A Steamy MMF at BISLUT Helped Me Feel Whole

For the first time, I felt celebrated for being a bi guy.

By: An Anonymous Boyslut

She tugged at the leather harness wrapped around my chest and looked me right in the eyes. “Fuck yes,” she said, and high-fived me, laughing. My two other friends cheered. None of them would have known I was wearing a harness under my black sweater, and I wouldn’t have known how accepting and supportive they were had I not casually told them I had to leave the birthday party to attend a bi-themed sex party, appropriately called BISLUT. 

It had taken decades to realize that being open about my sexuality—its duality, its complexity, and its appetite—was the solution to tumultuous romantic relationships, distance in even my closest friendships, and a general sense of constriction. While I never exactly “came out” to my large and diverse network, I stopped holding it in. Doing so freed me. 

My phone vibrated in my pants and my heart leaped in my chest. That would be Ben letting me know that he was in front of the stately Brooklyn brownstone where I’d spent the clothed part of my evening. I’d met Ben two years ago on Feeld, a poly and kink-oriented dating app that in the wake of the fearful and repressive pandemic suddenly seemed ubiquitous in New York City. He was the thrilling culmination of my search in the summer of 2020 for a bisexual man to join me and the woman I’d been dating in an MMF threesome. My chemistry with Ben that warm September afternoon had felt so intensely hot in comparison to the tepid connection I’d had with the “F” that I actually ended my relationship with her days later. Since then, I had pined for more with him than the occasional hookups he rationed out in the unpredictable months that followed. 

I took a deep breath in a futile effort to settle the butterflies that always fluttered in my stomach just before I saw him. As I walked through the vestibule of the brownstone, I found his tall, slender outline standing on the sidewalk facing the street. I contrived a brief parting chat with the woman at the door who’d been managing the guest list. “I might be back if this next party isn’t fun,” I’d said, hoping that Ben would hear me and interpret the remark as a cool indifference to my time with him and a total absence of expectations for the night ahead. He turned just as the clipboard woman responded, “Well, for your sake, I hope it’s a blast.” 

“Should we stretch?” I joked and walked past him, looking for our Uber, putting pre-emptive distance between us. “Well, maybe we can limber up in the car,” he said as he walked towards me, smiling. 

“May I kiss you?” he asked. With the long stretches between our time together, I never quite knew what to expect from him. Every time I saw him, he was kind and genuine but also a bit aloof.

I told myself that he hadn’t succumbed to my subtle efforts to grow our relationship into something more because he was dating someone else who was prettier, more relevant, and more woke. Man or woman, real or imagined, his phantom primary partner was cock-blocking me. The alternative story was too depressing to accept: He liked me enough to hook up and occasionally share a meal, but not enough to date me. As such, it always struck me as a small miracle each time he looked at me with those warm, radiant blue eyes and kissed me. 

“You may,” I said. He did, and the butterflies danced a final chorus before stilling their wings as the car pulled up. 

The first hour of the sex party might have felt like any other New York City party had nearly every guest not been clad in jockstraps, negligees, and, yes, harnesses. Some people stood chatting in little circles, others twisted through the eddies of bodies, and all glanced at one another libidinously. In the days leading up to BISLUT, I had hoped I’d meet someone at the party, man or woman, I was more enamored with than Ben. I fantasized about finally being liberated from the aching crush, burning desire, and deep but unrequited affection I’d felt for him by some even more vibrant and compelling being. Someone with an even faster brain, quicker wit, and more improbable body. But once we were together, no one else existed. The fervor I had felt to find someone else grew lazy in his glow, and I felt happy for the time we had together, present in our moment and at peace with the uncertainty that would inevitably follow. 

Together and separately we made flirty small talk with a dozen or so men, women, and nonbinary folks in various states of undress. We compared notes, surreptitiously pointing out the people we found compelling. He was drawn to a heavily tattooed pair, a man and a woman clad in chains and black leather. They turned out to be performers. I mustered an interest in a wide-eyed, petite woman with short black hair and an even shorter latex skirt. But I had one thing on my mind. Months prior, the first time we’d been together in the year since he’d paused whatever we’d been doing, he had looked me in the eyes while pounding into me with his spectacular penis and told me, “I want to fuck you in front of a crowd of people.” I’d masturbated dozens of times thinking not only about the prospect but also how he’d delivered the line. Now, here, finally in a setting where we might realize the fantasy he’d bored into my imagination that night, I just wanted Ben to fuck me in front of a crowd of people. 

Interrupting our collective appraisals, Zachary Zane, the host of the party, took stage and pre-coital banter gave way to raucous applause. Sex parties had been hard during the pandemic, he’d confided. He’d worked very, very hard to pull this one off, and now here we were, nearly naked and primed to give in to pent-up passions and reckless abandon, and he was grateful to us for being here. Dance music thumped out of towering speakers and he gyrated, grinning his megawatt grin, imploring us to let go. The crowd erupted in a primal roar of joy. “Let’s fuck!” he ordered. 

Ben and I looked at one another, eyebrows raised and the corners of our mouths lifting into a smile. “Shall we?” he said. “Fuck yes,” I replied.

The subterranean play area consisted of two rows of mattresses, each about thirty feet long, parted by a walkway, an aisle in a veritable meat market. Ben gestured to a vacant mattress in between a vigorously fucking male-female couple whom we’d met upstairs and two men who were masturbating.

Ben was wearing a purple sleeveless hoodie, tight black shorts, wide fishnets, and bright white sneakers. Had someone described the outfit I’d have shrugged, but seeing it on him, I had gotten hard the moment he’d come out of the changing room. I noticed the pop of his triceps and the firm rotundity of his ass when he closed the door behind him. I watched his muscular thighs stretch the fishnets as he walked toward me. Now, as he laid down on the mattress and kicked off his sneakers, I found his confident mix of masculinity and femininity intoxicating. He looked up at me, smiled that naughty, boyish smile of his, and patted the space next to him. 

He’d kissed me earlier, and as electric as it had felt, it had been a greeting, not a guarantee. Kissing him now on this anonymous black mattress in this sex dungeon at the start of whatever was going to happen between us tonight, was a certainty, and I felt unbridled rapture. His lips were full and soft, warm and working. Our tongues wound together and our arms wrapped around each other’s torsos. I lifted off his little hoodie and ran my hand up the sinews of his back. I loved his skin, so smooth and dusted with just enough hair in all the right places. As I licked his neck he gripped my harness, tugged me closer, and ran his other huge hand through my hair. I felt my erection graze his before our hips pressed together with animal intensity. I never exactly forgot how well-endowed he was, but I was always pleasantly surprised each time his beautiful cock tumbled out, like a great drawbridge falling from the wall of a castle, letting me into - onto - his arousal. His tiny shorts were no match for his erection, which had pushed its way well above the elastic waistline. I leaned down and licked a pearl of precum. 

Ben yanked down my leather shorts and licked his way from my balls to the tip of my cock. He looked up at me as his tongue drew a glistening line up my erection. I’d yet to see a bad angle of him. I found him impossibly handsome. The height of his cheekbones, the prominence of his forehead, the assuredness of his chin, the measured strength and perfect symmetry of his nose, the fullness and femininity of his lips, and my God, the eternity of his bright, blue eyes. There was an early morning after one of our first playdates, just before he’d dutifully vanished to volunteer at a food bank when I swore there was actual light shining from his eyes. Meeting his gaze felt to me like staring into the sky and the ocean and the earth all at once, with its life, complexity, mystery, and beauty. I was always the first to look away when our eyes met because the longer I looked into his eyes, the harder I had to work not to love him. 

He buried my cock into his mouth and pleasure ripped through my body. His hands skimmed my chest and cupped my ass. I might not have noticed the woman gazing at us had I not briefly opened my eyes to marvel at Ben’s ability to summon joy from every cell in my body. In the half-second before she composed herself, her mouth had been just a bit open, her eyes hooded and focused, her left hand draped loosely just below her neck. I instinctively registered admiration and desire. And then her visceral self was subsumed by her thinking self, and she snapped her mouth shut, widened her eyes, animated her paralyzed hand into a wave and smiled. I smiled back. She was tall, dark-haired, and bright-eyed with regal, elegant features. The short, closely fitting top she was wearing showcased bountiful breasts, and beneath her black leather pants was the lower half of a long, perfect hourglass. She was arrestingly attractive, and for the first time that night, there was someone other than Ben who sparked desire. 

I beckoned her forth with a wave, and Ben lifted his head from my cock just as she bridged the ten feet that had separated us. 

“You two are so beautiful,” she said bashfully. “I love watching you.” It felt good to hear myself paired with him in her compliment. I had struggled for years to see myself as attractive, and my relationship with my self-image was still tenuous and delicate. But that night I’d felt confident after two weeks of dietary discipline and intensity in the gym. I felt strong and taut and youthful, and I felt validated now by the admiration of this woman who introduced herself as Elena. 

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” she apologized. “I’m happy just to stand back and watch you.” I glanced at Ben who glanced back at me. 

“Would you like to join us?” I asked. “I would indeed,” she purred. She unfolded her tentative perch on the side of our mattress and nestled in next to us. I’d be lying if I said I remembered who kissed whom first, but through the haze of ecstasy, I remember kissing her, watching her kiss him, and feeling our mouths all together in a surprisingly easy and perfect union. I remember Ben, in all his earnest integrity, asking for her consent to touch her clothed body above her genitals and asking her not to touch his genitals. Their explicit agreement held for an hour before her hands were on both of our cocks when they weren’t sheathed by our mouths. We three shared a sensual, intense, and equal physical rapport, and our entanglement felt like the highest achievement and deepest affirmation of my bisexuality. Here was a beautiful woman who had not only been fearless in the face of sex between two men but profoundly attracted to it. 

Our not-quite-sex together was tropical. We’d make out with intensity and pause for quiet conversation. Then we’d resume our undulating, writhing carnal pursuits and just as quickly find ourselves talking at the water cooler about books, our vocations, and travels. It was like a sped-up microcosm of a three-way relationship, a capsule of many dates over many days all rolled into one night. 

Not long after I had let go of any expectation of living out our fantasy, as we’d been stroking one another while trading Elena’s kisses between us, Ben looked at me and asked, “How about I get some lube?” I’d been excited for an audience, but I was suddenly unsure of how I felt about an audience this intimate. Did I want to get penetrated by a man in front of this woman who could potentially become a romance? Fuck it, I thought. “I think it’s about that time,” I said.

Ben returned with a giant bottle of silicone lube. Laying on my back with my thighs against my chest, he kneeled before me. He bathed his cock with one hand and gently dipped a slickened finger inside me with his other. I glanced at Elena, who was watching us with the same look I’d noticed when I first saw her. I looked back up at him, eyeing me intently as he stroked himself and stretched me open. He opened me as much with his gaze as he did with his fingers. I wanted to close my eyes at the thought of the inevitable rush of pain followed by pleasure but I kept them open and watched him studying me and Elena watching us. He pressed the broad head of his thick cock against my butt and entered me faster than I expected. It took my breath away. A few people on other mattresses stopped to stare at us. People passing by lingered. I felt his hips meet the cheeks of my ass and I held him there, adjusting to the hard expanse of him inside me and the watchful eyes all around us. I nodded after a moment and he began slowly thrusting. Elena leaned in. A few people crept a bit closer. This is fucking hot, I thought to myself. 

Despite his beauty, intelligence, and innumerable talents, Ben was actually shy at heart. Maybe that was why he’d stopped before he came and before we found the erotic intensity and sensual rhythm that had come to define our anal sex. “I’m going to wash up,” he said. He stood and walked to the bathroom. Elena started talking with the couple she’d arrived with, and the crowd dispersed. I lay there, feeling a bit vulnerable and alone.

Ben came back and sat down next to me. “Will you massage my back?” I perched myself behind him and dug into his broad expanse with my hands. I kissed his neck and closed my eyes against his skin. Elena returned and sat down, emboldened, and started caressing our cocks. Ben tilted his head back and I moved around his body so that I could add my hand to hers on his shaft. She intuitively let me take over. He started to moan. “I’m going to come,” he said. I lunged for his cock and felt his cum fill my mouth as he roared and shook, collapsing. His roar turned into a laugh. “Holy shit I came hard.” Elena and I smiled at one another. 

I’d been lazily stroking myself but now felt like the right time to finish, and just as I was about to come, Ben swallowed my cock and I sent ropes of cum down his throat. He pulled up and smiled at me. He looked back at my cock and gently squeezed it, surfacing a pool of cum, licking it, and then repeating until I was entirely empty. “That is so fucking hot,” Elena said. 

I hadn’t looked at my phone all night until now. 4:27 am. “Well, since I’ve got my phone out, how about I get your number?” I asked Elena. “Definitely,” she said. 

Ben and I went back to my apartment in Manhattan, raided the fridge, showered off our indulgences, and fell into a long, deep sleep. We woke the next day, talked, had sex, enjoyed a huge, lavish brunch at my favorite weekend restaurant, and I briefly savored what it would be to have him as more than just a play buddy.

When we parted ways, I realized I’d become at peace with what we were to one another. I knew he cared about me in his own way. I knew I’d see him again at some point. And I also knew that, someday, I’d meet someone, a man or a woman or a maybe even a man and a woman, who inspired even deeper desire, affection, and an enduring calm that would carry me through the years, until Ben became another beautiful memory of the time that my sexual identity transitioned from uncertain to confident, from ambiguous to fluid, and from veiled to proud.