The Birthday Boy Wanted a Puppet Show, so I Fisted His Friend
What started as a regular birthday dinner turned into quite the orgy.
Byline: An anonymous Bislut
“A gold star for the anal puppeteer!” my friend exclaims in the group chat, complete with a shining star emoji. I blush and smile behind my phone, beaming at the recognition of my newly-found talent just the night before at my friend John’s intimate birthday celebration. Although the first part of the night could pass for any conventional birthday party—dinner, wine, cards, and cake—I was holding my breath for what and who was to cum.
One week prior, John’s partner, Jenny, had extended the party invitation as we walked through the New York City subway. “He wants this to be an evening of intentional intimacy,” she explained. “We'll do some simple meditative exercises like group breathing, eye gazing, and maybe affirmations. It's inspired by the tantra circle we did at our last poly group getaway.” I nodded along, thankful for the reference as a baseline of what to expect.
I arrive at the party early and join Jenny for dinner prep as the guests trickle in—Simon, Cheryl, and Sam. Even without the promise of a hedonistic birthday orgy, the meal is reason enough to join—a spread of freshly grilled asparagus, roasted ramp and beet salad, and a strawberry-rhubarb dessert sprinkled with dried rose petals. In typical John and Jenny style, the dinner conversation was thoughtful. We spoke about the importance of having this open, poly community in our lives and how it validates our queer identities. We love how we’re able to blur the lines between friendship and sex. In doing so, we create more intimacy and deeper connections.
On the verge of a collective food coma, we wrap up dinner and make our way to the mattresses preemptively nested in the L of the living room sectional. John softly instructs us to close our eyes and sit in a circle as we hold hands, breathing together. The meditation is loose and free-form; there is no leader, we are all equal part givers and receivers of the circle. The unstructured nature kicks my anxiety into high gear, painfully contrasting the calm sighs swirling around me. “Just breathe. You’ve done this before,” I remind myself. “In and out.”
Sitting to my right, Sam holds my hand and begins to hum, slowly building and then pulling back. In hopes of ending my meditative floundering, I follow his lead and match his hum. It works. I feel my head lighten, my body relax, and my mind calm. Slowly, the circle begins to ripple with movement as hands begin to wander freely.
I’m unclear how much time has passed, but when I open my eyes, I see everyone on the nearby floor mattress. John and Jenny are making out as they perch on their knees. Jenny's dark, curly hair hides John's face, but I see his hands find the curves of her body adorned in black lace lingerie. I could admire this sultry couple forever, but I want in.
Mediation is a practice after all.
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