engaged in some high risk BDSM, which made me forget pretty quickly that there weren’t four other people in the room.