Attending My First Orgy, Sober
Originally published on The Temper
Merriam-Webster defines “orgy” as both a) drunken revelry and b) a sexual encounter involving many people. In early sobriety, either option seemed equally out of reach to me… if for very different reasons. Obviously, drunken anything is a no-go once booze is off the table, and group sex? I couldn’t imagine a more terrifying activity while in full possession of my faculties.
Alcohol lubricated the rough edges of social interactions; I never needed it to enjoy sex but I did need it to handle large groups of people. This is why, seven years off of all substances, I faced the prospect of attending my first orgy with near panic and a lot of questions.
Being a body among bodies has been a lifelong fantasy and, as I approached my 40th birthday, I had a renewed determination to cross orgy participation off my sexy bucket list. But how? When? Where? It will come as a surprise to no one that the internet offers a glut of opportunities to engage in every possible sexual activity one can think of, so I put my fingers to work and began scouring the interwebs for the ideal event.
My wishlist was private, curated, led by women, safe, clean and somewhat reputable.
As a sober single with a very healthy sexual appetite, I am a member of both the recovery and fetish communities, two groups that overlap more than you’d think. While I was searching FetLife profiles and group pages, another member was searching my profile and my group page; I also host my own private sex events but that’s a story for another time.
Long story short, I popped up in a fetish search and wound up with a personal invitation to a monthly bang from the organizer herself.
The day of the party arrived; a private hotel event with a girl-on-girl theme and equal gender attendance. I was feeling nervous that day so I opted for some fuller coverage undies instead of a thong and an average bra that gave me good cleavage in the dress I would be wearing — though I wasn’t sure for how long. I put on my most sweat-proof makeup face, some ballet flats, and headed out the door.
As a sober single with a very healthy sexual appetite, I am a member of both the recovery and fetish communities, two groups that overlap more than you’d think.
I had timed my arrival to be a half-hour past the start time of 6 pm; the event was scheduled for four hours and I wasn’t sure what was happening when. I wanted to avoid being the first one there but not so late that I missed anything. When I walked in the door of the suite, there were already about 15 other folks scattered throughout the space. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought I walked into a business casual work gathering. These people were all here for some freaky deeky sex? Really?
There was a makeshift bar set up in the sink of the kitchenette and a measly selection of finger foods on the dining table. I sat down at one of the four chairs, away from the larger group in the living room. I made small talk with the three strangers in the remaining chairs and watched as more and more people streamed in. I sipped my plastic cup of water filled at the bar sink and breathed slowly. When was the screwing going to start???
A few minutes past 7 pm that same lady organizer announced that the girl-on-girl time was starting; 30 minutes after that the full orgy would begin. I was eager to jump into the activities. If nothing else, it would be a distraction from awkward socializing with dozens of people already a few drinks into the night.
I dove right in, literally.
I stashed my dress in a closet and walked right up to the daybed full of women in my underwear. As I nestled myself amidst their bodies in various states of undress, I removed my remaining garments and asked the librarian-esque blond to my right if I could kiss her, and so it began. She fingered me, ate me out; I returned the favor and enjoyed the contact from warm bodies all around me.
I was adequately warmed up and lubricated by the previous activity, alcohol and drinking far from my mind.
Lady time finished up and the crowd slowly integrated. I made my way from the living room to the bedroom intent on getting to the real work of the night. I was adequately warmed up and lubricated by the previous activity, any thoughts of drinking alcohol far from my mind.
I passed through the doorway and one of the three strangers from the kitchenette table pulled me towards a bed. The organizer and I took turns sucking his dick, a stranger licked my toes, another man came over and asked if he could lick my pussy. I rolled over onto my back, my head now resting on the belly of the first man, several hands moved over me, another mouth on another foot.
After the fact, I would come to recognize this as “sexy chaos,” a term gifted to me by another attendee when we met up post-event. There were many more exchanges, mouths, hands, feet, breasts, cocks, moments of deep distraction and deeper penetration. Being clear-headed was an enhancement, a salve even. No shame existed, I knew exactly what I was doing every single moment; I was lucid, focused, unburdened.
The beginning may have been tricky, but this is the case with anything new, even sobriety. All I needed to do was surrender to the experience and a new freedom opened up to me.
Many fucks behind me, I put my clothes back on, gave my face a once over in the bathroom, and headed back out the door. A short train ride later and I was sitting in a familiar folding chair, sweaty and a bit rumpled, several specks of glitter stuck to my chest from the fourth woman I fooled around with on that daybed.
I looked around, still safe, still sober, and now back at home in a meeting. The events of the last few hours played on a loop in my mind as I listened to a speaker share their experience, strength, and hope; I had my own between my legs.
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