Sunday, September 26, 2010

In No Words or Less


Saturday 9/25/10 7:03 P.M.

At home

I hadn’t realized how horny I was until a FB texted me and said he was around the corner.

God I needed that.


In lieu of writing, I’m letting some pictures of me tell a story, from age 6 months to 25 years. I’ve also included a video I made a couple of years ago. I created one for each member of my family, using Disney characters. Mine is Dumbo.


I’m launching a new idea, called TÖG Reality Show. I’ll identify a stranger whom I’d like to see having sex, but I won’t invite him to a party until I’ve told you a little bit about him. Once I’ve peaked your interest, I’ll find him again and see if he’ll come to a party. The objective is to see his cock sliding in and out of an asshole (or vice versa), then tweet about it once it’s happened. I’ve already identified the first guy.

The Örgy Guy

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Who Goes There? – Post #18


Saturday 9/18/10 5:53 P.M.

Charles Street Pier

Wow. I sat here working for about an hour, left for ten minutes to pee, then returned to this same seat because it happened to still be available.

My wallet was on the ground.


“Just between us

I think it's time for us to recognize

The differences we sometimes fear to show

Just between us

I think it's time for us to realize

The spaces in between

Leave room for you and I to grow”

-- Peart ‘79


An open post to the guy who asked me to “explain further.”

As host, my job is to show each attendee a very good time, in a safe and clean environment. That is my responsibility and I try, every time. More and more, the parties have been reflecting this, and it starts with the men I invite and don’t invite. If I can successfully filter out the guys who would not have a good time, that helps everyone involved.

There’s the misperception out there that I have an open door policy, with regard to who’s invited. This isn’t true; in fact, I’m actually pretty discerning. When a guy asks to be invited, I want his age and a recent picture, but I also note whatever he has or hasn’t written.

If all I get is “prty info,” I delete it. I’m not looking for his life story, but he could at least use a greeting and a complete sentence. If he’s unknowingly disrespecting the host/gatekeeper at the outset, I doubt he’ll begin showing it when he’s actually at the party.

Then there are the dudes who want me to convince them to come.


An email that asks a lot of questions is another flag. I’m reminded of the person who asks the waiter all sorts of questions. Picky people tend to be hard to satisfy. I want everyone satisfied, so this is a no-brainer. Let’s not take any chances.

Some guys ask questions because they’re unsure. A little bit of that is fine and, to an extent, expected; but sometimes nervous guys emit nervous vibes at parties...which end up making me nervous. Yeah, my parties are generally comfortable, but a big reason for that is comfortable guys.

Other question-askers really just want to know what’s going on at a party, to determine whether to make the trip. I can dig. This is why I’m on Twitter, to notify without having to answer a litany of texts and emails all night, which may take away from the experience of the guys who are already at the party. Posting real-time action on Twitter really works and it’s accurate.

Childish questions like “How big are their dicks?” get the very obligatory Delete. Next.

I’m not qualified to dictate whether or not a man is sexy. What I think – my tastes and preferences – are not relevant. These are “regular guy” parties, the kinds of men I like and the types of parties I prefer to attend. I look for guys who are height/weight proportional, not because I’m a body nazi, but because there frankly isn’t a lot of space. Having said that, if a big guy happens to come, I’m happy to have him here, as long as he’s a good guy. Size will have no bearing.

I really get off on how these are the men we see every day, everywhere. Some serious gym guys come, but not often. Judging by the numbers, my guess is they want to be around dudes who look like them. Many men use the word “muscular” in their descriptions, which is a “regular guy” thing to say, but when one uses terms like “ripped” or “massive biceps,” I’m probably going to suggest he look elsewhere. If he knows the party and wants to be here, then cool, but 153 orgies have told me he’s going to either not show up, or stay for only twenty minutes.

153 orgies, 2,400 personalities, and graphs coming out of my ass. I’ve learned a few things, including who is more or less likely to have a good time at a TCH orgy. I don’t have but one person in mind; I want everyone to have a good time.

If not, at least you know that I tried.


You can still bring a friend, but having read this, please use your judgment.


This past ERÜPTIÖN Thursday set the TCH attendance record. And it was an amazing party. Read about it on Twitter, then come check it out this Sunday 9/19. Thanks.

The Örgy Guy

Tuesday, September 14, 2010



Tuesday 9/14/10 2:18 P.M.

At home

Twitter has been a great way to let guys know what's going on at a party, real time. What SUCKS about it is the limited profile capacity. Forty characters? It's as if they, the folks at Twitter, actually don't want us to know who's following.

I have my Twitter posts locked, for very obvious reasons, only opening them for someone when I know he's a male over 18. I've gotten dozens of requests from people who are completely anonymous to me. In my (ever so) short bio, I state very clearly that requests must be emailed to me, with age and pic. It's amazing how many people don't read that.

I don't care what the would-be-follower looks like, I just want at least some assurance (even if it's a freaking lie!) that he's male and over 18. Why does that have to be so difficult?

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Musings and Etiquette – Post #17


Saturday 9/11/10 4:38 P.M.

(Actually it’s the) Charles Street Pier

When I walk to this spot, I usually take Perry Street to the highway. It isn’t my favorite part of The Village, but it’s still a nice walk. After crossing Greenwich Street, the road becomes all stone brick. There’s no mortar between the stones, but there used to be. They were glued together by sunbaked horse shit.

A quaint thought, but I would still prefer the moss.


I don’t go to sex parties that much, anymore, because I host three of them a week. I’m around sex so much, that I actually have to limit it, so that I can retain interest. This includes the one-on-ones, which are very infrequent, bordering on scarce. It isn’t a problem for me; if it were, I’d just have more of them. My sex life is an embarrassment of riches.

When I’m on one of the sex sites I use to post ads and answer RSVPs, there are guys who naturally think I’m there cruising. Recently, I briefly explained to one of them why I don’t have one-on-ones, to which he replied how “sad” that is. First of all, he assumed something he had no business at all to assume. Secondly, he couldn’t care less about the quality of my sex life; he just selfishly wanted me to abide by his wish. I ignored him and blocked him on that site (some guys just don’t let up), but to that person, I say, Grow up.

As far as being around sex so much at my orgies, the only thing that I regret is that it limits my attending other hosts’ parties. I used to really, really love them and I went to two or three per week. At work, the following day, I’d catch myself dwelling on how much fun I’d had, the night before, and I’d greatly anticipate the next one. I miss them.


Some guys are ready as soon as they check their clothes in. I’m the type of partygoer who takes a while to warm up. I usually like to be left alone to watch, getting my horn level up before I jump in. I’ll position myself near the action, close enough to view it up-close, but not so conspicuous that I might mess things up by giving them stage fright. I try to determine if they’re into being watched.

Sex watching can be a lot like bird watching: one wrong move and it’s over.

There exists the notion that, just because a guy is at an orgy, he must be there to have sex with anybody and everybody. On occasion, guys here have told me that a particular guy shouldn’t have turned him away. “He’s at a sex party.” True, but that doesn’t mean he has to play with anyone and everyone, even you. Now granted, I don’t want anyone here who thinks he’s “too good” for everyone, but that doesn’t mean he’s obligated. At all.

Early on, I quickly learned the “cock block.” This is for guys who think it’s perfectly OK to grab an unsuspecting guy’s package, just because he’s at an orgy. Some men don’t mind this, but most (including the grabber), do mind it. Yes, it’s a sex party, but that does not lessen the value of an individual, shorten his list of rights, nor objectify him to strangers’ whims. Get the point and move on.

Sometimes, especially toward the end of a party, a guy just wants to find a spot to finish himself off. This does not necessarily mean that he’s open for business, whereby a guy will follow him around, from spot to spot, trying to join in. He needs to realize that, if someone keeps walking away, not only will he have no better chance of getting it on with him, but the dude is probably going to be forced to leave without cumming.

If this happens to you at one of my parties, please tell me. If you don’t think it’s that big a deal, know that it is to the next guy who’s forced to leave unsatisfied. That makes it my business and I’d like to be quietly told about it.

To those who are generally “in demand” at sex parties: you can discreetly tell someone, No. Say it, brush his hand away, walk away if you must. The guy will probably leave you alone, but if he doesn’t, tell the host. We don’t want annoying, innappropriate guys at our parties.

We want Fun, yet Respectful.



The Wednesday, September 29th HÖLE party has been postponed. The date is yet to be determined.

This isn’t for a lack of interest from you guys – it’s actually gotten a good amount of attention and buzz – but the current process is just too complicated. It’s a fairly simple concept, but the way I’ve employed it, isn’t. Additionally, I’m really not crazy about having guys’ asses judged on the internet. A picture doesn’t tell the story, and I really hate that anyone would feel badly that his ass “came in last.” Let it be known that I have played with the man who’s ass received the fewest votes on this blog (since removed); he is very hot and one of the most fun guys who’ve come to a TCH party. Also, I happened to cast the first vote in that Ass Poll, which was for the man who received the second-fewest votes.

We’ll revisit this soon, but I need to rework the process before committing to a date. Thanks and I apologize for any inconvenience.

We will be having an ERÜPTIÖN party, instead, on Wednesday 9/29.

The Örgy Guy

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Step...Step...Step...Crrrreeeeeeak.... – Post #16


Saturday 9/4/10 6:57 P.M.

Just home from the pier

I don’t remind myself of Carrie Bradshaw very much, but she did have that sex column.

There’s a scene from Sex and the City where the episode opens with Carrie’s narration on the first leaf to fall. About how the temperature shifts and the summer blanket is finally put away. One single, monumental leaf.

Well I happen to live on Carrie’s street – just a few doors away, actually – and I can tell you that our trees don’t drop just the one. First, it’s the ornamental pear tree. Over night, one of them puts its limb-hands on its trunk-hips, scrunches its big leafy brow, and sassily exclaims, “This weather is fuuuucked up yo.“ Its leaves change color and roughly one-fourth of them fall, perhaps together.

By morning,

we know that summertime,

in our quaintly expensive little village,

has quietly blown

its final breath

Then the other trees catch on and begin their own chilly conspiracies.


I’m home now, but I started writing this by the water. I only stayed for fifteen minutes due to the final band of Hurricane Earl. Way too cold and windy, especially in a tank top.

Looks like Summer 2010 is officially “ago.”


The first time I made my way to a sex party, I stood outside for a few minutes, then turned right around and walked away. I couldn’t do it. I was too nervous. I didn’t like that feeling and I couldn’t imagine it being conducive to having sex. I wasn’t even sure they’d let me in.

That club wss called Jay’s, and it closed years before I went to my first actual party. If I’d have known that the floor beneath me wasn’t going to swallow me whole...or that I wouldn’t run into someone I knew...I probably would’ve gone in and my history might have been quite different.

Anyway, here is what you can expect at one of my parties.

They’re held in my apartment in the West Village, which is a nice neighborhood. It’s pretty quiet; the bar crowds are blocks away. My building is well lit and safe. Once I buzz you in, take a few steps; we’re the first door on your right.

I greet you at the door and welcome you inside. I'll either be in my underwear or I'll have the underwear hanging from a lubed hard-on, breathing heavily. With a strip of blue light running through the hall, it’s dimly lit, but not dark. I prefer guys to walk in quickly, as the fog machine may be on, and...well...

To your left is a curtain; you follow me to the right. I will shake your hand and introduce myself, then ask for your email address so I can mark you in. I’ll also ask for your zodiac sign (so don’t look at me like that). You’ll get a bag with your number on it, into which you’ll put your clothes and shoes (small bag too if they’re wet). I prefer your shoes off, but I’ll allow it if they’re part of what makes you feel sexy. You can wear whatever you want, but guys are usually naked or in underwear. You’ll give the bag back to me.

The Club House is very clean. I regularly spray and wipe the bathroom floor, and the whole toilet, during a party. The tub is clean, so you can feel comfortable taking a shower (just leave the door open so guys can piss and clean up). The supplies don’t run out and are promptly re-stocked.

This is not a large space, like a “mall party.” There’s one main playroom, with a sling, a bed, and a glory hole. If you get here early, there may be only a few guys, who are hopefully engaged, but not always. You may be the first, but it’s cool. There are usually guys coming straight from work. It’s DWYW, first hour, to encourage more guys to come then.

A slow night is fourteen guys, while a busy night is thirty. Usually, it’s over twenty. Hotness is much more important here than large numbers. I can manage twenty-to-thirty, alone (which is just how I like it), and it’s much more focused. Less walking between rooms, and more actual sex, more real engagement. A smaller party also lessens the chances of running into a co-worker.

Or a fan. ;)

OK, you’re inside and you’re naked. Past the black curtain, you’ll cross over into a steaming sex sanctuary, lit by candles set in the brick wall. You’ll come upon guys fucking and sucking. Slurping, moaning, groaning. Balls-on-ass slapping. A sex crucible. While you’re getting sucked off by two guys, you’ll look up at the colors around the ceiling, the mirror mosaic, the plated mirrors covering the wall. Then the steam blasts past your ankles through the candlelight, as Comfortably Numb reaches its crescendo.

Take a break. Walk back through the curtain, past the check-in area/kitchen (probably with me standing at the computer), through the blue-lit hall, to the back room. If there isn’t sex happening back there, too, then guys are probably sitting and chatting, maybe someone smoking (the ventilation fan is awesome). That room is small, with chairs and a bench, a lava lamp, and a very cool window motif done with plated mirrors around all the wall space. The walls and ceiling are navy blue, as are the silk drapes. It’s the Mirror Room, but I also call it Xanadu

We are normal, every-day, racially diverse men. Guys who own homes, guys we work with, some married, and who may or may not go to the gym. Most guys are height/weight proportional, ranging from “in great shape” to “in bad shape.” I look for grown men who are unentitled, fun, reasonable adults with a penchant for sex, and who know that it’s their own responsibility for their own good time. I look for sophisticated guys who are not high maintenance, and don’t ask a lot of questions. For this reason, it’s a club for men over thirty-five. Certainly, not all twenty-somethings are high maintenancee, nervous, or ask a lot of questions, but most of those kinds of guys who’ve come, have happened to be younger. That has been my experience, and I am nothing, but for my experience.

Just be cool and we’ll be cool.

As your host, I want your experience to be a great one. I want to see you walk through that curtain, with your hair matted, catching your breath, wiping off your cock, and headed for the bathroom. With most guys, that happens at least once, but that is no guarantee. I may want for you to have a great time, even as much as you do, but there can never be a guarantee.

The Club House is meant to be a sanctuary, a space where you can forget about the stresses of your everyday life, and to feel accepted.



Hot holes are scheduled by the half-hour to get abused in the sling.


Is it your fantasy to get gangbanged by a group of horny guys who just had a hard day at work? Are you hot in a sling?

On Wednesday, September 29th, we will debut a new kind of party, called HÖLE, which is a series of gangbangs scheduled from 9PM to 12AM (the party is 8PM to 1AM).

Here’s how it works:

Each Gangbang Bottom (GBB) ia scheduled for a half-hour in the sling. To “apply,” he emails a picture of his ass to me, which will be included on the blog and in subsequent emails (I will crop out any facial or other identifying features), until end of the party. This way, tops will know what to expect and when to expect it. Same for you. And by the blog response, they will also tell me who gets scheduled. The deadline for response is the Sunday 9/26 SIR party. I will schedule you, not the other way around, for the half-hour slot. I will also provide a blindfold if you want it.

So email a pic to me ASAP if you want to participate. Please be sure to note if you’re safe or bareback.

The Örgy Guy