So, when you’re getting to know someone, there’s this magical point where they tell you that they’re “kinky.”
And then you have a horrible problem: how do you figure out what the hell that means without offending, scaring, mocking or patronizing your new paramour? Are we talking “50-Shades-of-Grey-I-like-some-light-bondage” kinky, or “I want to wear a llama costume and bleat while you play Appalachian farmer with me”?
One way or the other – but particularly if you tend more towards the latter scenario – you really should have this discussion before you are involved in sex acts. I can see it might be a difficult conversation to start — “Mmm! These lamb chops are delicious. Speaking of farm animals…” — but it’s probably better than letting out a roaring “BAAAAAAAH!” at orgasm and then having to explain yourself before she calls the ASPCA.
This brings me to a story about a friend who lived in a large and very posh apartment/condo tower. On New Year’s Eve, if he didn’t have actual plans, he would grab a bottle of champagne and party-hop in the building. I’m gonna let him tell the story, because really, I can’t improve on it. Enjoy…..
“I once crashed a party where they had hired a DJ and belly dancer. Everyone at the party was wearing a mask. I walked in and everything seemed to stop. People stared at me and I said I’m sorry I was late. They asked where my mask was and I told them I forgot. They told me it was no problem and that there was a pile of extra masks over by the booze. I put one on and the party resumed.
Now, I’ve found the secret to crashing a party is to remove yourself by 2 people with common names. “Who do you know here?” “Jeff told me to come.” “Oh, Jeff right over there?” “No, not that Jeff. The one Mary knows.” At this point, people are too interested in having a good time to continue to feign interest about your story; besides, at this point, we’re all wearing masks. (It also helps if you are mildly personable and not a raging asshole.) At most of these parties the single people are looking to end the night with someone, because somehow meaningless sex with a stranger somehow translates to hopefulness that they won’t be relationship-less in the new year.
At this party I met Karen. This is a pseudonym, not so much to protect Karen, but because I can’t remember her real name. Karen was an African-American twenty-something with a butterfly tattoo on her hip and a serious princess complex. She had grown up privileged, and wanted to stay that way. Despite the fact that she was getting her MBA at Northwestern, she needed someone else to pay her way. Currently it was her daddy (her actual father, although that is how she referred to him), but, hey, it could be you. She had a coach bag she treated like a pet and a sexy baby voice to match. I should have steered clear of Karen. I did not. Towards the end of the festivities we excused ourselves to go to my unit to “see if the view was different.” As my unit was the same style in the same position on the same side of the building a few floors up, the view was exactly the same. This wasn’t my line, though, it was hers. In my place one thing led to the inevitable, slightly drunken, mildly awkward first-sex-of-the-new-year.
Things were following the normal sexual progression including moaning, groaning, and exclamations to a higher power. Halfway through, though, things took an unexpected turn. At this point in my life, I had never engaged in role play in the bedroom. (I’m still not a huge fan. I have nothing against it, but chances are that if I’m fucking you, it’s because I want to fuck YOU. Not someone else. Not the head cheerleader, or a naughty student, or a naughty teacher.) I get that role play is a safe way to indulge in certain fantasies. I also understand that it is something usually set up beforehand, and not sprung on the person you don’t know mid-coitus.
This is why I was taken off guard when she asked me to call her my “little camper.” My first thought was, “Um…OK…so, this is happening…” What followed immediately was my actor’s instinct to get the scene right. What kind of camp did this girl go to? I had gone to a survival camp where we hiked through a river and had eaten boiled dandelions. No…It probably wasn’t that. Space camp? Computer camp? Girl Scout camp? I do love those little green uniforms… Oh, God — it wasn’t fat camp, was it? She didn’t used to be a fat kid, and now to get off she had to have someone yelling at her to do calisthenics, Biggest-Loser style? Probably not.
Best to go with generic camp scenario #1. She’s a camper out after lights-out. I find her by the canoes. What comes out of my mouth is, “Yeah, you’re my little camper.” She follows up with, “Yeah! Fuck me in the arts and crafts room!” Shit! Arts and crafts, not canoes! This is why people work the scenario out beforehand. I try to remember my improvisation training: Don’t deny, say “Yes, and…” Here we go: “Yeah, I’m fucking you on top of the wallets!” Wallets? Was this a camp or a sweatshop? Despite my lack of preparation I must have been at least a passable counselor, or played well into whatever elaborate sleepaway camp drama she’d already worked out, and mercifully, orgasms soon followed.
We spent the rest of our wakeful minutes passing the small talk of two people who don’t know each other and have shared something more intimate than either had intended. I remember thinking that it wasn’t the strangest sex I had, but it was up there. It wasn’t the girl who had a thing about licking my armpit (sidenote: it’s only fair – I will kiss you after a blowjob – but you lick my armpit and I point you to the Listerine before your lips come anywhere near my face. I also ask you bring me a damn hand towel to wipe my now-slobbery pit dry.), but it was surprising. I think, “Thanks for making sure I never contact you again.” She may have thought the same thing. Neither of us say it. It would have ruined the role play that we were both willingly engaged in, using each other as a proxy for the relationships of the past year and those to come in the next. It has always stayed with me, though, and probably always will.”