Rules for the budding female swinger.

I wasn’t abused, molested or treated inappropriately in anyway as a child, despite growing up Catholic-hey-o!) In fact, I was quite inexperienced, over-protected and intimidated by my teenage peers who did engage in any kind of sexual activity. But my whole life, I was afflicted with a deep burning desire for any kind of visceral excitement. It was possibly my lack of sexual experience that made me fear sex and crave it at the same time. Even though I spent my college years and beyond, dating casually and fooling around after long nights at bars, I never found that girl power type of excitement embodied by my 90s sex/rock and roll idols like Erotica-era Madonna, Tori Amos or the pierced tattooed version of Janet Jackson. When a harmless blonde pretty boy, barely my height and weight, popped into my life at a Hollywood bar one night and told me about a sex party he attended at the home of a USC grad student (yes, USC and UCLA have underground student swinger clubs, and I thought I got laid a lot at my progressive liberal arts college) I thought, sex with multiple partners at the same time? That’s for me. It seemed so familiarly bacchanal, like in a former life I was a Grecian actress who drank heavily, feasted on raw meat and fucked on a daily basis. After lots of trial and error, meeting happily and unhappily married couples in trendy Hollywood bars, attending secret parties password parties in the hills, fighting with my play partner about how I fucked more men than he fucked women, breaking up with him and navigating the swinger world solo and leaving the swinger word for a relationship, these are the gems of single swinger girl wisdom that I have come away with.

 

  1. A single girl who swings is a unicorn. That is because they barely exist and anyone who meets one wants to grab on to her pretty horn and fuck it.
  2. You never want to be the hottest person at the swinger party. In regular life, it feels good to walk into a bar and be the hottest bitch there, getting all the attention and free drinks. But this isn’t regular life. You want to be hot, it’s true, but also be surrounded by the hotter and hottest. That way you feel extra turned on for having received an invitation to the super hot fuck party. And trust me Unicorns, if you get the invitation, you are hot enough for these guy and gal models/porn stars/beautiful freaks of nature. They’ll find your crooked nose hopelessly adorable.
  3. Use condoms. These perfectly sexy, smart, accomplished lawyers/doctors/businesspeople/producers/award winning screenwriters get around, girl!
  4. If it’s a pool party, strip right away and jump in. Just get it over with. If everyone isn’t already naked in the pool, you will inspire the stragglers to do so. If it’s not a pool party keep your clothes on til play time. The solo girl running around cooch in the air is a little too excited, a little too high and sadly, it’s a trashy behavior.
  5. Pair up with a male escort from time to time, especially if you are going to a new party. Sure it’s great to flit from bedroom to bedroom, not having to worry about a date, but sometimes you want a date when you don’t know what kind of situation that you are walking, stark naked, into. It’s nice to have an advocate to intimidate the other horndogs.
  6. That said, these single men in the swinger scene are messed up. They are damaged, there I said it. Not that this is a bad thing. Unicorns just take note, it’s ok to go on a few dates with them, take them along to a stranger’s party for protection but don’t expect a real friendship. These men have intimacy issues, no standards, drug problems, sex addiction and STI’s which makes them more comfortable fucking who they believe are ‘sluts’ instead of regular non-swinger girls. Play, but don’t get too close and leave when you start to feel their weirdness settling over you.
  7. On the flip side, there is the single man who is blown away about what a un-skanky down-to-earth Unicorn you are. Now he wants a relationship and you don’t, cause dude, you have a framed rhyming poem about how to not dribble pee on your toilet seat next to a crucifix hanging in your bathroom. I just wanted a hot one nighter, not a boyfriend who writes pee poems. Don’t let his condescending text message abuot how you will never find love by being so picky get to you.
  8. Have fun. Have all the fucking fun you can. Take a long time dressing up sexy, putting on lots of dramatic eye make up, playing truth or dare and strip poker. Accept that invitation to the Standard Downtown or the Chateau Marmot (the 2 best hotels in LA for debauchery).
  9. Stop for a while. Gain some perspective. Dry out. Get back in touch with your vanilla friends. Give you pussy a rest. Go on a date with a normal dude. See how he recacts to your stories. If this is absolute torture go back to swinging ASAP. That is where you will find the man/woman/men/woman/life partners of your dreams.

How to be a Unicorn: Part I

I wasn’t abused, molested or treated inappropriately in anyway as a child. I was quite inexperienced, over-protected by my parents and intimidated by my teenage peers who did engage in any kind of sexual activity. My whole life, I was afflicted with a deep burning desire for any kind of visceral excitement. It was possibley my lack of sexual experience that made me fear it and crave it at the same time. Even though I spent my college years and beyond, dating casually, fooling around after long nights at bars, I never found that girl power type of empowerment embodied by my 90s sex/rock and roll idols like Erotica-era Madonna, rise-from-the-rape-ashes Tori Amos or look-at-my-tits-on-a-magazine-cover Janet Jackson. But when a pretty harmless blonde boy, barely my height and weight popped into my life at a Hollywood bar one night and told me about a sex party he attended at the home of a USC grad student, (Yes, USC and UCLA have underground student swinger clubs, and I thought I got laid a lot at my progressive liberal arts college) I thought, sex with multiple partners at the same time? That’s for me. It seemed so familiarly bacchanal, like in a former life I was a Grecian actress who drank heavily, feasted on raw meat and fucked on a daily basis. After lots of trial and error, lots of meeting happily and unhapplily married couples in trendly Hollywood bars, after attending secret  password parties in the hills, after fighting with my play partner about how I fucked more men than he fucked women, after breaking up with him and navigating the swinger world solo, after leaving the swinger word for a relationship that is technically open, yet we’ve never taken that option, these are the gems of single swinger girl wisdom that I have come away with.

  1. A single girl who swings is a unicorn. That is because they barely exist and anyone who meets one wants to grab on to her pretty horn and fuck it.
  2. All couple swinging begins and ends like this:                                                                    Man: Honey, let’s swing! Woman: Eww, Ok, if you really want to.                                                                Two weeks later.                                                                                                                    Man: Swinging sucks! All these perverts are after you and the girls hate me! Woman: This is the best time in my life. You’ll have to pry swinging out of my cold, dead hands!
  3. You never want to be the hottest person at the swinger party. In regular life, it feels good to walk into a bar and be the hottest bitch there, getting all the attention and free drinks. But this isn’t regular life and you don’t have to fuck any of these hangers-on. You want to be hot, it’s true, but also be surrounded by the hotter and hottest. That way you feel extra turned on for having received an invitation to the super hot fuck party. And trust me Unicorns, if you get the invitation, you are hot enough for these guy and gal models/porn stars/beautiful freaks of nature. They’ll find your crooked nose hopelessly adorable.
  4. Use condoms. These perfectly sexy, smart, accomplished lawyers/doctors/businesspeople/producers/award winning screenwriters get around, girl!
  5. If it’s a pool party, strip right away and jump in. Just get it over with. If everyone isn’t already naked in the pool, you will inspire the stragglers to do so. If it’s not a pool party keep your clothes on til play time. The solo girl running around cooch in the air is a little too excited, a little too high and sadly, it’s a trashy behavior.
  6. Pair up with a male escort from time to time, especially if you are going to a new party. Sure it’s great to flit from bedroom to bedroom, not having to worry about a date, but sometimes you want a date when you don’t know what kind of situation that you are walking, stark naked, into. It’s nice to have an advocate to intimidate the other horndogs.
  7. That said, these single men in the swinger scene are messed up. They are damaged, there I said it. Not that this is a bad thing. Unicorns take note, it’s ok to go on a few dates with them, take them along to a stranger’s party for protection but don’t expect a real friendship. These men have intimacy issues, no standards, drug problems, sex addiction and STI’s which makes them more comfortable fucking who they believe are ‘sluts’ instead of regular non-swinger girls. Play, but don’t get too close and leave when you start to feel their weirdness settling over you.
  8. On the flip side, is the single man who is so blown away about the down to earth unskanky unicorn you are, that now he does want a relationship and you don’t, cause dude, you have a framed rhyming poem about how to not dribble pee on your toilet seat next to a crucifix hanging in your bathroom. I just wanted a hot one nighter, not a boyfriend who writes pee poems. After you turn down his second date, don’t let his condescending text message get to you.
  9. Have fun. Have all the fucking fun you can. Take a long time dressing up sexy, putting on lots of dramatic eye make up, playing truth or dare, or strip poker. Accept that invitation to the standard downtown or the chateau marmot (the 2 best hotels for debauchery).
  10. Stop for a while. Gain some persective. Dry out. Get back in touch with your vanilla friends. Give you pussy a rest. Go on a date with a normal dude. See how he recacts to your stories. If this life is absolute torture go back to swinging ASAP. That is where you will find the man, woman, men, women, trans, bi, whatever life partner/s of your dreams.

 

The pool party.

It’s 2011 and I am dating a young man I’ll call Twink. He was 29, 5’7’’ and 100 pounds sopping wet. He was completely hairless with platinum blonde hair and blue eyes. He wasn’t gay but if he had been, he would have made a great twink, hence the nickname. Only I didn’t know then that he did in fact have gay tendencies, and was in truth a natural redhead.

It was Twink’s idea that we find a sex party to attend. He’d been once, and I’d never had but I always wanted to. I didn’t know anyone who did that kind of thing, but I’d always been the kind of person who was up for the riding the scariest rollercoasters, or ziplining down mountains, or driving cars when I had no license, so a sex party to was just another thing I wanted to check off my wild child bucket list.

Twink found a social media website for swingers. It was set up just like Facebook except everyone on it was looking for threesomes or group sex and we knew a lot of them were serious about, just like we were, because there was a $50 membership fee to join Sit-on-my-facebook.com. OK, no it wasn’t really called that. The site was called LifestyleLounge.com.

Twink and I looked at the site together and we were totally overwhelmed by the amount of hot kinky people living in my own zipcode. (Much like Tindr or Blendr, now, this website used your location to pull up profiles in your neighborhood). I didn’t want to sift through the literally hundred of perverted profiles so I put Twink on the task. He would go through the profiles and send email inquiries about sex parties and I would filter through the sex party email responses. And we got plenty. Our first invite was to have sex with a married couple in their 50s in Sherman Oaks. Twink was down to have to have sex with them so he forwarded me an email from them. (Twink was down to have sex with anyone by the way – 40s, 50s, whatever). I declined the invitation, emailing Mr. And Mrs. AARP that I wanted to have sex with people my own age. This was a mistake. I hurt their feelings and they wrote me back:

Dear Liz (I went by Liz on the website because I wanted no one on Earth to ever know that Jeni Bartiromo was looking for a sex party). We are once of the hottest (they weren’t) couples on this site and good luck finding people who are as sexy as we are to play with, especially with your shitty attitudes.

From then on, anytime an undesirable couple emailed us, I just didn’t respond. Mr. and Mrs. AARP were wrong. The site was full of young sexy types ready for some group play. However, I refused to email any one who wouldn’t send us face pictures or claimed to be “up for anything.” You never know what that means – one person’s “up for anything” could mean skinny dipping while another person’s “up for anything” could mean gerbils up the butt.

Did I mention I was screening all of these emails from my day job? I was moonlighting as a Dominatrix at night, but by day I was a Warner Bros Home Entertainment copywriter. I was supposed to be writing summaries of Looney Tunes cartoons but instead I was in my gmail account, reading suggestive and explicit messages from complete strangers.

Finally, Twink forwarded me a nice email inviting us to a pool party along with the headshots and comp cards of the 4 other party guests. Only in LA right? Everyone looked quite attractive and appeared to be in their 20s and 30s.

The morning of the big party I did what I’d go on to call ‘the sex party prep,’ which is a long hot shower were you shave as much off your body hair as you can stand. While it’s not necessary to do an at home Brazilian, it’s just not in fashion to have more than a landing strip, unless you’re going to some nudist colony up in Northern California. (I’ve been there too but that’s another story).

Before the party, I had to stop by a film shoot. I’d agreed to help a friend of a friend by acting in his student film. I was playing a wacky bridesmaid and once my scene was over I met Twink at his apartment and we were on our way out to a house in West Hills.

Because of my shoot we were late, and the woman who answered the door was already completely naked. She was a very tiny brunette who appeared to be in her late 30s. She was the lady of the house and it occurred to me that she was not any of the women from the pictures I’d seen and that made me nervous. This lady was cute but where were the actors-slash-models? Not to fear – those people were in the pool. Splashing around and drinking mojitos buck naked. Twink and I looked around, looked at each other, took our clothes off and jumped in. We wanted to fit in with the other guests. There was a lot of non-sexy talk, like where we were from, what we did for work, and who was and wasn’t a vegetarian. Then the man of the house, who liked to call himself Uncle Drew, summoned us to the bedroom. Drew is a tall handsome New Jersey native in his 40s who was on his second marriage. (His first one wasn’t an open marriage). He is not only the owner of an awesome ranch house out in the valley, complete with salt water pool, fountain and most importantly an 8 foot high fence around his 2 acre yard, but if you’ve ever listened to the radio, he is one of Hollywood’s best known voice over actors.

We got the bedroom and the 4 other party guest and husband-wife hosts started going at it, some on the bed and some on the floor. Since they’d gotten to know each other for a full hour before we showed up, they were more comfortable with each other. Twink and I still felt like we’d walked into a house full of naked strangers and weren’t feeling too sexy yet. But we didn’t want to be ungrateful guests, so he and perched on the edge of the bed and just watched everyone go at it. Then a truly remarkable thing happened. There was a hot blonde woman on the bed, and unbeknownst to us, she’d had a baby about 6 months before. So Uncle Andrew, who was standing in the doorway of his bedroom getting his dick sucked, shouts to her, “Show me what you got Mama!” and this blonde lady squeezes her boobs and shoots breast milk across the room over the bodies of people having sex, and I think to myself when I am on my deathbed and my life flashes before my eyes, this is an image that I’ll see! Twink raises his eyebrow at me and we stifle our laughter and then we start making out. We had sex on the very edge of the bed. The breast milk incident loosened us right up.

So everyone finishes whatever it is they are doing, giving head, lactating, whatever, and we’re all back at the pool talking about the normal shit like movies and iPhone apps and no one mentions the sex. But this time we’re all talking with each other like we’re best friends. And that was the coolest part. It was more fun than the actual sex. It’s not like I was able to have an orgasm in such an unfamiliar sexing. But the sex created an instant human connection and we were able to bond over our yearnings to try new sexual experiences and over our fear of confiding in our friends about it. And then Twink and I went home and agreed we’d never tell any body about we did. We swore it’d be our secret to take to the grave. I don’t know if he kept our secret, but I have not.

Months later, Twink went on to find a girlfriend who disapproved of any kind of non-monogamous relationship, so he quit the parties. But I kept going.

The boots.

The boots.

My best guy friend, Best Gay, is an assistant to a very successful Hollywood cobbler. This cobbler has contracts with TV shows and movies and he created the shoes for The Dark Knight Rises. Sometimes I inherit or I can buy at a deep discount ($50 verses $2000 and up), shoes from the cobbler that were left behind or not used. So these were a prototype for Anne Hathaway’s Catwoman costume. My Old Man saw me try them on in the store and he was smitten. He was ready to crawl on all 4’s and perform any random and possibly humiliating task I might ask of him. So for $50 they were all mine. I thought I’d wear them in session since they make an already subservient man a ball of jelly, but frankly I don’t want to get some strange guy’s saliva or jizz on the Catwoman boots. As Best Gay put it, Mary, you don’t want to break off a rhinestone in some guy’s nutsack. Now I only wear them to high-class events. Wait, I don’t go to any high-class events. I need to wear the Catwoman boots in public! They are just too hot to hide in my closet. Someone, invite me to something fancy, soon.

To swing or not to swing.

Teary declarations of love over dinner – you’d think it was a proposal but the Old Man was telling me that I could fuck other people if I want, because that’s just how much he loves me. As in, he knows sex and love are different, and no matter whom I fuck, he knows that I will always love him. I did get emotional too. It was important for him to understand that I don’t want to sleep with anyone else right now. Also, I’m not even sure if my time as a swinger was a phase or if it’s something I will go back to later. I mean, I loved competitive ballroom dancing for those couple years I did it, but I would never try to live the ballroom dancer lifestyle with the gay dance partner and the helmet hair maintenance. So I don’t know that I’d want to full on swing again on a regular basis. But I do want to do it a few more times before I die. Just not soon. I am not feeling focused on my social life. My new goals are to work out and write on a regular basis. And make lots of money. And not eat like crap.

The sweet part of the dinner was that we ended the conversation by saying that we will always come home to each other. What I didn’t say was that if I did want to have sex with a different man, it’d be a well connected but not particularly motivated 23-year-old comedian friend. We have killer sexual tension but the reality of great sex with him won’t match up to my fantasy. There’s no way, he’s only 23. So my self-imposed monogamy is keeping me from having bad sex with guys I’m fleetingly attracted to. Thanks, Monogamy!

The Ballad of Sissy Mike.

Another true tale from my first week as a professional fetishist:

I was alerted by the dungeon manager Bella, that a gentlemen dubbed Sissy Mike would eventually session with me. “He only sessions with the new girls,” she told me. “If he likes you he will see you for a few months, but he always moves on the newest girl.” Sissy Mike was a cross dresser and he wanted the same role play every time. According to Bella, Mike would fill me in about everything. Then Bella and the other girls, all dungeon veterans, giggled. That was all they were going to tell me. They didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

One rainy Monday night Sissy Mike wandered in and requested a session with me. He was in his 50’s and wearing a powder blue tracksuit. He was uncomfortably quiet, and he was all business as he dragged me to the sissy closet. He meticulously picked out a bra, panties and stockings, and then he grabbed a flogger.

“So do you like to be flogged?” I asked.

“No,” he answered.

We got to the room and Sissy Mike laid out the scenario. I was a clerk at the lingerie store and he would come in to buy some presents for his girlfriend, but I would force him to wear the lingerie himself. So that’s what we did. I dressed him in women’s underwear and even did his makeup. Then he picked up the flogger and dug into this track pants pocket. He pulled out a magnum condom and unrolled it on the handle of the flogger.

“Call me a bitch and make me suck this.”

That was how I learned that a cross dressing man never feels like his outfit is complete unless he has a ‘dick’ to suck.

I timidly asked his bitch-ass to suck my dick while holding the flogger a foot away from my body. He sucked and his lipstick smeared all over his chin and the condom. The sight of a hairy middle aged man in fuchsia lipstick sucking this makeshift dildo was gruesome. I needed a productive way to channel my disgust.

I took the flogger and put it between my legs with the handle poking out from my crotch.

“I don’t think you are sucking hard enough, you ugly bitch!”

Then he really went at my dick. At some point he lay back on the ground, flipped his legs over his head and jerked off onto his own face. Surprise! It’s been 4 years and I still haven’t seen a man, other than Sissy Mike, ejaculate on to his own face.

After he came, he turned into the friendliest man you could ever meet. He wanted to talk about literature, movies, the weather, my childhood. Sissy Mike was a completely different person once he got his cross dressing rocks off.

Sissy Mike saw me every Monday night for the next 6 months. He always wore the same track suit. He always barely spoke until the scene was over. His session always had to be exactly the same. Although I appreciated the consistent cash, the repetition was boring. I must have seen him come on his own face at least 25 times. When Miss Layla got hired and replaced me as the dungeon newbie, I never sessioned with Mike again. Sometimes I would see him with a new girl in the sissy closet picking out the perfect bra. I always said “Hi Mike” even though he would never answer back.

Things my parents taught me about sex.

Earlier tonight I was chatting with a bartender about last night’s Oscars. He said that he’d been watching it with his 5 year old son and everything was going fine until Ted the CGI teddy bear came out and started talking about orgies. The little boy asked his dad, ‘what’s an orgy?’ so the bartender dad answered, ‘It’s a like drinking game for adults.’ He said that was the best answer he could come up with on the spot, and was hoping that his son’s kindergarten teacher wouldn’t be calling soon to tell him that the young boy was asking the kids on the playground to play ‘orgy.’

All of us at the bar had a nice laugh and I drove home feeling relieved that I don’t have to come up with a sanitized definitions of orgy or or tramp stamp or douche bag or whatever 5 year old kids hear on TV or online. And then, I remembered of some awkward educational moments that I had with my parents during my formative years.

1. Babies come out of your vagina.

My mother whispered this into my ear at the age of 4 after she got pregnant with my brother.

2. Figure out what masturbation means by your damn self. 

My parents were big Wapner fans and as we watched an episode of People’s Court, the female plaintiff accused the defendant of masturbating in front of her. 8-year old me asked my mother what that meant and she said, “I’m too embarrassed to tell you what that means.”

3. Babies are made when the sperm and egg come together. 

OK, got it. But how do these 2 elements find each other? That information was not included in the one and only official ‘talk’ after I turned 10.

4. You are too young to have relations. 

I was 19* and I asked my parents if I could spend the weekend with some dude I’d only known for a few months at a cabin in Vermont. I pretended like I didn’t know what ‘relations’ meant so I could get someone to say the word ‘sex.’

*I’d lost my virginity 3 years before, but they didn’t know.

So what’d you think of the Oscar telecast guys??

Bummer tramp.

Yesterday my best gay and I hit Summertramp, which is the name of a debaucherous Memorial Day party in the parking lot of a seedy bar in the warehouse district of downtown LA.

Last year the party was over run with grotesque drag queens, gay men, scantily clad chicks and their steampunk boyfriends, and all kind of other eclectic downtown LA types. The drag queens ended up in the pool, mascara was running down their stubbly cheeks, wigs were floating in the water. Best Gay and I snorted coke in the port-o-potties. A single straight boy with a soccer player’s body and the requisite phoenix tattoo on his bicep squirted me with a Super Soaker and a few hours later we were fucking in his downtown loft. The next morning I was sunburnt, hung over and my vagina hurt. The party was epic. So I was really looking forward to this year’s Summertramp.

But this year’s Summertramp was wall-to-wall white boys in short shorts grinding on the dance floor and a few chicks in bikinis. I was wearing a backless baby blue dress with spaghetti straps and the dress was so short it rode up my ass while I danced. Underneath I sported the skimpiest thong I own so it appeared that I wasn’t wearing underwear. And I still looked like the most conservative person there.

I lit up a joint next to the DJ booth and some wannabe Calvin Klein model boi asked me what I was smoking.

Me: “Weed. Wanna drag?”
Boi: “Ew, no.”

Best Gay explained to me that the Crystal Queens don’t approve of marijuana because they think it’s cheap and dirty and slows you down.

Every time someone jumped into the pool, the Queens scampered away so they wouldn’t get wet. Everyone was so high and jaded and horny. The coolest thing I saw was 3 super hot fags making out but after about a minute of watching them I just got sexually frustrated. Maybe the party became too trendy, too much like the homogenous West Hollywood gay scene. Or maybe I didn’t enjoy it because I wasn’t on blow and didn’t get laid.

Vegas babies.

Viva Las-Mary’s-coming-to-Vegas!

 

This is my first trip to Vegas exclusively to play. I am staying on the strip in one of the hot casinos with my Domme colleagues Mistress Justine and Mistress Savannah.

 

I’ve been to Vegas before, many times, because my best friend from college lives there.  Back when I was a college girl, I told my parents that I was staying on campus for spring break to catch up on school work, but really, I caught a flight from Boston to Las Vegas to party in Sin City for the first time. The partying started before we even boarded the flight. I got drunk off Jack Daniels in my dorm room before the cab showed up to bring us to the airport. By the time we got dropped off my head was spinning. By the time we made it through security, right in front of a Starbucks, I puked. One of the baristas ran from her latte assembly line with a stack of paper towels and told me to start wiping it up. I told her to screw it and I ran to the bathroom. Because of my sweet and innocent face, and a story about how some stomach bug was going around my dorm, airport security let me on the plane and spared me from ending up in airport jail for some kind of vomit terrorism. I made it to Vegas in one piece, and barely remember any more details from spring break. I must have had a great time.

 

I have already started getting calls for Las Vegas sessions. I’m getting requests for the usual-bondage, cross-dressing, nipple torture. But I did get one call that ranks right up there as one of the most bizarre requests I have ever gotten. A gentlemen called me, to request that I dominate his girlfriend while he watches. He wants me to tie her up and blindfold her while I place his snake on top of her body and we both watch it slither all over her! At first I thought ‘snake’ was his nickname for his penis, but he meant the reptile. I’m not afraid of snakes, but I had to admit to the Snake Man, “Hey, I’ve never even owned a cat, I don’t know to handle a snake!” But lucky for us, my Mistress friends who are coming to town with me, have handled plenty of snakes. One even had a boa constrictor as a pet when she was a little girl! I’ve done lots of crazy things in Vegas before, but if this snake session comes through, it will take the crazy-cake.

 

Check back in a few days for the snake-update! What happens in Vegas, ends up on my blog.