I've come to a point in my life where I’ll believe almost anything, just for the adventure of it. I find myself jumping easily onto trains of thought, riding while the scenery interests me, and then hopping to another. It’s like trying on hats.
I’m sure you can imagine the fun of this. For a week or two once, a few years ago, I believed in God like he was the Ford Motor Company. Sure, he’d seen better days, but his power was undeniable and he’d created the Mustang once. I like things with a little nuance to them. A week later I only really cared about the undeniable role of the Cubans in the JFK assassination. God, like everything else, had gotten a little old after awhile.
I believe fantastic things about people on the street or in cars that pass me. A man at lunch just the other day was playing scrabble on his phone and was rather excited at a triple word score. I knew in my heart he had a son he never talked to any longer. I knew he sometimes sat in his car and cried about it. The waitress, meanwhile, could have been a fantastic lover of mine, if either of us were prone to such things and meeting strangers, which we weren’t. It’s a shame really, as I would have loved to have kissed the little mole above her belly button that I couldn’t actually see. She didn’t give very good head though, that much was obvious to everyone, I’m sure.
The thing about all this believing is that it has spawned impossibles all over my life, which is actually how all of this believing came about.
I don’t know a lot of guys these days that talk a lot about having threeways. I think most of them have given up. What a silly thing to give up on!
When I was in college, nearly every guy I knew thought about threeways almost all of the time. We even called our ridiculous attempts at them “giving it the college try.” Most of the guys I knew also flunked out of college, both literally and following this particular metaphor. I finished college, graduating just above mediocrity on my transcript, but with honors in the “college try” department.
It’s amazing, I’ve found, just what can happen when you believe something is possible enough to ask for it.
This is a decent point to mention that, save my week-long flirtation with the car-building God, I’ve never found any religious ideas that really rang true to me. Because of my general uncertainty of what happens after, I’ve become a very firm believer in making the here and now as special, really special, as I can, since, you know, this is the shot we get.
I’ve never been able to figure out why more people don’t live like that. I suppose it’s comforting to believe that there’s not much more out there than we’re already doing. Everything else is fiction.
Do you realize how many things we only fantasize about that are entirely, and often easily, attained? There are things that would bring us pleasure or glory or learning or fulfillment or at least a decent fucking story to tell that take only the will to say, “because why not?” I’ve never been able to figure out why more people don’t ask that question a little more seriously of all the things they deny themselves. They must all think heaven is a pretty nice place, and that the only way to get there is to not have too much fun down here. That must be nice for them, seriously.
Was I talking about threeways? My apologies. I sometimes get carried away when I start thinking about all the fun and love and joy that people deny themselves because they feel like they should. Because there are rules against things that were made up just because a few hundred years ago.
There I go again.
I can take no credit for my first group sex experience. Like Newton and the apple, I was just sitting around and some wonderful shit hit me right over the head. The shit that hit me was a night of movie watching and delicious drinks with fruityness and vodka and enough people in the same room who were all attracted to another.
It wasn’t even a threeway. I jumped right to four people, with myself and four girls. That’s a little like graduating with a double major, right? I’ll stop the college metaphors... now.
So it was me and the three, and they are all wonderful people (well, let’s be honest, one of them truly remarkably wonderful, one who seemed pretty great, and then the other girl who was also there). We were on my front porch, and this is maybe around two in the morning, and the lateness and the drinking and the something in the air that comes with humid summer nights all combined to make us feel like we were in fiction, in make-believe, in a world that was built completely on the why-not’s and what-if’s of the world.
The girl of middle-coolness sprawled herself across the legs of the girl of supreme coolness and asked, “wanna make out?” She didn’t even say it special. Wanna know why? Because it’s not fucking magic people! It’s just asking for what you want.
They started making out, there on the couch that sat on my front porch, and there is no proper response to spontaneous makeouting other than continuing on, which is what the other two of us did. To save us from the awkwardness of two couples making out directly next to each other, hands were moved liberally amongst the couch and landed on soft and warm and lovely places. We bit lips and moaned into each other’s mouths as we were rubbed and stroked and pinched and twisted.
It was the most group sex ever had without any clothing being fully removed. I looked it up in the book.
Three of us had orgasms, two of us more than one, and one of us was also there. It wasn’t really about the getting off as much as it was the getting and getting and getting close and the shared space of it all. Was it a mind-blowingly awesome sexual experience?
It was like messing around, but with four people there instead of two. It was exactly like that.
Also, fuck yes it was a mind-blowingly awesome sexual experience.
The second time though? The second time was way way better.
See, by the second time, I had my legs under me. I had this idea swimming in my head that the only thing keeping many nights from being like the first-time night was everyone’s entire inability to say, “wanna make out?” Of course, you have to really mean it.
And I’ll get to the second time in a second, but before we get too into intercourse and female ejaculation and all that, let’s talk about hard work. Living Big (and that’s what I’ve come to call it now) isn’t just about doing whatever the fuck you want because you want to fucking fuck. Living Big is about recognizing that... well, listen: When I was a freshman in college I looked back on my four years of high school. I looked at how I didn’t do so many things I wanted to do, how I did so many things, I mean, really, a ridiculous amount of things that I didn’t want to do because it was decided in some room at some point that if everyone did these things all the same way it would make the building easier to run. Rules are not made to help everyone’s lives be as full as they can be. So I got done with high school and I thought, “fuck... if I could only go back.”
Guess what we don’t get to do?
So now I think about when I’m 50. I think about doing all the things that whatever role I’m in dictates I am supposed to do. Holy Christ do I not want to look at my life and think, “if I could only go back.”
But the hard work. The hard work is looking back and knowing you lived to do what you wanted, lived for experiences and relationships and fun and joy and pleasure, for fulfillment and expression and realizing the potential of whatever the hell is all around us, and being able to say, “I’m totally not an asshole.” That’s the hard work. That’s the work of having hard talks, of being honest with yourself and every person on every day you need to talk to. That’s making sure you are healthy, your life is healthy, and your friends are taken care of.
But really, you know what? Fuck your friends. It can’t just be about fun, either. There is a whole damn world around you full of people that you don’t know who need you doing your best to make this place better. So, actually, don’t just fuck your friends. Put in the work to do decent things, to build and help and heal where you can. Then go fuck your friends.
Like I did on that second time with the threeway. I was with two friends are we were in a living room that stretched to contain the sheer quantity of comfy couches and big pillows and places everywhere to lay and sit and kneel and stand comfortably. We did all those things. But first we were sitting on couches all around each other and doing this whole night of flirty pushing and teasing and bad, bad jokes. There was this silence. There was this silence that was the sort of thing that usually hangs onto every-one's ribs for a second until someone laughs a half-laugh and says, “aaaaanyway,” and the conversation moves on. But I learned from the time before and this was the time after and so I said, “wanna just make out?”
I believe almost anything because it’s a powerful thing to do. If you do not know that, then you have no idea. There’s got to be some physics or magic or something of the two of them that explains why intention and desire are so often rewarded, especially after the point where those things are voiced out loud.
So I said, “wanna just make out?,” and it happened so quickly after that. Well, started quickly with kissing and then leveled off into kissing and hands and squirming bodies for a long, long time until it felt like, “yeah, why not?” Then this girl on her knees that I love was going down on this girl sitting on a couch who I really loved, and I was behind the kneeling-loved girl and having intercoursey sex with the third person of my entire life, and in that situation.
This is a thing that really happened. This is not fiction. This is a thing that wasn’t even all that difficult to make happen. There wasn’t even magic words other than all the words we already know.
I did fuck like a rockstar of fucking. That really happened too. The kneeling girl had her first ejaculation onto the floor below her, which was a wooden floor of thin, blond strips. I’m not sure that the floor is important except for I have this perfect picture in my head of the floor and all her come all over it, viewed while I was still deep inside her, while she was still face-buried in the couch-sitting-girl. I have that picture in my head and there is nothing that’s going to ruin that picture now.
We’re still all friends, by the way, and that’s a real thing too. Sex doesn’t make everyone an asshole.
I believe a good many things about the world all the time, and so many of them are just for fun. But I believe strongly in believing things, and I live strongly to enjoy life.
And by the way the sexiest thing that I’ve done in the last few days is sit across a table from a face that was new of me, that could have been constructed only moments before she walked into the door of the bar, and we sat across from each other and talked about wizard books and scary friends and the process of being heartbroken when you didn’t know your heart was even hanging out all vulnerable-like. We hugged an extra-long first date hug and she looked at me and said, “you know how special this is, right? Just starting to talk to each other and being comfortable with each other already?”
I just had to believe that she was right, and that it was the most special thing imaginable. The view from that train is awfully nice.
I’m sure you can imagine the fun of this. For a week or two once, a few years ago, I believed in God like he was the Ford Motor Company. Sure, he’d seen better days, but his power was undeniable and he’d created the Mustang once. I like things with a little nuance to them. A week later I only really cared about the undeniable role of the Cubans in the JFK assassination. God, like everything else, had gotten a little old after awhile.
I believe fantastic things about people on the street or in cars that pass me. A man at lunch just the other day was playing scrabble on his phone and was rather excited at a triple word score. I knew in my heart he had a son he never talked to any longer. I knew he sometimes sat in his car and cried about it. The waitress, meanwhile, could have been a fantastic lover of mine, if either of us were prone to such things and meeting strangers, which we weren’t. It’s a shame really, as I would have loved to have kissed the little mole above her belly button that I couldn’t actually see. She didn’t give very good head though, that much was obvious to everyone, I’m sure.
The thing about all this believing is that it has spawned impossibles all over my life, which is actually how all of this believing came about.
I don’t know a lot of guys these days that talk a lot about having threeways. I think most of them have given up. What a silly thing to give up on!
When I was in college, nearly every guy I knew thought about threeways almost all of the time. We even called our ridiculous attempts at them “giving it the college try.” Most of the guys I knew also flunked out of college, both literally and following this particular metaphor. I finished college, graduating just above mediocrity on my transcript, but with honors in the “college try” department.
It’s amazing, I’ve found, just what can happen when you believe something is possible enough to ask for it.
This is a decent point to mention that, save my week-long flirtation with the car-building God, I’ve never found any religious ideas that really rang true to me. Because of my general uncertainty of what happens after, I’ve become a very firm believer in making the here and now as special, really special, as I can, since, you know, this is the shot we get.
I’ve never been able to figure out why more people don’t live like that. I suppose it’s comforting to believe that there’s not much more out there than we’re already doing. Everything else is fiction.
Do you realize how many things we only fantasize about that are entirely, and often easily, attained? There are things that would bring us pleasure or glory or learning or fulfillment or at least a decent fucking story to tell that take only the will to say, “because why not?” I’ve never been able to figure out why more people don’t ask that question a little more seriously of all the things they deny themselves. They must all think heaven is a pretty nice place, and that the only way to get there is to not have too much fun down here. That must be nice for them, seriously.
Was I talking about threeways? My apologies. I sometimes get carried away when I start thinking about all the fun and love and joy that people deny themselves because they feel like they should. Because there are rules against things that were made up just because a few hundred years ago.
There I go again.
I can take no credit for my first group sex experience. Like Newton and the apple, I was just sitting around and some wonderful shit hit me right over the head. The shit that hit me was a night of movie watching and delicious drinks with fruityness and vodka and enough people in the same room who were all attracted to another.
It wasn’t even a threeway. I jumped right to four people, with myself and four girls. That’s a little like graduating with a double major, right? I’ll stop the college metaphors... now.
So it was me and the three, and they are all wonderful people (well, let’s be honest, one of them truly remarkably wonderful, one who seemed pretty great, and then the other girl who was also there). We were on my front porch, and this is maybe around two in the morning, and the lateness and the drinking and the something in the air that comes with humid summer nights all combined to make us feel like we were in fiction, in make-believe, in a world that was built completely on the why-not’s and what-if’s of the world.
The girl of middle-coolness sprawled herself across the legs of the girl of supreme coolness and asked, “wanna make out?” She didn’t even say it special. Wanna know why? Because it’s not fucking magic people! It’s just asking for what you want.
They started making out, there on the couch that sat on my front porch, and there is no proper response to spontaneous makeouting other than continuing on, which is what the other two of us did. To save us from the awkwardness of two couples making out directly next to each other, hands were moved liberally amongst the couch and landed on soft and warm and lovely places. We bit lips and moaned into each other’s mouths as we were rubbed and stroked and pinched and twisted.
It was the most group sex ever had without any clothing being fully removed. I looked it up in the book.
Three of us had orgasms, two of us more than one, and one of us was also there. It wasn’t really about the getting off as much as it was the getting and getting and getting close and the shared space of it all. Was it a mind-blowingly awesome sexual experience?
It was like messing around, but with four people there instead of two. It was exactly like that.
Also, fuck yes it was a mind-blowingly awesome sexual experience.
The second time though? The second time was way way better.
See, by the second time, I had my legs under me. I had this idea swimming in my head that the only thing keeping many nights from being like the first-time night was everyone’s entire inability to say, “wanna make out?” Of course, you have to really mean it.
And I’ll get to the second time in a second, but before we get too into intercourse and female ejaculation and all that, let’s talk about hard work. Living Big (and that’s what I’ve come to call it now) isn’t just about doing whatever the fuck you want because you want to fucking fuck. Living Big is about recognizing that... well, listen: When I was a freshman in college I looked back on my four years of high school. I looked at how I didn’t do so many things I wanted to do, how I did so many things, I mean, really, a ridiculous amount of things that I didn’t want to do because it was decided in some room at some point that if everyone did these things all the same way it would make the building easier to run. Rules are not made to help everyone’s lives be as full as they can be. So I got done with high school and I thought, “fuck... if I could only go back.”
Guess what we don’t get to do?
So now I think about when I’m 50. I think about doing all the things that whatever role I’m in dictates I am supposed to do. Holy Christ do I not want to look at my life and think, “if I could only go back.”
But the hard work. The hard work is looking back and knowing you lived to do what you wanted, lived for experiences and relationships and fun and joy and pleasure, for fulfillment and expression and realizing the potential of whatever the hell is all around us, and being able to say, “I’m totally not an asshole.” That’s the hard work. That’s the work of having hard talks, of being honest with yourself and every person on every day you need to talk to. That’s making sure you are healthy, your life is healthy, and your friends are taken care of.
But really, you know what? Fuck your friends. It can’t just be about fun, either. There is a whole damn world around you full of people that you don’t know who need you doing your best to make this place better. So, actually, don’t just fuck your friends. Put in the work to do decent things, to build and help and heal where you can. Then go fuck your friends.
Like I did on that second time with the threeway. I was with two friends are we were in a living room that stretched to contain the sheer quantity of comfy couches and big pillows and places everywhere to lay and sit and kneel and stand comfortably. We did all those things. But first we were sitting on couches all around each other and doing this whole night of flirty pushing and teasing and bad, bad jokes. There was this silence. There was this silence that was the sort of thing that usually hangs onto every-one's ribs for a second until someone laughs a half-laugh and says, “aaaaanyway,” and the conversation moves on. But I learned from the time before and this was the time after and so I said, “wanna just make out?”
I believe almost anything because it’s a powerful thing to do. If you do not know that, then you have no idea. There’s got to be some physics or magic or something of the two of them that explains why intention and desire are so often rewarded, especially after the point where those things are voiced out loud.
So I said, “wanna just make out?,” and it happened so quickly after that. Well, started quickly with kissing and then leveled off into kissing and hands and squirming bodies for a long, long time until it felt like, “yeah, why not?” Then this girl on her knees that I love was going down on this girl sitting on a couch who I really loved, and I was behind the kneeling-loved girl and having intercoursey sex with the third person of my entire life, and in that situation.
This is a thing that really happened. This is not fiction. This is a thing that wasn’t even all that difficult to make happen. There wasn’t even magic words other than all the words we already know.
I did fuck like a rockstar of fucking. That really happened too. The kneeling girl had her first ejaculation onto the floor below her, which was a wooden floor of thin, blond strips. I’m not sure that the floor is important except for I have this perfect picture in my head of the floor and all her come all over it, viewed while I was still deep inside her, while she was still face-buried in the couch-sitting-girl. I have that picture in my head and there is nothing that’s going to ruin that picture now.
We’re still all friends, by the way, and that’s a real thing too. Sex doesn’t make everyone an asshole.
I believe a good many things about the world all the time, and so many of them are just for fun. But I believe strongly in believing things, and I live strongly to enjoy life.
And by the way the sexiest thing that I’ve done in the last few days is sit across a table from a face that was new of me, that could have been constructed only moments before she walked into the door of the bar, and we sat across from each other and talked about wizard books and scary friends and the process of being heartbroken when you didn’t know your heart was even hanging out all vulnerable-like. We hugged an extra-long first date hug and she looked at me and said, “you know how special this is, right? Just starting to talk to each other and being comfortable with each other already?”
I just had to believe that she was right, and that it was the most special thing imaginable. The view from that train is awfully nice.
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