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DIARY 1128
5/26/70

ORGY HERE

I'm beginning to feel had about 9 pm when Bob asks Big Bob how late Brian was last time, and he says "half an hour." It's only a couple of minutes after that typical half-hour lateness, and then someone knocks on the door who isn't black, different from Big Bob who had to be rung to come up, undoubtedly because of his color, and there's a tall slender fellow with a R.-mop of hair and colored glasses who seems quiet but very cute, and he's Brian. We sit and listen to the music some more, and the sounds of "Hair" begin to get spaced out, and before I know it, the sounds are becoming louder, things people are saying become disconnected, and there are wild pauses when everyone stops talking and smiles quickly back and forth at each other, and I can only ejaculate "Boy, have I gotten spaced OUT," and everyone laughs uncomfortably and settles back to enjoy the show.

I start swinging with the music, and switch to sit on the sofa with Big Bob, aware of his hairy arm along the back of the sofa, reaching toward me, and Bob and Brian are quietly smoking, looking at us, listening to the music, and I figure nothing's going to happen, and I'm going to be the cause by my mere presence. I dismiss that as being paranoid, and go on to other types of paranoia: I hear a trickle of gas in my duodenum and immediately fear that I'll be so completely relaxed that I'll just shit. But that's silly: I could choose to shit or choose NOT to shit, and it would be more comfortable NOT to shit, so I stop and concentrate on each fart so that it won't go beyond the gaseous into the liquid phase. Then I get hung up on my farts: if we're have an orgy, I won't be wanting to fart in anyone's face when they're doing me! But then the beauty of it all hits me: IT DOESN'T MATTER. I could talk about it if I wanted, but they would respond: if it bothers me, I'll tell you, but YOU don't have to warn ME about it, let me find out for myself! The words are familiar, and then the Moody Blues come on and every word is a trip in itself, much like the exercise next Monday called "Jamming" in which ANY sentence can suddenly turn into a dozen meanings when the words are separated and put back together.

I began swaying with the music, and suddenly see myself as very passive! Here I've always looked at myself as being the instigator, the leader, the active principle, but now that I'm smoking, I'm lolling on the sofa just waiting to be attacked. But then the thought comes through that I should be doing just what I WANT to be doing, since the pot gives me the freedom to do that very thing. But I don't want to reach out to Big Bob sitting next to me, Bob has been pleasant to be with, but I don't feel like going out to him, and Brian looks very uncomfortable, as if he expected to find someone as beautiful as himself here, and is worried because he hasn't, but he's gotten stuck in the situation and doesn't know how to leave gracefully.

That leaves me only to move with the music, which I do, and the pipe is passed around and I'm inhaling mightily though I'm very spaced out already. Then the pipe is allowed to go out, since Big Bob isn't smoking (because of his high blood pressure, neither can he eat sweet or salt), and Bob says he has enough, and there's a touch of Brian and me sharing the pipe to see who has the most cool to last the longest.

Then Bob's up and taking his clothes off, and I hasten to do the same, and reach over for Brian's body as he strips to reveal a slender well-muscled torso. We stand in the middle of the floor and caress, and Bob comes over to stand at another apex of a triangle, and Big Bob moves behind me, where I feel nervous until I sense that he means nothing sexual about his movements, and we stand and sway with the music, though the apartment is cold and our hands are cold, and there's no heat coming up, but soon I'm so high that the sensation of cold vanishes, but the knowledge that I'm not aroused is very pressing on me, and even though I make an effort not to think about it, it's the old Indian adage about NOT thinking about a monkey when taking medicine which brings the topic down on my head.

I finally go down on Brian, not caring what the other two do, and Bob and Bob caress, then it seems to be time to go into the bedroom, and Bob and Bob sort of collapse within themselves, and Brian lays down next to them at the foot of the bed, leaving just a tiny space that I could get into if I wanted, but I don't want. All three sets of legs are dangling over the edge, and I see the two hard cocks curling upward between Brian's and Bob's legs, and I can't resist kneeling on the floor, resting my head on the bed between their thighs, and reaching up to feel the sexy lengths of hard flesh between my fingers and under my wrists as I move my hands up to feel their bodies.

Big Bob obligingly lets go of Bob so that I can handle him, but Brian, though I push him toward Bob, doesn't seem to want to participate, so I go down on him again, concentrating very hard on doing him, because I'm so spaced out I'm finding it hard to keep up a sensuous rhythm with the cock in my mouth. Again the feelings of suffocating come up, the thought of being throttled by a cock down one's throat, the idea that this concentration toward an orgasm is foolish, but Brian's body is nice to feel and his cock gets longer and harder and he begins gasping above my head, and when he reached down to grab his cock, as if protecting it from coming, I get even more frantic, bobbing up and down as he thrashes about, and finally he groans into orgasm, throbbing in my mouth, and I torture his spurting member with my teeth and tongue and lips until he almost shouts for me to stop it.

Bob is sucking on Big Bob's lips frantically, and I turn to see that his cock is stretched to fullness, and Big Bob's only using his hand, so I dive down and take the cock into my drawing mouth, Bob curls up and straightens out in ecstasy, and very quickly he thrusts harder and harder, my teeth nip the edges of his cock, driving him to thrust harder, and he, too, shoots into my mouth, dribbling down the side of his cock, and I rub it more and more strongly as he has to stop kissing to groan out his mingled pleasure and pain in the strength of the orgasm. He goes into spasms of motion, until finally a hearty "EeeYii" from his clenched teeth convinces me that he's come fully, and I leave go to see his body completely relax in a heap. Big Bob investigates me, but I'm limp, though wet with the pleasures of watching and doing the other two.

In some fashion we manage to get back into the living room, possibly with Bob's suggestion that he needs a cigarette to calm his screaming nerves. The music is still going, though I have to turn it over rather quickly, the five sides playing through before I quite realize it, and we've stopped more than once to listen to a strange build-up, seeing if we could latch onto it, and then we laugh and nuzzle together as we see that it's ONLY music.

Back in the living room I again get the heightened stereo effect, and during some of the Electronic Hairpieces, the speakers really send all of us into a tizzy. I rest my head on the sofa-back, and Bob is smoking next to me, and I think vaguely of fire, and I can hear noises in the hall and I suspect an imminent raid by the police, and then that suddenly DOESN'T MATTER. What difference does it make if I'm thrown in jail? I'm not working, so I can hardly lose my job. Planes go past in the sky, and again I come to the absurd idea that I'm afraid of flying, afraid of dying, and I can see how silly that is as I burst upward, flying toward the goal I know so well but which is so elusive. I know again that I love Bob, as I loved him before, fully and completely, with enormous trust and sensitivity. I could love Brian that way if he could only let me in.

Big Bob leaves about this time: I'd been getting paranoid about his lack of excitement, but again I left it alone: if he wants to do something about it, he will; if he doesn't, he won't. It's no affair of mine, even though I am the host. Everyone's drinking Pepsi and he can't. We're smoking and he can't. He seems to have as much trouble getting it up as I have, and anyway it looks quite small, and my size-queen propensities don't even have that to turn on with.

So there's the group I would have wanted in the first place: Bob and Brian. Then they start talking about paper bags, and I somehow think they're leaving, so am rather vacant when Bob asks if I have some paper bags: what on earth do they want to PUT in them to take home with them? Then I point under the sink and see that they want to put their HEADS in them, tearing off the bottoms to fit the jagged edges around their necks, poking holes for eyes and mouths, Bob freaks me out by sticking his tongue out, then putting his hand inside and sticking his fingers through the mouth hole, and then he's kissing me through the paper bag, and it's so weird I go way out, and then when they put the bag over my head and clap it down around my ears, and the music is somewhere that fits, when they pull the bag off, I feel like I've taken off a mask.

A mask! That's what they're wearing, like the Indian masks used in ceremonies. This is a ceremony, we're savages wearing masks for each other: take off the masks, take off the masks! I'm thrown back into the LSD session, and think they're brilliant to have symbolized their inhibitions so cleverly! They put a bag around my head again, smoothing it down in burlap-kraft crackles around my ears, hugging my head to their chest, and I relax so thoroughly I feel that the bones in my head have gone all mushy and are conforming to the shape of the bag. They blow smoke in on me and I'm convinced the apartment is a mass of flames from their stupid fires, and I'll be burned to a crisp while high, but it doesn't make any difference. My head has melted as my cocks hasn't, my head had an orgasm like God is the orgasm of the mind, and I find trouble breathing, and this is the way I'm to die: suffocated in a fire with a paper bag over my head, caught in the whirls of history, and again I'm tied up in what Bob said that whole lifetimes are lived between orgasms, or between each spasm of each orgasm. I'm way out, living through prehistory and archeology which would have investigated these masks, and I can hear the triumphant music, muffled, and I think of Grof's talk and the birth trauma, and I have the vivid feeling of coursing through some bloody tube of flesh: but that's what the COCK is, a bloody tube of flesh, and I flash from the feeling of shit rolling from my ass in a tube, stimulating the sensitive insides of my anus, to the feeling of a baby rolling from the vagina of a woman, with the same soft, molding feeling of pliant excretion, and then to the feeling of the soft whitish fluid spurting through the center of the cock in orgasm after orgasm, and the baby IS the semen IS the shit, and everything makes a grand circle, because the shit is waste, yet fertilizer, and the semen is waste, yet the pre-creator of life, and the baby is waste as far as the mother's womb is concerned at this point, but that waste is LIFE, and the cycle of life seems to be contained in these few simple sensations of my head inside a paper bag.

When the bag is drawn away, the cool air hits my face with the whiff of evaporation, my hair falls into place on my head, my eyes can again see, my ears can again hear the music, and I freeze catatonically into position, reborn, newly shat out, living waste material, and it all seems to fit so beautifully I'm close to tears. Since I sense a sort of worry in the people around me, I move slightly to show that I'm still alive, and I breathe every so often just to remind myself of the habit that I might forget.

The music is into something about the sun, and again I smell the smell of burning, and think the sun is burning, or the sun is in the room, and then Bob holds out a paper bag, saying "Look, the sun is going out," and there's a round cigarette burn in the bag, rimmed with ember, and the ember goes out around the circle like the corona of the sun being blotted out by the eclipsing moon, and the wonder of the allusion is striking, and I look, thinking that that could ACTUALLY BE the REAL sun, and it could go out as casually as the sun went out in the brown paper bag, burning around the rim and then turning black and cold in only a very few seconds.

Inventive Bob is asking if I have any newspaper, and I can even sacrifice the Sunday Times entertainment section to his wishes, and show him where it is. Again I lay back, floating on the music, and when Bob commands "Look, I've made a tree," I think to the fact that only God can make a tree, and when I open my eyes to the folded/torn/twisted paper tree held in Bob's hands, there's the living proof that he is God.

He twists the tight cylinders as I watch, and the tree grows higher and higher, the oblong leaves circling the base as the top gets higher, and he laughs as I freak out completely, bursting into helpless laughter of sheer childish amazement and delight. He lengthens and stretches it, until it threatens to break in the center from self-weakness, but he holds it in two places and braces it between floor and ceiling, and I envision it breaking through the roof and poking out into the clear night air. Back behind my closed eyes I retreat, then look up again on command to see the tree suspended in air, held only by his hands, moving in and out like some mirrored cosmic fuck of newsprint, lengthening and shrinking from an invisible mirror-point at its center.

Before this, Brian had been smoking, and gently nuzzling me as I lay on Bob, having fallen back from swaying on the coffee table.

"That'll blow his mind," said Bob is his best little-boy voice, and I open my eyes, wide, to see an appendix scar open in my left side, with thick grayish-white smoke lazily pouring out of it. They'd broken into me! They'd slit me open, and I can see the smoky insides coming out. The seam of smoke didn't move down my body, didn't vanish immediately, and I looked at it in bug-eyed wonder. Then his head lowered onto my navel for a few moments, and I loved the brush of his lips and the hot feeling from inside his mouth as he gently exhaled, and when he brought this head up, there was a wisp of smoke connecting the dry-ice swirl pooled in my navel to his retreating lips, and the pool swirled slowly with a long life of its own, and I felt at once childishly amused at a trick, and cosmically entertained. When he repeated it in my crotch hairs, the effect had worn off, but the swamp gas effect of the hair and cock sticking out of the ground swell of smoke remains with me still.

Every so often I would think clearly enough to get more Pepsi for someone, though the trip to the fridge would take hours, and I'd fear to find them somehow against me when I got back, angry with me for breaking some sort of closeness or spell among us three.

One of the paper bags was turned upside down from their usage as masks, and it became a flower pot for the sections of the tree which had turned into plants---after being used! I lay back on the sofa and a myriad soft-leaved limbs flowed over me, and I clasped them gently to my chest and neck, and it was reliving the sensation in the SoHo festival of the rubber stripping in the green-gassy strobe-lit environment in the middle of the street. The fronds from the fern leaves multiplied as I touched them, and I was literally buried in them. Bob made some sort of remark about spiders or centipedes or caterpillars, and I got a momentary revulsion, but then quickly excused him for using the wrong words: anyway, it really didn't matter. The petals brushed over cock and chest and hair, and I mingled them with my hair, feeling completely free and fine with the flowers he was showering down on me, petals soft as sheerest chiffon.

He stood triumphant with the vase of flowers, and put it on the table, and it was transformed into a horse with rider, and then I fell to the floor, looking up at it, and it changed into a rearing horse, complete with hooves and mane and neighing jaws. Bob moved it slowly from angle to angle, and as it moved, it changed.

It was now about 1 am and the mood was quietly changing, and when we were down on the floor, Brian noticed that I had a color TV set, and when I said yes, he turned it on with joy and started flicking back and forth with the channels. We watched terrible programs, convinced that they contained universal truths, fascinated by the commercials, amused by everything which was shown, and then Brian started resting the channel selector between channels.

Seurat paintings flashed on the screen, drawn in gems of red and blue and yellow, and colors of an intensity that a normal screen never showed bathed our eyes. We turned on to this new game immediately, and Brian delighted in turning the contrast up and down, the colors back and forth, searching for new joys. The picture went from quasi-normal to monsterish green to psychedelic pink and purple. Then he turned the contrast up so that these same colors became auras of blazing flame, green and red and orange and yellow, then turned the contrast down, so that the whole picture reverted to a gray which had lavender highlights at the edges, as if the whole thing was reflected off aluminum foil which glittered at spots in a bright light. He fiddled and fiddled, until the picture became completely nonobjective, like two badly focused films being run side by side, and the line between became a fuchsia or chartreuse snake which writhed back and forth, changing the sizes of the frames which shared the screen.

"That reminds me," I shouted to Bob, "of the sensation you produced in my spine when you twirled your fingers on the back of my neck and at the base of my ass. I felt that my spine was something solid inside me, and I could flex it all around." I also remembered at that point (at this point) that I made a strong connection with theater-games classes, and the spine suppleness which the dancers had which enabled them to go from slouched forward to tucked up backward as they chose, but they had the suppleness to go either way. I'd made other connections with rubbing and sounds, and at one time I thought Chuck was there, based on a comment Brian made in his voice, and every so often someone would touch me to say something or do something that only John would do, and I was quite convinced that John was a part of this scene too, since we were so close, and since I was so involved in this scene. (He was smoking the same evening, hating the fact that he was alone, waking during the night to regret that I wasn't in bed with him.)

The idea of archetypes also came back during the evening: Bob was the eternal lover type, Brian the triangle-maker of the beautiful interloper with whom I fell in love. [Ah, another set of fantastic memories, along with a distinct visual hallucination: After Big Bob left I was sitting on the coffee table, and I felt so relaxed and so comfortable that I just folded over on myself so that my hands and wrists rested limply on the floor, realizing that I had my ass sticking out, and that they might think I wanted to be fucked, but maybe I DID want to be fucked, so it didn't matter at all. Bob came back to the sofa and went out of his mind, calling Brian over to look, and he said that I had become a huge cock, running his hands up and down my body. Again it all fit: I had just been reborn, coming is semen coming out of the cock, being born is coming out of the mother: the point of exit from the mother is the head, the point of coming is the cockhead, and the chakras of the Buddhist teachings were culminated in the head. It all fit. I felt self-conscious about being exclaimed about, felt vaguely that they were making fun of me, so I slowly rose back to a seating position, and they thrashed about on the sofa in flabbergastion: LOOK, they shouted, the cock is turning into a man! I didn't understand what they were talking about, so I moved back to the sofa and Bob quickly took my place, folded over himself on the coffee table.

Behold! The crack of the ass did look like the urethral opening, the flare of his hips from the narrowness of the waist DID look like the broadened head of a cock, and the shape of the cockhead was more than a coincidence. Then the body shape was the shaft of the cock, with the backbone being a vein down the center, and even the arms and elbows at the sides took on the identity of testicles peeping out from either side. I was truly amazed, and then Bob slowly started to sit upright, and it seemed "wrong" that the cock was moving up from the back, but it reversed into the tip of the cock dropping and turning under as the ass became more and more something to sit on. Then, startle, the head appeared and for an instant was the pubic hair at the base of the cock, but then the shaft was definitely a back, and the cock turned into a man, that was the only way of looking at it.

"Brian, try it, it's wild," shouted Bob, and I sat fascinated. I had been drawn to Brian all evening, liking his face, his shy smile, his clear eyes, his young muscled body, his long-fingered hands, but he seemed reserved and aloof, as if he were better than we were, and I thought it might actually be the fact. Then he took up the convincing cock position, but somehow he drew his feet up and was sitting in the lotus position, or I imagined it, but as he grew upward, the music had gotten into some oriental tangent, and I saw before me a truly enlightened one, who had deigned to return from Samadhi to teach others the true way, a real Bodhisatva sat before me, the spine and the rib cage in the immediate area of the spine became outlined under the skin, and I could literally see the skin become transparent and fold in around the bones, and I could see the first chakra at the base of the spine, then the second appeared in a small ellipse above it, then the third, and I stared wide-eyed as each successive level became perfectly apparent.

I sat back, holding my breath, knowing that I was seeing a, for me, rare visual hallucination, and figured that some small shadings from the light in the kitchen were causing me to overemphasize the effect into a visual treat, but it was compellingly clear that the bones flexed into the chakras, and as the spine gained in flexibility, the chakras would grow in clarity and distinction. When his head appeared with its blond haze of curls, I felt that I was seeing truly Adam, raising his head to greet God, and I felt happy and privileged and completely stoned out of my mind.]

To get back: I also fit the theater-games group into some eternal gathering of archetypes (here we are again!), and Claude was the leader, who knew more than anyone, but who was still human, fallible, who could look to me for help; Etta was the eternal woman, like Joan, hurt and not very pretty and wanting a man so badly; Nedda was the eternal mother; Chuck the sexy unattainable; Al the older shelterer of his own wants, needs and hurts; Dick the insensitive, seemingly skilled, but woefully ignorant of the real levels of reality, but one who, when needed, would look calmly on me and say, "I knew it all along, we're all alike;" and Rick the perennial goof-off, making jokes and deprecating himself, but with fountains of bursting good within him. Kay was the grandmother, wise but hurt, smiling through flowing tears; Lyn the sexpot, stupid and full bodied, made for rearing children but hating them; Eddie the eternal newcomer, always amazed at how quickly he fits into the group, looking to me especially for approval and acceptance and liking it when he gets it. And John the eternal lover, taking as many forms as there are people, in the form of John for this space of time, which is all time, which is no time. And me, me. So there are the twelve of us, the eleven students, the nine who CAN be part of the group (assuming Kay and Eddie aren't coming back), so there are usually 8 with one absence.

I got out cookies at one point, when everyone seemed hungry, and they went quickly, I being fed by Bob and Brian, and then I suggested popcorn while we were watching TV. They loved hearing it pop, and it went very quickly, buried in butter and salt, being spilled all over the place, but it tasted great and hit the spot. Bob finally said he had to leave at 2, and I was surprised that he stayed so late. For awhile it looked as if Brian wanted to go with him, but then he seemed to want to stay, and we sat on the sofa watching "Konga," which he had seen before, I glass-less and mindless, playing with his hands, fingers, nipples, and cock below his jeans which he put on because it was cold in the apartment. He had gone from feeling shy to a feeling of comfort with my hands on him, and I thought he might stay with me when the movie ended at 3, but he gave a somewhat lame, but possibly true, excuse that he had left his radio and lights on in his apartment, and he had to get home. I regretted it, but was so tired it really didn't matter.

Also forgot that when we were watching TV, Brian was stretched out under my nose, and I couldn't resist going down on him. He stayed soft for a bit, then lay back and began to enjoy it, reaching for Bob at the same time. Bob sat silently, playing with me and fondling Bob's hair and ears, and I did Brian until I was tired of doing it, and then reached down to play with myself, coming finally with a great sigh of relief, and Brian was excited by that into doing himself, and we spurted over each other and Bob, this time, hardly got hard. We wiped ourselves off and I regretted not being able to exchange kisses with Brian as much as I wanted. Tried kissing him goodbye, he didn't avoid me completely, but he didn't respond very fully, either.

Bob, however, leaned on me and kissed me strongly, remarking that it had been quite a while since we'd been together, and he dated it from Washington's Birthday, when I was with John and he was with Avi, and then he had the, for him, unpleasant Wednesday night session for the last, way back in February. We talked about Avi, and Bob admitted he was a step in the backward direction as far as Bob was concerned, and about John, and we both regretted that John didn't want to join a group until he got to know Bob socially. And we talked about how well we fit together, and how pleasant the evening was, and how groovy the music was. Asked them again later if they wanted another pipe, but they said no. Sat looking at the construction on the table as if it were visual proof that the strangeness of the evening DID take place, and I recall their tracing back the path to the vase of flowers from some conversational opening at the start of the evening.

There was no word of "See you" from Brian as he left, but I hope there'll be another chance to enjoy his body when he's even less shy with me. (RETURN TO JOURNALS 5/26/70).

 

DIARY 1168
6/18/70

TSI-DUN AT PETER C.'S

It's supposed to start at 8:30, but I don't get there until 9, and Peter opens the door naked, and the living room is full of standing entwined bodies. Into the bedroom to undress and there are at least 35 piles of neatly folded clothes on the bed, and shoes absolutely everywhere. Into the living room but recognize no one, though there are nice enough bodies around, and into the kitchen to mix myself a drink, then content to sit in a chair in the corner and watch while various couples fuck and suck each other into groaning orgasm. Various people look closely at me, and when I get one drink finished and start another, I decide it's time to at least try to find John, and wander across the living room to find him in a small group with a fuzzy-haired fellow who looks rather pixyish, and John greets me with "Oh, you're here; here," and he pushes me into the arms of the pixy. We start kissing rather tentatively, but the techniques match so nicely that soon he brushes away some of the surrounding bodies and we lie on the floor grooving on each other's bodies and kissing away like mad. I try stroking his cock, but he's not particularly hard, and he tries stroking me, but I'm not hard, so we concentrate on kissing as well we can with legs being thrust upon us from all directions, and others who insist on going down on us when we're in the middle of it. He has lovely padded shoulders and arms and chest, and a nice cock and lovely Norma-like groans of pleasure which punctuate my expertise. After about a half-hour of this I raise up to say "I think we should join the group," and he agrees, but we both say we'll find each other later in the evening.

With that success in mind, I look at some of the other people whom I would like to kiss, mix myself a drink, and think I've found the bushy wet mustache from the first session, but a few kisses shows me that he's not the fellow, though rather like him. Try a few other kisses, and then watch some more. Coming back from mixing a drink, I see two beauties sitting hand-in-hand in the doorway, looking at me, and I want to kiss them, so I do, and they return, the one standing caressing me, the one sitting not being very skillful in kissing, so I move away from them.

Others have been eyeing me hungrily, so I let them look, then decide to give them a try: the first is a smallish person who really doesn't know much about kissing, so I quickly move away from him, and another is a smoothly-combed brown haired fellow with a rather nice body and a Bob-sized limp cock flopping in the breeze, and when we begin kissing he drags me down to the floor, and we sort of make out for awhile, but I have to keep warding off his hands from entering my ass, and I figure I don't like him very much, and then move off.

Things have started in the bedroom, and John is busily being fucked on the bed, whacking himself off, and I reach out for a lovely fellow in bushy mustache who's looking and handling, but he doesn't respond very warmly, so I stand off and look for a bit, and then some giant of a guy responds so well to my kissing that he takes me down to the floor beside the air conditioner and we go at it very nicely, until he's influenced to ask "Do you think we could see each other afterward?" "No," I say simply, after thinking about it. "Do you have a lover?" "Yes." "That's always the way it is---shit!" He has a lover, himself, who isn't here, and he marvels that my lover IS. He compliments me, saying I've raised the general level of orgy participants by being affectionate and not just aiming to get my rocks off, and I'm quite flattered.

A short haired guy who's later introduced to me as Griff is whacking away at himself, so I try to help him, but he kisses very awkwardly, and he doesn't seem to be able to tell me what to do with him, so I can't bring him to a climax, about his fourth of the evening. A few other people come and go, and I say hello earlier to Mike Shamus, who didn't recognized me with my hair, thinness and tan. Everyone seems very nice, including a huge, smooth-skinned fellow on the sofa in the living room, but he doesn't come to my sucking, and I get tired of it quickly, and then get back to Peter and John who are locked in embraces on the bed.

The living room is getting depleted though it's only 11 pm, and the bedroom is becoming the center of attraction, and Kenneth encounters me in the bedroom, we kiss, I start doing him, and others get involved until he's finger-fucking someone and whacking himself off, inserting himself into my mouth so I take his come, rubbing him until he moans. Then there's a short session with a thick French leatherman, and then he leaves and again Peter and I and John get into it, and Kenneth pounces on top, I'm introduced to a cute Stewart, who had the floppy mustache who'd been unresponsive earlier, and Kenneth is kissing me and John goes down on me, and I decide to come. Hands reach out from all directions, bodies are up against mine, but I've been so long without coming that I feel far from it, and then I'm also feeling spaced out about the evening, as if there were LSD in the drinks, so it takes me a very long time to come, but John is terribly patient, Kenneth is pulling at my lips with such ferocity that I have to come almost in self-defense, and the hands of Stewart and Peter and maybe the other host are all driving themselves to my pleasure, and I'm sweating profusely, coating the bodies around me and making the whole ménage slippery and sensual, and finally I roar into climax, and John just won't let go, and I find myself being driven off the bed, Kenneth clinging to my lips, and Griff finding the key to my enjoyment by whispering into my ear "Relax, give yourself to it, just let yourself go," and the kissing and touching and groaning goes on and on until I'm forced headlong off the bed onto the floor, gasping, laughing, crying in complete utter release. Griff kisses me very tenderly once I've come, and Stewart is quite cavalier about my attention at this point. Then it does seem that the evening is over.

Peter C. and I kiss when his white undersuit turns me on, and Peter and John and I start going about it while everyone is dressing, and I frankly don't want it to end, and everyone's been saying how GREAT it's been, and I thank the hosts profusely, then Peter must walk the dog, who's been patient, and Peter R. and John and I find ourselves leaving together. (RETURN TO JOURNALS 6/18/70).

 

DIARY 1348
8/26/70

ORGY AT V.'S

John's only worn shorts and a T-shirt (this one whole), so I change into the same things, and we go out of our way to go to West End Avenue, when the apartment is quite close to Amsterdam, and we're up in the elevator in the building John hates so much, and greeted by a silent door swinging open, and behind it, when it closes, is the shortish very bond and bushy mustached fellow who seems to be from Tsi-Dun, but John says he isn't, and that it's only a mutual friend who's given him the idea. Into the dim apartment and they've started already, so John and I dash into the bedroom to undress, and Mike Shamus (ugh) corners John to talk with him, and I escape into the living room, where three or four are tussling on the woolen shag rug, and two or three others are looking on, jerking off, from chairs and sofas surrounding. I survey the crowd, and there are two rather nice guys kissing in the center of the floor, and I feel like going up to them, so I do, and we begin feeling each other up, and then John arrives with a lit pipe, and we all begin puffing and pulling and doing, and before I know it I'm moving from one person to the other, testing their kissing abilities, feeling their bodies, trying to get them hard. Most aren't quite hard yet, which makes me feel in perfect company, since I'm not really turned on yet, and haven't had enough pot to make the evening really swing. Some of the guys are good kissers and others aren't, and it's only when I latch onto the host that I start kissing in earnest, and we're finally standing getting very hard, then recline on the floor to kiss and fondle, and then go into a 69 position, and I'm even staying up, because his short thick dick is so hard and exciting, and his hands and mouth are just all over the place.

But then someone else comes in from behind and tries to grease up my ass, and I don't really care for it, and with his insistent cries of "Let it loose, let it loose!" I go down, and the host is still trying to do me, but I'm not having much fun, so I extract myself and go for a beer. Sit at the side drinking, and get looked at by some sad-faced guy that John says is from New Jersey, and is one of the types that he thought would kill Tsi-Dun---not terribly attractive, more interested in finding "the one" out of the group and staying with them, more interested in watching than doing if they don't get their choice. Ignore him and take after a tall slender blond, but the kissing's not very good, so that's the end of that. Some new guy comes in with a Bob R.-sized cock, and sexy mustache, and I reach over to fondle it, and the next thing I know it's in my mouth, but it's too big, he's interested in ramming it down my throat, so in a bit I move away from him. There's another guy sitting on the side jerking off who looks to have a nice body, so I try kissing him, but he's not interested, standing in front of me manipulating my head off and on his cock, but when he gets hard and interesting, he pulls his cock into his copious stomach, saying that he doesn't want to come yet. I'm off for another beer, and finally the guy in the chair manages to get my attention, so I start playing with his cock: I'm not interested in him, just his cock, and that's what I choose to play with. He gets fairly hard, but we finally lose interest in each other when he wants to just cuddle, and then the host is back, and other things are going on, and then I'm lying hand-manipulating the guy with the sexy mustache and the big cock, and he's seemingly interested in my coming, so I start playing with myself, still soft, but misinterpret and come, and he insists that he didn't want me to come, "What a waste!" he says with genuine regret in his voice. We kiss gently and cuddle, and then the other guy who was interested in my ass (or anyone's ass) came over and said it was a pity that the guys with the prettiest ass didn't like to do anything with it, and I commented that maybe that's why it was so pretty. There were other anal scenes going on around the room, and I didn't even get interested in watching them. People started leaving, and there was a smaller and smaller group of compatible people fondling and sucking each other on the floor until I got tired, and then stopped, being sucked, kissed, squeezed, hands running over bodies, and it was as if I was the governor of the system, because it slowed to a stop, John stopping last, and we could pause to see who was left: there was only myself, the only non-mustached person in the group of five, John and the host, and the ass-man and the big cock, all of whom were very pleasant, so we sat around and talked for a bit, finding that some of them worked for the same people at the New York Times, and they exchanged stories about the men's rooms in the old Times building, and about the bitches to work for, and who was gay and who wasn't, and they went through reams of people they knew, and some even trotted out reams of old jokes to tell, and at the same time the host was telling me what a groovy guy I was, and asking John about us, and John and I were feeling very good to be a pair, and we talked about everyone's relative kissing expertise, and agreed that this was a pretty good group. Finally the four of us left together, with V. saying that we have to do it all again, and I was quite agreeable, since the apartment was nice, the poppers flowing freely, though I didn't get many, and the lighting perfect, not nearly so dim as at the other places, and most of the group were more than passable for sex. We chatted the four of us down to Broadway, where one went uptown and the other was bound down for his place in the Village, so he taxied John and me down to 57th, and we said goodbye, congratulating ourselves on being in such a pleasant orgy. I thought it was better than the others because it was such a small group which came and went: there seemed to be no more than 15 in all, and not more than about 10-12 at one time, and there were no great puffing and panting sessions, though at one point there were about three strivings toward orgasm at about the same time, and not too much exclusive voyeurism, though I found myself being greatly stimulated by a perfectly mediocre person who had the nerve to show everyone in the world that he wanted to sit back and play with himself. The host had almost the fattest body, and it wasn't bad at all, and since I had a holiday with kissing, I felt the evening was very fulfilling, and I'd even come, though I had to use my own hand, and I was soft, but it WAS much fun. (RETURN TO JOURNALS 8/26/70).

 

DIARY 1487
10/29/70

SAUNA

We start smoking about 9:45, and the first pipeful is rather small, so we have another, and by the time we're ready to leave, I'm beginning to float around the room, even though I coughed a bit during the smoking. I don't have anything but a $10 bill, and John has little money for the weekend, so he takes almost none and I take only that, and we're off, weaving past the receptionist, hoping she doesn't notice anything, and the trip around the block is quite long, and we're up the stairs and into the entranceway, and he doesn't even ask us to sign the list, there's merely the notation "member" next to each locker number, and it's a flat $4.50 change. I'm happy to see that the locker area is carpeted, and we undress and put the towels around us. John's quickly undressed and vanished before I get all my clothes off, and I go further in to find some sort of sitting room, and John's not there, so I sit, vaguely deciding to wait for him, since he knows the place, and can show me where and where not to go. There are a couple of people sitting along the benches, and they're looking at me sidelong and talking to each other, and my ears get very perceptive, so that I can hear fragments of conversation, and, sure enough, parts of the talk sound familiar, and I get my old-faithful buzz back on that everything that's happening now is ALWAYS happening, and I'm sitting in the foyer of a sauna through all eternity. Lean back against the cold wall and watch the world go past, feeling that at any moment the floor will open up and I'll be proclaimed king, and everyone will bow down to worship me, and then at the next moment I'm coldly surveying the men passing by and finding they're mostly paunchy, balding, lecherous, and not at all attractive. Put my watch in the locker, but there's a large clock on the wall, and I sit back and look at it every five minutes until about 10:45, and then I decide John's NOT coming to tell me what to do, and I'll have to find out for myself.

Across from where I'm sitting there's a partition, and people go in and out the door, and there are beds inside, as I can just see the corners of two of them, and people are walking in and out, but John doesn't appear, so I can only assume he's gone in there. Think for a bit to sit outside until someone I'm attracted to comes past, and then follow him in, but after another while, which seems forever, and I fear I might be coming down, no one appears who qualifies, so I decide that if anything's going to be done, it'll be ME who does it.

So I get to my feet, feeling foolish with the key jangling around my ankle, and push the door open, since someone's removed both doorknobs. It's a small room, about 25 by 14 feet, with three double beds along the far wall, which must be the side facing 8th Avenue, three double bunks in the center, perpendicular to the inner wall, and two double bunks along each of the side walls. Most of the lower bunks are occupied by one or two men, some of them playing with themselves, but I quickly decide that there's no one nice there. There's a group gathered around the center bunks, but I can't tell what's being done, except I suspect John is pretty much in the middle of it. Wander down the central aisle and look with curiosity at the room going off the end, which is more brightly lit than the central orgy room, has only a single bed in it, and is completely empty. I vaguely think that there might be some sort of "performance" for that to be occupied.

And that's the end of it. Look back into the room and there are people haunting the aisles, moving slowly with towels sometimes on, sometimes off, but again there seems to be no one of note. I'm feeling very high, and will do as I wish, so I stand on the periphery, trying to see who's fucking who in the center, and hands reach out from the corners to touch my shoulder, my ass, my crotch. I glance around to see who's propositioning my body without asking me first, and there are horrible old men whom I quickly move away from. But my feet are moving across a floor which gives strangely, and my knees feel like they might turn in some direction independent of how I might wish them to go.

The next time that someone envelopes me from behind, I rather lackadaisically permit them to do what they want, in order to prove that I won't come up for them, so they might as well leave me alone. But it's not so simple. After trying to pull me backward on the bed for a couple of minutes, I have the feeling of some sort of inexorable force behind me which will FORCE me to lie down if I don't do it voluntarily, so I move slowly backward, and more hands reach out to me, and someone twists my face around and kisses my lips, and the face which does so is not unpleasant feeling, but I don't open my eyes, but permit myself to be taken over by these hands and led back to the bed.

The sheets aren't wet, and they feel somewhat crisp, so I feel my feelings aren't hurt by what they're doing to me, and I feel hands running up and down my sides, my towel is pulled away and some cosmically flabby lips are grappling with my soft cock, and again my head is twisted to the side and someone is kissing me. I've reached out and encountered paunchy bellies over rigid little cocks, and then someone reaches out for my hand and places it on their cock, and it's large and full headed, and I appreciate this plaything and fumble and fondle it, reaching down and grappling with the balls with my hands, and there are sighs and groans from all around my head, and just off my right ear someone's jerking himself off and I can hear the slap of flesh against flesh.

I permit my eyes to open just a bit, and there are chests and backs and arms everywhere, since people are doing the guys who are playing with me, and I turn to the side to see who's cock I'm playing with, and a pair of firm hands grabs my head and kisses it, and I see a face clearly, but I don't recognize it, don't evaluate it, don't remember it: it was merely a face I was looking at, and then the face came closer and kissed my own. My eyes close again.

One pair of lips tires of pulling at my limp dick, and a set of fingers fumbles to arouse me. I don't care, let them do what they like.

Then a probing set of hands spreads my legs apart and starts pressing down on the cock, the scrotum, the flesh between cock and ass, and that's enough, so I reach down to remove the offending hand and put my legs back together. Then my hand goes back to the cock which is pulsing just to my left, and the head again comes down to kiss me frantically, and the body begins to thrust back and forth, and the mouth I'm kissing begins whispering something like "No, I don't want to come yet," and I avoid HIS offending hands and tear myself away to go down on him, and the head swells to prodigious dimensions in my mouth, and I grab the shaft and possibly viciously jerk it back and forth, jaws distended with the size of the cock, and there's a tensing and a groaning behind me, and I can feel his cock stiffen ultimately and spurt semen into my mouth, and I twist my hands and grab his balls and he gasps and tries to get away, but I wring it like a dishcloth, tasting the sticky drops in the back of my throat, teasing the rim of the head with my tongue, feeling tiny ridges around the meatus, which engorge with blood at the utmost spasm, and the tiny hole seems to open and my sensitive tongue tip explores the outermost few millimeters of his urethra.

By this time the hands and mouths are off my cock, since I haven't even gotten hard for this orgasm, and people have moved off the bed. Again the hands come down to take my head to kiss it, but I'm not interested in kissing now, and I move away from the bed.

When I look back, the bed is empty, and it slowly occurs to me that I don't even know who I've done. Sit back on the bed to relax, and another old fellow comes close, and I chase him away. I'm watching, with not too much interest, the fellows fucking on the other beds, and others come up to me, shoving stiff cocks at my mouth, or into my hands, and I move away from them all.

I had the vague recollection of having my towel removed, and I remember wanting to keep it in mind, but when I looked around, there was no spare to be seen. I went around, naked, looking at the other beds, checking the inner room, but nowhere was there an extra towel. I saw John frantically groping someone on one of the side beds, and touched on the idea of sending him for a towel for me, or of borrowing his and going to get another, but those alternatives seemed stupid, so I sat down on the bed, waiting for another idea.

More people came past, some of them ones I'd chased away before, and finally I decided I couldn't just sit around naked, and couldn't ask John to go for me, so I opened the door, braved the gazes, rather startled, from those sitting in the foyer, and wandered into the locker area, wondering vaguely if I could be arrested. An attendant was sitting on a chair under a sign and I asked him "How do I get a towel?

"Just ask for it," he said, somewhat cheerily, to my surprise, and when he left I read the sign above his head: Ask attendant for towels. He returned, handed me the towel, made another cheerful remark, and in my paranoia I thought he might be being very sarcastic, but it really didn't make any difference to me, I wrapped the towel around me and went back to sit in the lobby.

After a bit, with people still looking at me, I decided to see what else the place had, so I walked again past the lockers to visit the john and shower room, and then saw the small wooden box in the middle of the floor which was the sauna itself. I opened the door, rather like a refrigerator door, and found warm moisture and sleek sweating bodies engaged in nefarious activities, none of which looked appealing, so I went back to sit in the foyer.

Still nothing doing, so I went back into the orgy room, and this time fended off all hands until I could see what was going on. John was in the far corner bed 69ing with someone who looked rather pleasant, and he ended up trying and trying, with hand and mouth, to get the guy, writhing, to come, and then he seemed to give up. I figured he'd tell me to get out if that's want he wanted, so I sat down on the edge of the bed and started doing him myself. The fellow continued to turn and writhe as if he were about to come, but he was completely soft, and I felt a kinship with him, and so I kept at it, using my hands, using saliva, letting him help with occasional frantic swipes at his own cock, and finally he arched upward and shot his load into my mouth. I moved around a bit on it, but he very forcefully pulled me away, saying "Thanks a lot," in a voice that could ONLY have been sarcastic, and I felt like a third ball and moved away. John later told me that the fellow had already come three times that evening, so that could have explained his softness.

Again the hands reached out to me, and I contented myself to lay on the center bed to watch what was going on, but there were people coming and going who were awful, and except for someone with a nice body who swung himself up onto the top bunk to one side of mine, there wasn't anyone I was interested in, and when two fellows came down the side aisles and sat in the chairs at either sides of the head of my bed, I'd decided I'd had it and left.

Into the lobby briefly, but there was no one there, and so I decided to see what was going on in the sauna, and watched a couple of people going down on a couple of people, and then the fellow with the body rather like Cherokee came in, and I watched a number of people trying to bring him off, and then they got tired and left, and I tried my hand with it.

His body was nicely muscled and smooth almost as if he'd shaved it, and his shoulders were broad, and in the dimness it seemed that he was quite young, though later in the light his face looked more like Claude Underwood's than it look like Cherokee's. His cock came up and went down, and was rather on the small side, and his openness with jerking it himself appealed to me, so I tried it for awhile, and it came up, but then others came in, usurped my hand with their mouth, and he seemed to go down quite quickly. I wrestled him around so that he was lying across my body, and ran my hands luxuriantly up and down his sweating body, but it seemed to have no effect on him, and though he was interested in kissing my body or my neck, he was distinctly avoidant when I tried to kiss him on the lips.

Then there were too many people in the sauna, he was getting too sweaty, and I could smell the awful odor of my unwashed body coming out in the heat, so he left and I followed rather quickly in order to take a shower, now that my pores were open.

Showered and watched a kid who was showering after me with some interest, but he really did have sad posture and a pot for being so young, and I let him go his own way. Back to the foyer and there was a lovely Indian with a classically sculptured torso sitting alone, with the tip of the large head of a very large cock poking from beneath his towel. I was still quite high, and the fact that he was Indian impressed me greatly, and thought of him variously as another Baba Ram Dass, a student of yoga who would teach me all the secrets, and a reincarnation of Buddha himself, coming down to earth to teach me about nirvana and physical bliss. But he didn't seem too anxious to cruise me, and finally I decided the only thing I could do, since I couldn't attack him right there, and I didn't feel like talking to him, was to go into the orgy room and see if he'd follow.

So I went into the orgy room and lay on the center bed, and shortly he came in, but sat against the far wall, looking in my direction, but since I didn't have contacts in, and my glasses were in my locker (and I was glad I didn't have contacts, or the shower would have been quite difficult), I couldn't see who he was interested in. I lay to one side, seductively running my hand up and down the vacant space, but he didn't move, and I kept looking at him and chasing away the other vultures, but finally he merely strode out, and when I went out again to see where he'd gone, he was wearing a maroon jumpsuit of very close fit, and he seemed to have some connection with the place, and for an instant I thought he might be the vice, but then I decided he was probably someone looking for someone as attractive as he, and, not finding anyone, he was going home.

Again the lobby-sit, and again into the orgy room, this time to the top bunk against the doorway, swinging myself up without too much difficulty, but I realized that occupation of a top bunk would be impossible for the physical condition of about 3/4 of the bathers. Then the slow file of people started past: hands reaching up, being pushed away, some leaving immediately, some insisting on contact, and I lay there, hand on my pubic area like Aphrodite rising from the sea (horizontally), and kept pushing them away. One was particularly unpleasant: overly fat, youngish head, he came up and quite worshipped at my elbow and knee, bending to smell and kiss and caress it with utmost tenderness, and that really put me off, so I brushed him away, and tried to attract the eye of a short fellow who looked something like a dancer, but he didn't want to return my glances.

So I almost dozed, hands in back of my head, looking at the ebb and flow of people in the room, wondering where John had gotten to, looking and listening to the fan in the outside wall, and finally I felt I might be going to sleep, and I would either go home, where John probably was, or I should do something. Again, no one who was interesting was going to come to ME, I would have to go to them.

Down from the bed, and again the nicely muscled fellow was the center of attention, this time doing an enormously bulky fellow who reminded me of John Connolly, except he was balder and a bit flabbier. I pushed away his own hand from his cock and started manipulating him, and then the other fellow sat down, with an enormous cock, and I started playing with the both of them, and they with me, but finally, after a bit of this, the big fellow stood up and began caressing me, and I found that the cock felt familiar, and I'd maybe had him before, and felt strange that I didn't remember exactly whether I had or not.

He coaxed me back onto the bed, and I was doing him by hand, feeling very good with his huge cock in my grasp, and he wanted to lie down, so I kept fondling him, and he urged me again and again to run my hands up and down his body, and I didn't feel like it, and he turned into pleading and almost whining, "Please, just run your hands over my body, please put your hands on my body, I'm going to come."

I'd kept my cool up to that point, but at the thought of his coming, I couldn't resist and went down on him, and his enormous cock, almost too big for my mouth, strained into orgasm, and as I tasted the engorged ridges of his meatus, I figured I HAD done him before, and this may have been the third time, and I felt terribly foolish about the whole thing, and left the bed quickly.

Every so often I checked the time on the clock, and it was 11, and then 11:30 and 12, and then finally 1. I'd thought the crowd might get better, then one time on the way to the john I saw the sign that they closed at 3, and decided that the crowd would get smaller, rather than larger, and no one was going to come in now.

Back into the orgy room for one last check, and played around with the dancer-type for awhile, but he moved away, and someone who rather reminded me of Merv G. seemed interested in setting himself and me up as the arbiter of fashion and attraction in the place, saying the crowd was poor, asking me if I went to bars in the Village, saying he wanted to see me outside the sauna, but I largely ignored him, since he wasn't quite whom I was looking for. Debated leaving for about a half-hour, tried it again with the muscled one, who ended up in the top bunk with the large one, and decided there was nothing to do but leave.

Another touch of paranoia as an older fellow was insisting that he'd put his clothes into 24 and they weren't there, but he finally found them in 44, and so I guess it was HIS mistake. Dressed and out into the tepid weather, around the corner, finally unstoned, and into bed with John. (RETURN TO JOURNALS 10/29/70).