Sunday, August 29, 2010

Going Fetal – Post #15

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Sunday 8/29/10 3:57 P.M.

Perry Street Pier, NYC


My friend Art and I recently tried to determine the verb form of “therapy.” Turns out there isn’t one, at least not according to dictionary.com. There’s the adjective, “therapeutic,” and no verb. We can standardize, hospitalize, and fantasize, but apparently we have no way to provide therapy.

So, I will now curl into the figurative fetal to therapize myself.

Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö Ö

In nature, there’s safety in numbers. The ones who are on the fringe are usually among the first to get eaten. And while fitting in seems to be the norm for most people, I tend to buck trends and I don’t particularly like social groups.

I was’t always this way; in fact, as a young kid, I desperately wanted to fit in. The cool kids had the Pumas and Nikes, while mine were from Thom McCann or **gasp** Pathmark. They had the Mongoose and P.K. Ripper BMX bikes; I had a Team Murray. Their jeans were Sergio Valente and Jordache...

...my mother was still buying me Toughskins and Billy the Kids. In the 8th grade.

But my need to conform changed when I was thirteen years old. It was the end of fitting in, of seeking group approval, and the last time I let someone pick on me.

I grew up on Long Island. In the early 80s, rollerskating was popular and hockey was pretty huge because the local New York Islanders were winning championships. I was good at baseball and touch football, but I’d never tried hockey because I wasn’t exactly physically imposing. Hockey’s a tough sport.

While in my bedroom one afternoon, I could hear the scraping of hockey blades on asphalt over on Bea Avenue. Usually, I’d try to ignore it, but this time I decided to give it a try. So what if I wasn’t good? I was going to have a good time anyway. I was going to fit in. So I skated down our driveway, wearing maroon sweatpants, blue knee pads, a yellow and green hoodie, skates with orange wheels, and a very old and chewed up hockey stick with bright green tape covering it.

My fashion sense alone was enough to kick my own ass.

They told me to play defense. I stunk. Then they told me to play goalie. I stunk worse. My teammates weren’t very kind about it. Chris Lock even tried to beat me up, but I curled up in the fetal position, whereby he felt too sorry for me to keep going. Licking my proverbial wounds, I picked up my hockey stick and walked home. Standing in the garage where no one could see me, I cried. A lot. And right then and there, while looking at a speck of dried-up bird poop on the hood of my father’s car, I decided to never succumb to peer pressure, nor anyone who’d try to manipulate me into doing what they wanted, without regard for what I wanted for myself.

Pretty affirmative for a boy that age.

“Fitting in” for me really hasn’t changed much. While others are happy to follow the latest fashions, know the right people, even eat at prescribed restaurants, I usually base my choices on that which works best for me, whether or not that happens to coincide with what’s currently popular or expected. A beaten path may be easier to traverse, but it’s not always the most fun.

I host orgies for chrissake!

Soon after that day on Bea Avenue, I found a couple of new friends who loved playing street hockey. The three of us played every day, in the snow and rain, and as late as I was allowed to stay out. I got really good at playing hockey. The following fall, we played a game with those very same kids, on the same street. They were shocked at how good I’d become.

Soon enough, they all wanted to be on my team.

The Örgy Guy

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Categorically Speaking – Post #14

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Saturday 8/21/10 5:52 P.M.

Perry Street Pier, NYC

Nine years later, the sound of sirens still makes me recoil.


Ö

More than 50% of the guys on my list come from one site. It gives each member a checklist of categories to describe what he’s into. I have collected that data of the men on my active list, and graphed it.







Water Sports at 31% made me cock my head a bit, but I’m not as surprised by the percentages as I am by the order. Group Sex and Gang Bangs at top are expected – these are men who responded to my orgy ads – but more of them are into toys than exhibition? Really? Rimming more than glory holes?

Daddies more than jocks? For real?

This is why I dig data so much. It downright outclasses assumptions.

Now, a handsome chart is all well and good, but my challenge is to turn it into successful parties. One way is to make The XTUBE Party a gang bang. Then call it “X.” More efficient and manageable than filming an orgy.

Another way to use that data is to combine a few categories. I’m developing a concept for a role play party. Maybe a uniformed cop comes in at a certain time and plays the part. A cowboy or a doctor. Virgin straight guy maybe. Probably call it TRIP. This concept can only be done well in a space this size.

If you have a fantasy and would be into fulfilling it here by playing the part, email me. There is no date set for it, yet.

Ö

This Friday 8/27 will be $WEET, the hotness contest. Read the email to see the details, including the prize. You don’t need to enter to come, but anyone may anonymously vote. I’d stated that the drawing will be at midnight, but I’m moving it to 1 A.M. and requiring each contestant to be here for sixty minutes, rather than ninety. This way, a guy who arrives by midnight can enter the contest. If you want to leave before the drawing, that’s fine; you don’t have to be present, to win.

The Örgy Guy





Sunday, August 15, 2010

Deja Vu – Post #13

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Saturday 8/14/10 5:37 P.M.

Washington Square Park, NYC

“Filling my spirit with the wildest wish to fly”

(Peart ‘07)

And so here I am. The Spot.

In 1987, I walked through that arch for the first time and realized declared, “I’m going to live here one day.”

The area, not the park.

That first time was with my big sister. I returned one year later with some friends and sat right here. I clearly remember looking up and thinking how great it would be to live in “that building.” I didn’t know it was the NYU Library. Duh.

Incidentally, next time you come to a party, ask me to tell you about the time I saw a woman have an orgasm from the spout of the fountain. In broad daylight.

Well I finally made it, even if it did take me until I was 39. The space in between wasn’t as much a roller coaster ride, as an up and a down. A couple more years of down and I’d probably be dead or living here.

Right here.

Some of you know this, while most do not: I’m a recovering alcoholic. But, as usual, I am atypical. I’ve done it without AA, I’m not bothered by people drinking in my presence (including at the parties), and I smoke grass.

I’ve lived enough Life to know what my limits are. Weed is the only thing I can do that doesn’t run (and ruin) my life. Cocaine seriously kicked my ass in my late 20s, while drinking consumed me from my early 30s until I was 37. The last couple of years of my drinking career, I was downing a half liter of the cheapest vodka I could find, every night. That happened to be the amount it took for me to pass out.

I drank alone at home, mostly because I could no longer afford to go to the bars. Until that point, however, I was a committed barfly. Usually six out of seven nights. At my Local, I knew all the regulars, all the bartenders, and, by the amount of alcohol I bought, could be counted on to help pay their rent.

At least I was paying someone’s rent.

While I never actually fell on my way home, I did struggle to walk in a straight line. I’m so fortunate I never got hit by a car or mugged. One morning, I woke up flat on my bedroom floor, fully clothed and with shoes, and a gash on my forehead. The TV was turned and leaning precariously, the cabinet and CDs all over the floor.

That was in Hell’s Kitchen in 2004. By ’05, I was Darwinianly ejected from Manhattan and deposited in a gross little bedroom in Midwood, Brooklyn. My roommate drank as much (of the same cheap voddy) as I did. It was, indeed, my Worst Life. I even figured it was the worst life of anyone I knew. I’d managed to hide it pretty well from others for a while, like never having anyone over to see the way I lived, but I was becoming a different person. A mean and very obviously unhappy person.

I’d known for a while that I was an alcoholic, but it was this new tendency to drive people away – I mean people would actually part for me on the sidewalk, like I was crazy – that ultimately gave me the courage to change my shit. I gave up, allowing reality to sink in.

Waking up with the ultimate hangover, after the ultimate night of drinking.

I never blamed anyone else, which helped immensely. I realized that 40 was a-coming and the prospect of waking up on my 40th birthday in that bedroom, in those conditions, was unacceptable. I hated everything about my life. It was stop living or stop drinking.

Most people can go their entire lives without having a problem with alcohol. They can have the occasional glasses of wine, the odd six-pack, or a stiff drink now and again. I am just not one of those people. And when I sometimes wonder about that, I remind myself, “Oh well...that’s life.”

Like when a loved one dies, that’s just the way it is. I cannot have it back.

I realize I’ve got a lot to learn, choices to make, obstacles to overcome, and the responsibility of continuing to live my Best Life. For it’s finally one which I own and love.

And if I continue to live it as affirmatively as I do now, my life will be worthy of the wishes I had all those years ago.

Right here.

Ö

On Friday 8/27, we’ll be having the very first $WEET party. It’s a hotness contest where the winner, as anonymously determined by your party peers, will win many monies. Like $150 to $200. Or more. You don’t need to enter the contest to attend the party, but all can vote. Be on the email list to see further details.

This could change everything.

Ö

Saturday 8/14/10 11:17 P.M.

The Village Den

Astrology Update...update...update...update...

Last time I wrote, the virgos led, slightly outnumbering the piscessss and the ariessss. That has changed. Now the virgos squarely outnumber those signs, as well as all other signs, at 13%. Cancer is now second at 10%. The average percentage for each sign, by mathematical probability, is 8.5%.

I don’t know if Virgos like sex or group sex more, but they sure do seem to like my parties.

The Örgy Guy

Thursday, August 5, 2010

EWWWW, Grossss, the Horizon Has Changes all over it! – Post #12

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Wednesday 8/4/10 9:14 P.M.

The Village Den, my spot outside

Always hopeful, yet discontent

He knows changes aren’t permanent

But change is

I like change. Generally. There’s something compelling about it. Growth. Life cycle and all that.

Living here in NYC, for instance, every season is my favorite. By the time it’s winding down, I’m looking forward to the next one, my new favorite season.

Here are three changes going on now:

Change #1 The Orgy Guy

ERUPTION, PEAK, THE XTUBE PARTY, SIR, HOOK. Those are the current parties. They’re held at a space called The Club House (whereas, if I were to change venues, I’d rename the new space). Now, with the blog and Twitter and the porn and whatever else coming, in addition to the parties, it should collectively have a new name. And so, I’ll henceforth be going by The Orgy Guy. Look for emails to come from a new email address, and the blog is moving to http://theorgyguy.blogspot.com/. All posts from this blog have been copy/pasted to the new one. I hope the few followers I’ve got will move with me.

It’s a sitcom reference. Know which one?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j6_pv_vRHKI&feature=related

Change #2 No More Emails

Or at least a lot fewer. I’ll send the introductory email when I put guys on the list, and maybe one or two a month after that, but I won’t be sending them out once or twice weekly with the schedule and updates. Guys who most want to come – who are the guys I prefer to come – will find their way to the blog for updates. I am sending an email concurrent to this post, to invite the guys on my list to join.

Change #3 LOTTERY Parties (1st one on Saturday, 8/7)

I’ve recently been doing something different as an incentive to get more guys coming in the first hour, getting things going earlier. For the most part, it’s worked very well. I’ve got a new one, which I think is going to be an even more effective tactic. It’s called LOTTERY. It should be well received. If you’re on the list, look for an email with the info.

And so...

The Orgy Guy

(TA-DA)

Ö <– butthole and balls

I wrote last week about how I’ve joined Twitter. I’d thought I was like the last person alive not to have a Twitter account. Turns out that wasn’t the case; I’ve asked at the parties and not one is on Twitter. This is a way for guys to see how the party is going, while it’s happening in real time.

So please join me in making the switch to http://theorgyguy.blogspot.com/

Thank you for your support.

On Monogamy – Post #11

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Saturday 7/24/10 11:50 P.M.

Post Rush Concert - The Train Ride Home to Manhattan

On a road lit only by fire

Going where I want, instead of where I should

I peer out at the passing shadows

Carried through the night into the city

Where a young man has a chance of making good

A chance to break from the past

The caravan thunders onward

Stars winking through the canvas hood

On my way at last --Neil Peart ‘10

Ö

In relationships, as in life...

Nah. Too high school essay and way too serious

Did you hear the one about the boyfriend and his ass chastity belt?

But a little more serious than that!

OK. There was a time when monogamy was so important to me that I would drink myself to sleep on any of the nights I didn’t spend with my then-boyfriend, because I was afraid he could be, at that very moment, fucking another guy.

There ya go.

And talk about control issues.

There were eighteen years between Nixon and me (that was his name, and he has since died of cancer). He was 49 and I was 31. Very different places in our lives. He didn’t think monogamy was that big a deal, while I probably thought it was the most important part of a relationship.

These days, as a single guy, I’m much more on board with where Nixon was. Is a relationship something to get sentenced to? Why would I want to keep someone I love from that kind of enjoyment? But maybe the most important question, why add more hurdles to an already precarious situation that is being in a relationship? Issues are not like car mileage, to be recorded and measured and collected.

They are like potholes. To be avoided.

It’s a lot more fun to have group sex with your boyfriend than to pass out drunk and scared when he’s not around. I’ve seen lots of couples at sex parties – certainly at mine. I can’t ascertain how good a relationship is, but they do seem more sophisticated and secure to me. They participate together, they participate apart, then they check on each other.

There are also guys who are there on the down-low, with the boyfriend out of town. My guess is they don’t have an open relationship. But, to the unsuspecting boyfriends out there, you should know that they never fall in love and I’ve never heard one say, “The sex is better than with my boyfriend.”

It really is just sex.

By no means am I generally advocating that open relationships are the way to go; if both are happy with monogamy, it makes sense to stick with what works. But if it’s not working, you might want to give up, give in, and give it a try.

With rules, of course.

If I’d have known this back then, I could have saved a lot of tears, a lot of beer money, and, perhaps, even our relationship.


I miss you sweetie.

Ö

If you don’t know what the HOOK party is, check out the “Parties and Ideas” tab. We’re going to have the first one on Tuesday, 8/3.

Guys often ask me if I could forward their email address to someone they played with at a party. If they don’t ask or if I don’t know who they’re talking about, they have no choice but to hope to see the guy at another party. With HOOK, you’ll be able to anonymously exchange email contact information with only the guys you’re into and who are also into you.

I’m really excited about it. I hope you’ll join us.

Ö

TCH is now on Twitter, where you can check on updates during parties. I’ll post what’s going on. In order to follow me, you’ll need to request access, on Twitter. You’ll also first need to be on my email list. My screen name there is @TheOrgyGuy.

Ö

An Ode – Post #10

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Friday 7/16/10 7:35 P.M.

The Pier (at a table this time)

I’m sitting here watching these little kids knocking and kicking a beach ball around, and it occurs to me that I was about the same age when I organized my first group sex thing. I must’ve been five. At our backyard barbecue, I corralled two female cousins and two boys from the block to watch me piss behind a bush. My (much) older brother came around the corner to see what was going on, my observers scattered, and I couldn’t get my pants button snapped. Alas, it was a clasp, and by the time I figured that out, he was spreading the news.

That’s all I remember.

Ö

This is for that guy at sex parties everyone tries to avoid.

Ode to Inappropriate Guy

Hey now Inappropriate Guy

Why must you talk so loud?

No one wants to hear you say

How much you missed your dog today

Inappropriate Guy

Yeah, Inappropriate Guy

Hey now Inappropriate Guy

Get your finger out of there

I’m still checking in my clothes

And that’s not even where it goes

Inappropriate Guy

Yeah, Inappropriate Guy

Hey now Inappropriate Guy

How could you not possibly know?

With guys who beat you off with stick

You somehow think they want your dick

Inappropriate Guy

Yeah, Inappropriate Guy

Hey now Inappropriate Guy

No comments while I’m screwing

I know that it’s a party

But you sound like my Aunt Marnie

Inappropriate Guy

No, no, noooo, Inappropriate Guy

Hey now Inappropriate Guy

You’re purposely standing in the way

Stop grabbing at the joint

Oh please just get the point

Inappropriate Guy

Stay out of the sling, Inappropriate Guy

With guys who beat you off with stick

You somehow think they want your dick

Your paisley jock is way too small

And, yes, we know your dick is too

Inappropriate Guy

Get your own poppers, Inappropriate Guy

Now now Inappropriate Guy

What was your email again?

Please stop with all the questions

And no to “private sessions”

Inappropriate Guy

You realize that’s your nose you’re thumbing?

There aren’t any parties coming

Inappropriate Guy

No, no, noooo, Inappropriate Guy

Ö

Is that a virgo in your sky or are you just happy to see me? – Post #9



Ö

10:04 P.M. 7/11/10

Sidewalk Café

Are you a Pisces, Aries, or Virgo? And can I be your friend?

Seems you guys like (group) sex more than the rest of us.

At the last four parties, I’ve asked each guy for his astrological sign. I would expect, as a “rational,” science-based type of thinker, that one hundred guys would divide up pretty evenly by month born, with regard to their respective sexual propensities. This has been the case with water, air, and fire signs, but not earth signs.

Again, this is only with one hundred guys. With one thousand, I’d expect the percentages to draw much closer to each other. It’s not like they’re that far apart.

But, in the order of the zodiac, but check out the proportions in the pie chart.

Why would guys born in September seem to like group sex so much more than guys born in August? If these differences hold up over time and larger numbers, I won’t necessarily believe it’d have anything to do with the gravimetric positions of stars and constellations. But is it any more believable that it would be due to having to wear winter booties, at a year old, rather than sandals?

I don’t know, but so far, so fun.

Type Righting – Post #8 7/8/10

Ö

“It’s not the heat, it’s the inhumanity

Plugged into the sweat of the summer street”

--Neil Peart, 2002

5:44 P.M. Back on the Pier

Twice, today, I’ve felt in harmony with my environment. I’m pretty sure those were the two times the temperature hit 98.6 degrees.

Ever since I announced that TCH is primarily for men over 35, the feel of the parties has been better. The younger guys who’ve come have been more sophisticated; no more walking around with that “deer in the headlights” look or asking a lot of questions. I think the older guys are more comfortable, too.

The TCH brand is sanctuary. This is the place to forget your worries for a few hours, to de-stress, to stop having to negotiate the day.

It’s all about the vibe, man.

I used to be a high school English teacher. It just takes one student walking in with a late pass to change the dynamic of the group. Takes some maneuvering to get the class back on track.

A sex party can change, too, with enough guys. If “Brian” has a prissy attitude, arms folded and eyes given to rolling, someone’s going to pick up on it and pass it along in some way. Then, say, “Alan” joins the party with a big smile, bringing his joie de vivre into the mix. He may become the proverbial straw that helps stir the drink.

I do look for a type at my parties; the type that’s fun and respectful of others, and who realizes that he’s actually the one responsible for his own good time. I want a wholly masculine, grown up tone. No less important is the “random factor.” Guys whom I can picture as a cop or a dispatcher, a boss or his employee, an executive or the man who dumps his recycle pail. That guy in I.T. who never says Hello at the coffee machine.

As long as they’re real and as long as they don’t all look and act the same way. Like some Twilight Zone episode.

Or no change in temperature.

Some preliminary conclusions may be drawn regarding the signs of partygoers. Here’s the chronological list, for last night’s SIR party, of the guys by arrival time. They’re color coded by earth, water, fire, air. Note any patterns?

Sc

V

V

Sc

Sc

Ar

Ar

Can

Can

G

V

V

P

P

P

Sa

P

Sc

Li

Li

Ar

T

Le

T

T

G

Sa

P

V

Ar

P

V

Sc