Dirty for a Day

When you're bored at a party and somebody comes up to you and says, "Let's have an orgy," there is only one logical response: "Round up the rest of the people. I'll be waiting in the bedroom." That's not how it happened at all actually. It was an accident.

It had been seven years since I'd seen Adam. We were friends in Winnipeg but nothing more. Lack of interest on my part contributed to the halting of anything more than shared acid trips and spooning. Then, two years later, when I moved into a building one block away from him and discovered he was seeing someone else, I became interested. I wasn't sure if I really cared or if it was just the challenge of the situation that got me reeling. In the end, I didn't say anything because he seemed pretty committed. Eventually, I moved to the other side of the city and lost touch with him. A year later I heard that he had moved to Ottawa without having said good-bye to anyone, and I moved to Toronto without giving him another thought. Over time, I started to forget he even existed, until one night he was there in my dream.

We were getting it on in a twenty-man tent with a bunch of people I didn't recognize. We were obviously not feeling very inhibited as we pounded away at each other, over and over again, in front of everybody. If it's possible to have an orgasm in your sleep, I think I had one. Then, suddenly there were terrorists and we had to evacuate the tent. As we were running from these men with guns, I somehow lost Adam and was therefore forced to fend for myself. I got away by shooting back with the tips of my index fingers, and then found myself in a house. He was there, fucking one of the terrorists.

The next day, I searched for him on the Internet. It didn't take long. I found a common friend who happened to have his email.

After the initial "What have you been up to, blah blah blah" emails, we got down to business.

"How come we've never had sex?" I asked.

"I don't know, but you should come visit me."

Unfortunately, he no longer lived in Ottawa; he lived in Vancouver. I hated Vancouver. It was creepy, depressing, and too damn far. But because he was such a fantastic lay in my head, I considered travelling the 3354.806 km to see if it would translate well into reality.

While I gave myself a couple days to mull this over, he sent me various parts of his naked body. His forearms, shins, and feet. They weren't necessarily the important parts, but they were enough to set me in motion.

I called him up to tell him I was coming.

"Hey, do you remember Jackson?" he asked.

I did. Jackson was his insanely attractive, insanely intelligent, and therefore insanely intimidating roommate with whom I've never had a conversation. "Well," Adam continued, "I'm throwing him and his financé a Jack and Jill party the weekend you'll be here, so I'll be a little busy getting everything together."

"That's cool."

"It's a James Bond theme, so bring something slutty."

Two weeks later, I arrived by plane with my fishnet stockings and slinky red dress in tow. I was nervous as hell as I waited for him in the terminal. A few days prior, my sexual fantasies had accidentally mutated into romantic ones. I started to imagine us falling in love and living happily ever after, preferably in the city of my choice. But there was a good chance we'd discover we no longer even liked each other and would therefore be forced to spend an awkward week wishing the other were dead.

When I finally saw him, I definitely didn't wish he was dead. He looked good. Damn good. And not just his forearms and shins and feet. I couldn't stop shaking as I pounced on him and felt that he had good biceps and chest too. He, on the other hand, seemed perfectly calm, which naturally made me shake even more.

Thankfully, our first stop was the beer store. There was no way I was going to get through this first day sober. And since it was his idea, he must've felt the same way. Maybe he wasn't so calm after all.

Once we were back in the car, heading home, he prodded me for advice.

"What do you think is better for the party? A belly dancer or a stripper?"

"A stripper, definitely."

"Yeah, but a belly dancer is more James Bond-ish. Speaking of which," he said as he slipped in a CD. Tom Jones came thudding out of the speakers. "I found it at the library." As he sang along to "Thunderball," I wondered what kind of people he and Jackson mixed with. Back then it was badly dressed hippies who bummed around hot-knifing all day, myself not excluded.

"What does Jackson do for a living?" I asked.

"They both have their Ph.D. in biology."

"So will his scientist friends be coming then?"

"Yeah and a bunch of people he went to university with," he said.

"Do you know any of these people?"

"A few."

"Are any of your friends coming?"

"No."

Fuck, I was in trouble. In terms of maintaining an intellectual conversation with a scientist, I knew I wouldn't stand a chance. And nodding and smiling can only take one so far.

We spent the day on his patio, sitting in the sun and drinking beer. As I watched him slinking around trying to explain the technical process of his latest art piece, I thought about all the dirty things we could do together. Like role-playing teacher-student or john-crackwhore, him spanking me or me pretending to be unconscious. Maybe we could even do it in a tent. Or maybe there was something he was into that I never even thought of. At any rate, I started counting down the hours until bedtime.

It was at least another eight hours (and eight beers) before we hit the sack. As it turned out, there was something I never thought of before. Cameras. He pulled out his digital, which took both stills and video and we took turns taking close-up pictures of each other in various stages of undress. Then when it came to the unveiling of his penis, I had to zoom out. It was bigger than I was expecting. Quite huge, in fact. In my head, I had been off by at least two inches. I wanted to jump up and down for joy, but instead I gave him a blow job, which in my opinion was the next best thing. He pressed record and I went down. Then I pressed record and he went down. The recording continued until the battery died, which was just as well because we had run out of ideas for oral positions. After he set the camera down, we got down. It took three positions for him to come: missionary, cowgirl, and doggy-style. Though I enjoyed it and felt it was a resonable effort on both parts, I remained orgasm-less.

Breakfast was awkward. Usually after I sleep with someone for the first time, I need that person to be far away from me. Since this was one of those times and that option had not been provided for me, I was belligerent that his presence was taking up my analytical time.

Thankfully, our next stop was the thrift store and I could steal away and hide in one of the dressing stalls. I needed to think, and solitude would be the only thing to keep my mind from spontaneously combusting.

While Adam shopped for a costume, I pretended to try on clothes. After hanging up the clothes on a hook in the stall, I just stood there, motionless and blank. Even though I was happy to have at least thirty minutes alone, I was upset to find that my mind was barren. It just clammed up. I didn't know what to think. Could I survive a whole week of this: having sex, feeling awkward, wanting to be alone, finally being alone and not knowing what to think?

As we walked arm in arm back to the car, both empty-handed, I started to notice something about him that I never noticed before. I couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, but it was enough of something that made me want to be alone again. At least until bedtime. After all, he had a mighty fine cock and I wanted to take full advantage while supplies lasted. And it was quite possible I was just imagining the unsavoury behaviour I now saw in him.

After about an hour of window shopping, we started running out of things to say. Luckily, this was a problem that could easily be solved with a few drinks, but since he was driving, I knew I'd be alone in this venture.

Sitting on the patio of a tacky family restaurant, I progressively got drunk alone. I shouldn't have done this because I made the mistake of asking about his past relationships. I guess I kind of cared, even though there was this nagging feeling that I shouldn't. He told me that not too long ago, he was in love. I suspected he was still in love because he seemed very upset that this girl was happy now that she was no longer with him. I suddenly felt the need to fight for his love whether I actually wanted it or not. My pugnacious self was taking over, demanding me to suit up for battle.

As soon as we got home, we had sex. Again, he came after three positions and again I was left without coming at all. I fell asleep, exhausted by his endurance and my drunkenness.

I awoke to the sound of a girl's voice coming from the kitchen. When I turned over to his side of the bed, he wasn't there. Then I heard his voice coming from the kitchen. I lied there, listening to their conversation. She was talking about an upcoming country fair that was holding a baking contest. Her voice was loud, her laugh obnoxious. He was laughing along with her and I wondered if this was the ex he was still in love with. Curiosity got the better of me as I slipped into my clothes and sauntered out to the kitchen in a manner that suggested "No big deal. I'm just the girl he's been sleeping with for the past two days."

There, sitting at the kitchen table with Adam was a girl who looked like a drab version of Mary Louise Parker. Her hair was long and unkempt, and she was badly dressed in her red fleece pullover, jeans and white tennis shoes. All this, yet she was still attractive and it made me want to stick forks in her pretty little eye sockets. She looked at me with a dazed expression as Adam introduced us. And then left five minutes later. Perhaps my presence made her uncomfortable and for a brief moment I felt guilty about this, but that guilt was soon replaced with self-complacency.

"Was that her? Your ex?"

"Yeah," he said and looked at me with such disappointment that if he had the ability to drop kick me back to Toronto, he would've.

"She kinda looks like Mary Louise Parker."

"Who's that?"

As he googled the actress on his computer, I tried to seduce him. It didn't work. I went back to sleep and tried to pretend that I was anywhere else but in his bed. When night fell, I wasn't tired at all. I tried to seduce him again by rubbing my naked body against his. I was so close to success this time I could almost taste it.

"I need a little more motivation," he said. In other words, I was close but not close enough. I gave him another blow job and that seemed enough. I still couldn't cum, but what the hell, it was no longer my goal anyway.

The next day was party day. Half of the afternoon was spent preparing the food. I didn't help much; I was too tired and depressed. Really, I just wanted to go home and find someone who would love me as much as Adam loved Mary Louise Parker, the woman whose real name I had already forgotten. I knew I was wasting my time here; I knew I wasn't cut out for casual flings, no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I was a promiscuous slut lacking in emotions. I also knew that Adam wasn't someone whose love was worth fighting for. There was still something odd about him, and I no longer worried that it was all in my mind.

Finally it was time to change into our costumes. Adam ended up putting something together out of things he already owned. A green visor, a brown vest with loose threads hanging from the bottom seam, matching pants, a wrinkled white button-up shirt, tattered armbands and oval, wire eyeglasses. He was going for the 1930s casino card dealer look, but he looked more like a homeless accountant from the 1800's. I put on my slutty outfit, but given my mood, a Mormon outfit would've been more fitting.

The first two people to arrive immediately busied themselves by blowing up balloons and setting up the poker table. I busied myself by making my first martini of the night. No measurements were needed. Just pouring and shaking. More people started piling in, and soon the room was filled with glamour. They all looked James Bond appropriate in their sophisticated garbs. I could've been dressed like a Mormon and be just as equally out of place as I already was. I mixed another martini in haste and poured it down my throat. Who cared if these people were beautiful, sophisticated scientists. I could hold my own. No problem. While I was busy showing off my underwear to some guy, Jackson and his financé walked in. Adam, having to pull my dress down to cover me back up, dragged me over to greet them. First, he re-introduced me to Jackson, who was even more attractive than I remembered, and then he introduced me to Hannah, who was his physical equal.

As Jackson and I engaged in our first conversation ever, it was clear he didn't really remember me. Out of awkwardness, I played along. "Oh, right. Jackson. Yes, I believe I have met you before. Would you like a martini?"

The main event of the party was about to begin. We gathered into the living room and formed a circle. Arabian music filled the house and in entered the belly dancer. Nothing against belly dancers but, I still thought a stripper would've been a much more enjoyable watch. After her seductive dance of mediocrity, the belly dancer shimmied and shaked toward the bride-to-be, wrapped her scarf around her neck, and gestured for her to stand. While the two women danced, I noticed a girl looking at me. She was less sophisticated than the others, kind of plain really, with her limp-dirty blonde hair and her green and white summer dress hanging off her scrawny frame. She smiled. I smiled, then left and went into kitchen. Other people were being gestured to dance and I didn't want to be one of them.

I stood before the martini shaker and created a new drink that involved double of everything. As I was gulping this back, trying not to throw up, the plain girl came up to me and introduced herself as Laura. And before I could take another sip of my drink, or even say my name, she had her tongue in my mouth. "This is interesting," I thought, even though I wasn't terribly attracted to her and it had been eight years since I had kissed a girl. Then just as abruptly as she entered my mouth, she exited and said, "Let's go find Adam." I followed her mindlessly, not knowing exactly why we needed to find Adam. Maybe she thought it would be even more fun if someone was watching. Whatever. He could watch. I was too drunk to care either way.

Next thing I knew, the three of us were in his bedroom. As soon as Adam closed the door, he grabbed his digital camera and Laura removed her clothes. Their actions were so flowing, I wondered if they had done this before. I followed Laura's lead and removed my clothes. She pulled me on top of her and before I could say "hi," I was finger-blasting her. I must've been really into it because I kept muttering, "I want to fuck you." And she must've been really into it because she kept muttering, "You are." All the while, Adam stood over us on the bed, snapping his version of aerial photos. Then, it was time for me and Laura to switch. But just as I rolled onto my back, Adam threw the camera down and took off his clothes. My memory is unclear as to who did what to whom and in which order. Perhaps while she was blowing him, he was fingering me. Or maybe while I was blowing him, he was fingering her. At some point, he was inside me, that much I remember, because at last, I came. Halleluiah! Then the door swung open and in walked the bride and groom. We all had ourselves a good guffaw; me out of embarrassment; them, presumably the same. Then Jackson turned back toward the door and just when I thought he was going to leave, he closed it. Hannah joined us on the bed while Jackson proceeded to get naked. I should've been shocked, but I was too wrapped up in the viewing of his penis. It was about the same size as Adam's and just as aesthetically pleasing. I couldn't decide which was better, but it didn't matter because the penis/vagina ratio was perfect. Unfortunately, Hannah had to be left out of the equation because of her period.

As Adam resumed his picture-taking, the following events went a little something like this: Jackson had sex with me, then Jackson had sex with Laura. The fiancé squeezed her nipples and watched. Then all three of us went down on him, one after the other. During his third bj, which I believed was being administered by Laura, he yelled out, "This is the best stag party ever!" Hannah beamed and then started kissing me. She was such a trooper. Adam threw down the camera again and plopped on to the bed. Jackson bent over Adam's penis and away he went. It was the first time I had ever seen this kind of thing live, so I pulled away from Hannah and picked up the camera to begin my own documentation. When they switched two minutes later, I took up another angle for the sake of variety. Then Hannah got in there, shoving Adam out of the way. With nothing else to do (because I had already been done), Adam started having sex with Laura. I turned the camera off and watched. It was weird, a voyeuristic experience I could've done without. Perhaps my annoyance was a sign I was sobering up.

After it was all over, the five of us silently dressed, trying to avoid stepping on the used condoms that ornamented the floor. When we went out into the living room, where a few people remained watching A View to a Kill, we acted like nothing had happened. Our performance mustn't have been very convincing since we had exited the bedroom together with a spring in our steps and pubic hair stuck in our teeth. Jackson and Hannah joined the others on the couch, I sat on the floor, Adam sat in the chair, and Laura sat on Adam. They were face to face as she played with his hair and looked intently, almost creepily, into his eyes. He briefly returned this look before averting his attention back to the movie. I wasn't focused on the movie at all. I watched her as she continued with her creepy, relentless, whatever it was she was doing. Finally, he had no choice but to pay attention when she started grinding into him. Suddenly, he stood up, with Laura's legs wrapped around him, and carried her to the bedroom. I tried to watch the movie. I tried not to care. I failed at both these tasks. I sprang to my feet and stomped into the bedroom after them. Adam had Laura pinned to the wall. Both their clothes were already off, except for their underwear. Neither of them took notice of me as I sat on the bed and gaped at them. Once there, I couldn't move. A mixture of curiosity, helplessness and repulsion kept me fastened to my spot. Then Jackson walked in and immediately made a beeline for the bed. As Adam tugged at Laura's underwear, Jackson stuck his hands down his pants and looked at me. I didn't want him looking at me. It was weirding me out. And I didn't want to be looking at Adam and Laura; that was weirding me out even more. Just as Jackson reached out to put his hand between my legs, I jerked myself to standing and sprinted to the door, but not without giving Laura one last look, which wasn't really a look, but more like a pernicious glare that suggested death. She didn't see me, though. The daggers coming out of my eyeballs were left hanging in the air.

I went into the bathroom and crouched on the floor. Tears flooded my face; I couldn't control it. Some girl caught a glimpse of me through the crack in the door and asked if I was okay. "Yes," I said, wiping my snot with the back of my hand. I sat there until I heard the rest of the people leave, including Laura. When I stumbled out of the bathroom, I was still sniffling.