Archive for parties
The Finale: A Gangbang of a Different Ilk
Posted by: | CommentsWhat I thought would happen—and what actually occurred—are grounded in two completely different mental models. What did I think would happen? The heightened porn version of what Tank and I participated in a few weeks ago at a party. What he knows I like to watch online and fantasize about when I’m not with him.
So you ask. What did happen? Try this on.
Gently lay yourself down on a comfy surface. And close your eyes. Scan the recesses of your memory bank for the most sensual experience you’ve ever had with one other person. Remember in vivid detail what it was like to feel that person’s hands and fingers slowly and gently exploring your body. The warmth of their breath on your skin. How their mouth and tongue felt when they touched your lips and those places that drive you wild.
Then add ten more people (of the same sex) to the picture that exists in your mind’s eye. Or, for me, 11 men who were not only acting in loving, sensual, sexually pleasurable and pleasing ways towards me but with each other.
While I know you who read my blog seek the explicit—I can’t go there right now. Or more specifically, I choose not to share at the level of sexual detail that you’ll find in my previous posts.
The experience touched me at the core of my being. Especially as a woman whose life has been devoid of deep intimacy for much of the last decade. It’s what I’ve craved for years. And dreamed about finding over the last nine months. It continues the path along which Tank has slowly guided me in our private relationship.
And it unsettles me.
My second husband, with whom I spent 14 years, thrived on this depth of intimacy—when he wasn’t severely depressed or enveloped in a manic moment. As our relationship dissolved, like sugar in a glass of ice tea in early 1999, I often sobbed as I drifted off to sleep alone, my body visibly shaking. Uncontrollably. A skiing accident and the surgery that followed to repair his knee and lower leg confined us to separate sleeping quarters for months. Only once did he witness what I was going through —the night our divorce become final—when he held me closely against his body for the last time. Hours before I got in my car to drive 2000 miles across the US to be closer to people who could support me in this transition.
So I got good. Good at pushing my craving underground. Good at putting up an invisible wall between me and my lovers. Good at finding men who weren’t into being pleasured in this manner.
And now.
Now I find myself being inexplicably pulled into situations where I’m enveloped by exactly the sorts of behaviors I’ve worked so hard not to need. They’re seductive and highly intoxicating.
Only, the more I get, the more I want. And I’m scared. Scared I’ll want it more than it makes itself available to me. And I won’t know what to do about it. Scared it’ll vanish. Just like it did before.
Except, I’ve woken up to the possibilities of what can be. There’s no going back to the bubble I created to protect myself. Would you?
Oh Me, Oh My
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Last night, as I was shutting down for the evening and contemplating tonight’s activities, Tank called me.
“Hey Babe, I just got a text from B4 about the guys.”
“And ???”
“Well, you know how we agreed on eight to ten? And how B4 has to invite more than that to get that sorta turnout?”
“Yesssss . . .”
“Uhmmm. Usually 60 percent of the guys commit to showing up. In your situation, 90 percent of them plan to attend. Sooooo, that means there’ll be 13 guys, 15 if you include me and B4. Are you OK with that?”
I couldn’t stop laughing. Ninety percent? What the hell had B4 told them about me? Looks like I’ll need to take a long nap this afternoon. I wouldn’t want to disappoint them!
The Clock Is Ticking: 26 Hours Until …
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dark flowing hair, down to the middle of her back. Eyes that will captivate you in an instant.
“Hey girlfriend. How are you?”
“Great. I’m working again. How about you?”
“I’m doing good. Hey, the reason I’m calling is I need some advice. Ever done a gangbang with eight or more guys?”
“I’ve had five. But no more than that. What’ goin’ on?”
“Well, next Tuesday, I’m planning to play with at least eight men.”
“Where? Can I come watch?”
I hadn’t anticipated her request. But I really kinda liked it. She’d watched me before. And spanked me really hard—so hard my ass stayed cherry red for hours. At a cuckold party she’d set up for her husband. This past January. I went with Meiplé. Two weeks after I’d met Tank. It was my very first party. Once I get past tomorrow evening’s soiree, I promise to tell you all about THAT experience. It was truly one of those unforgettable evenings.
So I told her I’d ask Tank what he thought. He loved the idea too. Thought it might ease any anxiety I’d feel in the moment. Plus, we knew we’d have someone we could chat to about what had happened—someone who’d relish the moment as much as we would.
Tank had to get permission from B4—the host. He agreed immediately. So I texted my girlfriend.
“Good news. You can join us to watch on Tuesday evening. Call me tomorrow so we can figure out where to meet.”
“Cool. It’s where we talked about, right? What are you wearing? What should I wear?”
“Yes, that’s the location. I’m wearing the dress I wore to the meet n greet last month since I won’t be in it long. The one with the zipper down the front. Wear whatever you want.”
“OK. Who will be with us? Tank? You are using condoms?”
“Tank will walk us in. Guys will already be playing. Everyone has to use condoms. You OK with observing only?”
“So Tank isn’t going to be there? You’re not afraid of it getting out of control without him?”
“Tank will be there. I’m not concerned. He knows the guy who’s orchestrating it.”
“OK. Cool. Looking forward to watching. I told my hubby. He can’t wait for the details.”
“It’ll be great fun. I’m glad you can join us. I wish I could be a fly on the wall when you tell him afterwards!”
If Tank thought I had a slew of questions, she certainly had her share of them! Her anxiety level seemed a bit elevated. Although she’d been in the lifestyle a whole heck of a lot longer than me. Never once had I thought about the situation getting out of hand. I’d learned long ago to stay focused on the positive. The mind has this amazing power to bring to life that which we conjure up.
Oh, there’s one other thing. I decided not to tell her we’d probably know one of the guys. I stumbled onto that fact the night before while IM’ing the host of a party I attend regularly. I want to see the look on her face when she makes eye contact with him. And if he doesn’t show, I’ve not set the expectation he might be in attendance.
Who out there in cyberspace has any final thoughts for me? I need to go exercise!
Stickers, Hair Clips and an Unidentified Ransom
Posted by: | Comments“You left a pair of sandals. I’ll hold them for ransom.”
As I was driving to the airport at 5 o’clock this morning, my intuition kept badgering me about something I’d left behind at Tank’s home. I’d been careful to pack separate bags and suitcases—the one for Saturday night’s party containing my little black dress with a balloon skirt that I just love and my five inch spiked sandals from my last New Orleans trip, the one with my travel clothes and shoes for today and two large roller bags for my engagement in Philadelphia.
2.25 hours of sleep, even with a 90 minute nap after dinner last night had knocked me off kilter by a mere heartbeat. I know better than to deliberately leave anything at Tank’s home. Especially after he’d shared a story about a woman he slept with who left tons of items at his home after their first night together. He countered for their second and last date by going to the drugstore and buying five toothbrushes, various types of flowery deodorant and countless other products and leaving them out in full view for her to see—and not fucking her. I gotta hand it to him. She never showed up again, which was his intent.
Tank and I began our hanging out together time on Saturday by seeing the late morning matinee of “How to Train Your Dragon.” I found it to be a delightful flick—with a great message about how a young boy’s refusal to see the world through his father’s eyes sparked an innovation that ultimately saved the town in which he lived from future strife.
Then it was on to Costco for stuff. I love stuff. Heck. I love shopping. Doesn’t matter for what. It’s the looking part that seduces me.
Followed by a paddleboat ride that Tank is surely not to let me forget. You see—I’m uncoordinated. I can fall merely by walking in flat shoes on flat ground. Getting into the boat almost had me tipping it over. And getting out? Well. I tried a few times to do it first. But I couldn’t seem to stand up and hold the dock without moving the boat on direction or the other, which meant getting thrown back into my seat. I’m very fortunate that Tank is a patient man. Notwithstanding he chides me forever about moments like these. Which only finds me laughing along with him.
Then came a Greek meal for four that’ll get Tank through Monday (maybe J) and the nap, which I only take in dire circumstances. Which meant tonight we were going to an invite-only swing party—the one I’d invited Drew to originally, only he didn’t followed up with me about it.
What intrigued me about this gathering was that it was in a locale far from my home—so I sensed we’d meet people we’d not seen before. And I was right. Except for the two people that Tank recognized from work-related activities over the years (who didn’t recognize him) and the guy I’d communicated with prior to the New Year, we didn’t know anyone else in a group of about 80.
As soon as we entered, we were given an icebreaker activity—and stickers. Kiss a person. Get a sticker. Have sex in a public area of the home, get a sticker. Have sex with multiple people you don’t know, get lots of stickers—one from each of them. LOL
Of course, on the entry that said: Bare a breast, your ass, your pussy or your cock, Tank decided to pull up his shirt when a GILF (grandmother I’d love to fuck) did the same. The irony of the situation did not evade me. He also took quickly to the item that encouraged women to let others fondle their breasts. In fact, I think he gave up a majority of his stickers to the cause.
That’s my man!
I was more reserved. Observant. Atypical for me. But tonight it just was.
I didn’t feel the need to fuck or suck anyone but Tank. We’d started the afternoon with a bang. There’d been no men in my stream of consciousness worth fucking since our last soiree (see “Oh, What a Night”). That was a full two weeks earlier. Oh, what this guy can do with his tongue and lips on my clit and his fingers in my pussy. I’m left breathless here in Philly just thinking about it.
The game caused us to meet more people than we usually do. That’s when I discovered a lot of newbie’s were in our presence.
The phrase to remember came from a woman who lived in Toronto and had come to town with her hubby for a conference. Tank and I saw her attaching large hair clips to the V-neck on her shirt. So he inquired.
“What are those for?”
“A girl never knows when she might need to pull hair back.”
That made me wonder which hair and whose hair that might be.
I did meet a fellow who’s acted in a few porn flicks. A gorgeous hunk of a guy. What fascinated me is he’s very picky about who he plays with and how much he knows about them. A year or two ago, his doctor put the fear of God in him when she told him he could get STD’s through oral contact. Up until the time we left at 1:15 in the morning, he hadn’t played with anyone.
But we had fun. The Toronto couple joined us on the same bed for a while. Tank finger fucked me in the hot tub while a husband caressed me. I got to stroke his lovely cock while he was close by. And we joined the Toronto couple in another room as her husband slowly—and I mean slowly fucked her while she lay on her back and sucked down the entire dick of the guy I met over the holidays. That reminds me: I need to ask him how it felt.
You curious about the ransom? Me too. Tank hasn’t responded yet to my request. Lord only knows what he might have up his sleeve.
Oh, What a Night
Posted by: | CommentsI’d been to this party once before. With a girlfriend. But this evening, I was with Tank.
The last time, it took about an hour for the party to start rolling. At least the sort of party I like. A few women, lots of BBC’s. All in the same room.
I’d no idea what to expect with Tank along side me. When we arrived, there were very few people present. A shock. Since things were scheduled to begin 90 minutes earlier.
My girlfriend was there already. With another couple who’d brought along a young single guy. So we chatted with them. And others. And still more after that. Ho hum.
I must say that the best line of the evening came from a dominatrix who was dressed in multiple layers of non-descript bedroom clothing for the evening’s lingerie atmosphere. She was with her poly partner—his number two. Tank asked her what always turned her on—after she’d mentioned flogging a man until he couldn’t speak the other day. Her reply?
“A man in pinstripes will always bring me to my knees”
The next thing you know, a man standing next to her revealed his pinstriped boxers. Her eyes rolled back into her head. I howled. And she went to town.
To pass the time, Tank had taken to giving out medical advice to the women with large chests and poor posture—and smoking cigarettes outdoors even though he’d gone cold turkey a year ago. We even had time to polish off two bottles of wine. One glass for me; three glasses for him. That was after drinking a tall glass of top-shelf tequila at his house. Every once in a while, I’d go find him just to make sure he was still alive.
One hundred and fifty-three minutes after arriving, I gave up.
“Tank, it’s time to go.”
“What’s wrong baby? Not having a good time?”
“NO.”
“Are there any guys here that you like?”
“Yes.”
“Have talked to them?”
“YES.”
“And what happened?”
“They don’t seem to be interested.”
“Well, then, why don’t we get our things . . . and I’ll take you back to my house.”
“We can’t. The door is closed.”
While the general rule at a house party is for the door to the master bedroom to remain open at all times, it had been closed for a long while. Even I had no idea who was in the room and there weren’t any noises emanating from it. But rules are rules—and a locked door means no entry.
Tank and I sat on the sofa. He held me close. And I sighed 50 times, if not a hundred, during the next several minutes. Finally, the door popped open. And a young well-hung black man went in search of a bottle of water.
A line of us entered the room, all for the same reason: to get our belongings from the master bedroom closet. As I began to exit the darkened room, I made eye contact with the single man who the couple had brought with them. We’d chatted a bit early on.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“No one seems to want to play with me.”
“Huh. I believe we do.”
As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I noticed a tall, lithe woman on her tummy sucking a black guy’s cock on the bed. And two more BBC’s next to him, one of whom I’d played with at a cuckold party a few months earlier. I heard:
“It’s your turn.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Right outside the bedroom, I put down my coat and supply bag and motioned “come here” to Tank with my right pointer finger. As soon as we entered the bedroom, someone closed the door.
“Baby, I forgot to tell you that I told these guys about you when I was outside.”
“You what?”
“Get down on your knees baby. At the foot of the bed. I believe there’s a guy wanting to fuck you from behind. And look. Two more for you to suck. Now remember, you need to give your attention to all of them.”
Tank gave me a kiss on the cheek, exposed my breasts from the Night Magic Babydoll I was wearing and sat down with his back against the headboard so he could observe my face.
Including Tank, there were five men. Oh la la. I was in heaven.
It didn’t take longer than five minutes for one guy to come in my mouth. Tank’s been giving me advanced lessons. LOL
It was all a blur. Except the squirting. I remember the first time it happened that evening. I didn’t know who did it until I turned my head to the right and saw that Tank was behind the other woman, licking her pussy with his fingers inside her. And then it happened twice again in succession. By this time, I knew my screams were waking up the neighbors.
And then there was the texting. Yes, texting. The guy from the cuckhold party had me sucking his nine-inch thick dick while he laid on his back, texting someone from his iPhone. I couldn’t contain myself. I screamed at him.
“Hey asshole. You’re supposed to be giving me your attention. What the fuck is this?”
There wasn’t one person in that room who wasn’t laughing so hard they could pee right there. My observation made them even more hell-bent on screwing the heck outta me. Which of course, pleased them—and me—even more.
More than 120 minutes later, I heard someone say, “Get her some water. Man, she’s gotta be dehydrated.” I turned over on my back for the first time and noticed the bed was soaking wet. So was the front of my babydoll.
I stumbled out of the room, bottle of water in hand. “Shit. All the bathrooms are in use.” I waited ten minutes just to get one to clean myself up. That’s when I learned I’d been fucked really hard by hand and by cock.
Tank was ready with my coat when I finally emerged.
“Are you ready to go home now, baby?”
“Uh huh.”
“Have you thanked the boys you were with tonight?”
“Yes, I gave them all a kiss goodnight.”
And with that, I laid my head against his chest as he zippered my coat and off we went. Back to his house. To replay the night’s experience. Again. And again. And again.
Welcome to Randi Buckmen's adventures in intimacy—beyond the world of sex. Hear how I’m embracing the possibilities of what can be while remaining a “good girl” in the public’s eye. How did I go from being celibate for three years—and wearing flannel pj's to bed with socks when I was married—to where I am today?
