I Thought a Slut Was the Worst Thing You Could Be—Until I Became One
Despite being sexually insatiable, I’ve never felt more (ful)filled.
My name is Jonzu, but you may know me by my porn name, Jordan Jameson.
And I am a slut.
I never wanted to be a slut. When my fourth-grade teacher asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I didn’t proudly stand up and shout, “Slut!” I said I wanted to be the president of the United States. But here we are, two decades later. I’m not in the Oval Office. Rather, I fuck dudes on camera for money.
I guess the first step is admittance, right? I think we’ve all had those moments of shame after one of those nights. You know the nights I’m talking about: When you walk the streets at 7 am after an all-night orgy, or sit through two subway transfers with three loads in your ass, reeking of musty man. I’ve been there time and time again. You think everyone’s looking at you. You think they know.
Well, this story isn’t about shame! As a matter of fact, I’ve become very secure and proud of being a full-on harlot. The scent of the boys from the night before has become my perfume the next day. And I no longer fear my sexual appetite. I let it, even encourage my hunger to grow, like a plant I water daily. Only this plant doesn’t need water to live, it needs cum. Loads of it.
Sure, one-on-one is fun, but I’ve found myself craving three, four, and five dicks. Fuck it, I need all the dicks. Pump n dumps no longer cut it. DP-ing has become almost a regular on the menu. And fisting? A casual Wednesday. With this insatiable thirst for attention, stimulation, and variety, sex parties and large orgies have become a necessity.
This is where BISLUT comes in.
My taller and louder boyfriend, Zach, had been working on his party BISLUT for nearly half a year. It was meant to be an even more epic sequel to his critically-acclaimed sex party, BOYSLUT. After some rescheduling and fine-tuning, the day had finally cum, and boy was I mungry! (That’s man-hungry, bitch!)
(Zach and I at BISLUT.)
The party started off like most queer sex parties. Fairly chill and low-key. Shouts of “Hay queen,” “Yasss!” and “Go off mama!” filled the space. There were none of the pretenses often felt in Manhattan spaces. None of the underlying hierarchy, or the NYC who’s who. This was Bushwick and this was real queer inclusivity.
Peepz we’re in their sluttiest and sexiest attire, from naughty school kids and unicorn fairies to full-on leather BDSM garb. Since it was still the early stages of the evening, everyone was catching up with friends, getting to know newbies, and (not-so) subtly flirting with people, in the hopes of fucking them later.
Obviously, there needed to be a fire starter to get things from 70 degrees (actually more like 50, NY spring is a joke) to 200 degrees. We needed the space burning, so folks took off their clothes. Luckily, the hottest Suicide Girl in the world, Torro Royale, heated things up with a burlesque routine where she seductively tantalized the audience with her perfect tits and undulating hips. Seductively, she stripped down layers slowly until she ended her performance by riding her boyfriend’s face cowgirl.
Then the BISLUT himself, Zachary Zane, performed two numbers. The first was a little song and dance where he changed the lyrics of Kim Petras’ “Slut Pop” to “Bislut.” The latter performance is where I was involved. With Petras’ “Throat Goat” playing in the background, Zach embraced his inner Nancy Reagan and sucked my dick, another guy’s dick, and a woman with a strap-on. He was taking them all, gagging on them—proving once and for all, he’s not all talk.
Well, after that, it didn’t take very long until things got sexual. Past the performance area, the fire pit, and the hot tub, the main event started down in the basement.
More often than not, in queer spaces, it’s rare to see boys actually playing with each other. Typically, it’s gals and guys, gals and gals, but almost never guy and guy or guy, guy, girl. It feels like an unspoken taboo, which is strange considering sex parties are all about removing shame. Still, guys often don’t feel comfortable enough to embrace their bi fantasies in the company of mixed sexualities and genders.
But this was BISLUT, and every configuration with all genders needed to happen. MM. MF. FF. MMF. MMM. MMFMFMFMFMMMMFF. Everything, everywhere, all at once. And you best believe I needed to be a part of it.
Seeing so much hotness at first glance was initially a shock. In my periphery, two meaty men were going at it like animals. They were sweating, grunting, and the bottom was taking each powerful thrust like a champion. Straight ahead, a huddle of five people was swapping spit. I didn’t even know a five-way kiss was possible. I also saw two guys getting fisted—one of whom by a woman, which I had never seen. Then there were the strap-ons. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many women using strap-ons to fuck in my entire life. The full spectrum of the queer rainbow was on full display in all of its glory, and I needed to get involved.
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