Room Serviced

I have been waiting for this building for the past 4 years. I stayed at The Standard in L.A. years ago and wondered why wasn't there one in New York City? I cheered when I heard that there was finally going to be one built. I delighted when I learned it was going to be built over the High Line. When I first saw the renderings, I may have gotten a little wet.

My first thought was, "I have to have sex in that building."

I've realized that place has become something of a fetish for me. Some people like feet, some people like food, some people like corsets and stockings. I like having sex in architecturally significant buildings.

If you want to talk about architecture as a dialogue with it's natural environment, this is New York City's Falling Water. While part of one of the oldest commercial districts in the city, The Standard is a mere whisper. At street level, it's nearly invisible and completely unobtrusive to the pedestrian. But at a distance, it adds to the shinning beacon that is the New York skyline with such refreshing drama. It straddles the High Line with a polite bravado as if to say, "I'm so sorry, excuse me. Would you mind terribly if I built a luxury hotel here?" It seems like an engineering impossibility, but there it is. It has the slightest bend to it, like parted legs.

We checked in around 4:00 or so leaving just a couple of hours before the first guests were scheduled to arrive. When I opened the door I gasped at the wall to wall window with a view overlooking the High Line under construction, the Department of Sanitation, the rooftops of meat packing companies and ever flowing traffic of the West Side Highway. It was perfect. It never occurred to either of us to ever draw the curtains.

I hadn't packed a single item of clothing (except for a robe that would go unused) so there wasn't much unpacking to do. But first thing first I needed a long, hot lingering shower. I re-shaved my legs and bits and pieces, but still felt a little stubbly. I called to J. "Can you do me a favor?"

I bent over and spread my ass cheeks. He smoothed a thick layer of shaving cream over my asshole and shaved me smooth. "There's a first." I thought. I rinsed, dried and put on some lipstick. I wouldn't be needing any other makeup.

The first guest arrived right on time. I knelt on the bed, faced the wall and closed my eyes, eagerly shifting my weight from side to side. I felt him put the blindfold on first, then secured it tight with Vetrap. I couldn't see a thing but I could hear the familiar sound of zippers being unzipped, the shuffle of pants coming off and then the feel of cool hands on my tits, a mouth near mine, fingers on cunt, a cock pressed against my lips.

Some sucked my nipples tenderly, some mauled my breasts like they were trying to rip them off. Some ignored my clit preferring to get right to it, some went down on me for a while, licking and fingering my cunt while my hand searched for their hair to grip.

There was little speaking. I'm always surprised at how quiet men can be during sex. Through out the evening his phone would ring with a guest requesting the room number. I'd hear someone new walk through the door to find me on my knees, one man fucking my cunt from behind pushing the cock in front of me further into my throat.

The man in my mouth asked politely if he could come on my face. "Of course," J. said and just like that he did. I felt it dripping over my cheek, down my face and on to my chest. I sighed with gratitude as the next man took him place in front of me. He led his cock to my mouth and I paused a moment. I reached up with one hand. "My god," I thought, "This is huge." I wrapped my lips around the thickness and went down as far as I could. I don't usually use my hands when sucking cock (I'm a skull fucking kind of girl), but in this case there was no choice. He took over and with a little encouragement went a smidge too deep a tad too quickly and almost instantaneously a sample of that mornings scrambled eggs, grits and corned beef hash made a come back.

"Oops. Sorry about that."

Apologies were made between the two of us. Quickly and efficiently, sheets were stripped below me, a towel was handed to me and a glass of water. The man who's cock was responsible for all this confessed to the other guests that he actually had a couple of videos of just this very thing. There was some light hearted chatter to ease the tension and I knelt there, my lips parted wondering when everyone was going to stop talking so he could resume fucking my face.

Like the last time, I never really had a clear idea of how many there were. Sometimes I was on my knees, sometimes I was on my back. I moved where they moved me, I opened up what ever they needed opened up. My body took over and did what it's made to do. I wrapped my legs around what I assumed to be the man with the monster cock. I gripped the sides of the bed, my eyes clenched behind the blindfold as he slammed into my cervix. I could have asked for more lube, it was right there by the bedside table, but I didn't. I gritted my teeth and let him pound away as hard as he wanted. I didn't want it to be nice, I didn't want it to be easy, I was there for him to fuck, my comfort wasn't the point.

As they finished up one by one, there were Happy Birthday wishes and the sound of zippers being re-zipped. I didn't know how many were left but I always knew when it was him. I laid back and felt the first two fingers, then three, then four. I arched my back and screamed into the comforter as he slid in up to the wrist. He gave my insides a few minuscule knocks now and then making me press the blanket to my mouth and groan. I didn't know if this was just between us or if there was an audience and I didn't care. He pulled out and pulled me up cradling me in his arms. We kissed and cuddled and I thought we must be alone at this point, but I would hear the sound of someone shifting across the room.

When the last person left, I stood up and he took off the blindfold. I gasped once more at the view. Now it was dark and the night was lit up with the sparking lights of the traffic and the Jersey skyline. We kissed and hugged and I squealed with satisfied glee. He volunteered to run out and get some wine before we ordered dinner and just as I was about to wash up, there was a knock on the door. There was one more guest and an extremely cute one at that.

The same thing happened last year. First the anonymous group and then the lone handsome late comer. I had rung up housekeeping to have them replace the linens on the bed and the two of us waited patiently and made awkward small talk while the maid replaced the sheets. When J. returned, wine was poured and the party resumed. They both stripped down. I was obviously still naked. J. sat in the chair watching while the young man had his way with me. It was nice seeing his smile. There was an attempt at a DP, but the lad needed a little help so down I went. I knelt as he stood. I gripped his waist for support as we switched back and forth from me sucking him to him fucking my face. By my request, he came on my face and I rubbed it over my face and my chest, my eyes drowsy, my body sated. But he was still hard. I bent down and gave the head a little lick expecting that little twinge, but he was steady as a rock.

J. put a pillow next to the chair for me as our guest took a seat to relax. I was slowing down. My jaw was aching at this point. I hadn't slept the night before and it was starting to catch up with me. I would go down, come back up and rest my head on his thigh for a moment. Slower and slower I sucked like a battery wearing down until I couldn't go on anymore. I rested my hand on his leg, gasping for air, laughing softly.

The three of us sat around, drinking wine and chatting about sex and fetishes and bdsm. I was a little chilly, so I propped up some pillows and got under the covers while the come dried on my face. Finally our guest had to be on his way, he thanked me and wished me a happy birthday and the door was closed on The Standard gang bang. It was time for hi-fives, room service and SNL. By the time it was over I was officially a year older.

We woke to a hazy grey morning and I gave myself a couple of long Hitachi induced orgasms, gripping his arm and biting his shoulder. He reached down to feel the wetness between my legs. His eyes rolled, "Oh my God" and he slid into me. He did all those scary, nasty things I love that weren't meant for an audience. If I had any complaint about the night before, it would be that everyone was so damn polite! He fucked me and spit in my face and wrapped his hands around my throat until the need for coffee and Nutella became too great for both of us.

Room service would bring us a big bottle of Mr. Bubble and we spent the rest of the morning soaking lazily in the tub until we were properly wrinkled and there was less than 5 minutes until check out. Before I dressed he gave me a few good wallops with his belt and we were done. It was time to say goodbye to my glass, concrete, steel and wood paneled lover.

We took a walk around the block to get a full view of the building and paused at a good point around the corner. He pointed up. "Look, there's our room! See the towel on the chair in front of the window?" I followed his finger to the sixth floor until I spotted it. My god, that was a good view. Oh, the spectacle we must have made.

"Hey, naked lady!" I pointed to the room below our room and there was a very sexy woman getting dressed in front of the window. Like us, she probably never thought of closing the curtains. You can't see the sidewalk below from the view above and even if you could, if there is any hotel that encourages exhibitionism it would be this one. It takes moxie to stand naked in front of floor to ceiling windows and not care. It takes some gumption to build a building like that. It takes trust to allow yourself to be helpless, to know that you're going to be cared for and know when you don't want to be in control there's someone who will take control for you.

We watched the windows for a while looking for more indiscretions until we both started feeling a little perverted, even for us, and headed for the subway.

Toy Review: Ballsy Supercock

I have four dildos. Why do I need another one? Because I do, alright. I just do. Like the real, warm blooded one all fake dicks are a little bit different and have their own personality and one just isn't enough. The Ballsy Supercock is the newest addition to the family. It's shiny, black and long ( 7" x 1-3/4") and a lot vein-ier than my other ones, which was a nice touch.

It's also stinky! I've gotten used to the pricier silicone and Vixskin dildos so when I opened the package that blast of chemical smell hit me like a ton of bricks. I washed it a few times and left it out to air for a few days and the smell eventually died down somewhat.

I tend to be rather rough with my dildos. I'm not very gentle with myself and maybe because I didn't invest $100+ on it I was a little rougher than usual. I like a dildo with balls. I like feeling that extra slap against my asshole and it gives me something to hold on to. I turn it around inside me so it's facing the other way so the balls are hit my clit over and over. It does what it's supposed to do.

The smell reminded me of the first dildo I ever bought and I think that's the idea here. It's a good firmness, but still soft and a pretty good size for the price. If you can't afford a silicone dildo, the Ballsy Supercock will work just fine.

Let me entertain you

So, there I am in line at Target with a basket full of white washcloths, two boxes of Durex Extra Sensitive condoms, bags of Valentine's Day themed pink and red M&Ms, two cases of mini-bottles of water and two sets of the cheapest sheets they had in the least offensive color I could find. I grinned with a knowing smirk at the woman ringing up my purchases, hoping she would put two and two together. I wanted to say, "Yep, just picking up some stuff for the orgy. You know how it is." She didn't seem to care.

I gathered up all of my throw pillows and made a little nest of cushions next to the bed. I rearranged the furniture in the bedroom, blew-up the Aero bed and Swifter-ed like I've never Swifter-ed before. I rolled up the towels and put them in a little wire basket next to the lube and the dish of condoms. I was feeling very Martha Stewart about the whole thing. I casually tossed some rope in a corner and hung out the floggers and paddles for easy access. Back in the kitchen we finished up the food: strawberries, carrots, cucumbers, cheese and crackers, slicing lemons and limes for drinks. I put on a Fifties-ish black shirt dress (it had a nice hostess look and lifts up easily) and gave the servant boy my co-host and cruise director recruited for the evening instructions on working the door and serving drinks and waited for the guests to arrive. 

I don't really throw a lot of parties and when I do, they're usually revolved around watching something historically relevant on t.v. and the most work I do is ordering the pizza. But this time, I wanted it to be special. It was my first after all and I wanted to make a good impression.

It started off pretty much like any other cocktail party. Folks arrived alone or in pairs, with offerings of dip and wine. There was much catching up and conversation but I was eager to get things going or to at least remind people that this was indeed "that kind" of a party. Nate and I retreated into the bedroom for the inaugural fuck and I moaned a little louder than I usually do, hoping to inspire others to follow suit. I did catch a few people out of the corner of my eye wander in and out and by the time we returned to the living room there was a question of when things would get going.

"Well, now, I suppose."

Lights were dimmed, clothes came off and the party games began (which makes me think we should have had a piñata). One minute people are eating hummus and chips the next thing you know people are being fingered on the couch, making out in the kitchen, fucking on my floor and flogging people in front of my full-length mirror.

At one point I looked around at all of the bodies around me, shook my head and giggled to myself, "Oh my God, there are like... naked people... having sex... all over my apartment!"

Boys were giving blowjobs on my desk. My bed somehow withstood the weight of about 5 people fucking on it. Back in the foyer, a woman was bent over, an ice cube resting on her back while a young man flogged her. In the living room, people were still chatting, couples cuddling and a tall drink of water all in white serenaded me on a ukulele.

I don't think I could have asked for a better evening.

Eventually, came the inevitable echoes of "Where are my clothes?" and debates about subways and car services. I said goodbye to these lovely people who had graced my home with orgasms and turned off the music and the lights, satisfied that I had provided a much needed service in the world. My co-host and I laid in bed at the end of the evening, leaving the empty cups and condoms for the morning and compared notes on who did what to whom and congratulated ourselves on a job well done. Truth be told, I did not fuck as much as I probably would have as a guest, but I did have to work the door near the end and it was nice floating from room to room, seeing what mischief was afoot and making sure everyone was properly taken care of. 

The next day I would find a bra, two pairs of boxer briefs, a little velvet bag containing a bottle of lube, a pair of latex gloves and a condom, and a handsome lad sleeping on my couch.

Kink For All

I gave my first pervert related talk Sunday at the first ever Kink For All, held at the LGBT Community Center. Let me first say, it was fantastic and I left energized, excited, with pages of notes, some business cards and a whole lot of encouragement.

It was a rather spontaneous decision on my part to speak and I signed up without really knowing what I would talk about. I'm not particularly skilled in anything. I'm usually at the receiving end of other people's expertise. I thought about doing something related to my Kink + Culture site, but I didn't want to just do a show and tell. Then it came to me.

Half of my life is firmly planted in the vanilla world and half is pretty solid in the kink world and I like going back and forth across the border. I have a tendency to look at the vanilla world through a kinky filter and the kinky world through a vanilla filter and nothing pleases me more than when those two worlds collide.

I was dating a guy who was pretty vanilla. He wasn't completely green about kinky stuff, but it became really clear that he just wasn't into it. Or at least into anything I was into. So, I said to him, "This stuff isn't really your thing, is it?" And he said:

"Not really. I just like the way it looks."

At the time, I knew exactly what he was talking about. I got it immediately. But it wasn't until later that I stopped and thought, what does that mean? What does kink "look like"?

So, I did a presentation called Fishnets and Furry Handcuffs: The Perception of Kink in Popular Culture. It was an absolute blast putting it together, so much so that I can't stop working on it. It got a very good response and the discussion afterward could have gone on and on for the rest of the afternoon. Now I want to keep going. I think I have a nice little seed of an idea here. I'm gonna water it and see what happens.

On another note, I did my talk in the Keith Haring bathroom, which could not have been more perfect.






KFANYC

Thank You

Joseph Beuys, Matthew Barney, Kiki Smith, Kara Walker, Lorna Simpson, Fred Wilson, Stefan Sagmeister, Neville Brody, Peter Saville, Carrvaggio, Gerard Richter, Thomas Struth, Ray Johnson, The Smiths, The B-52s, Cole Porter, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Edith Piaf, David Bowie, Derek Jarman, Catherine Breillat, Vikotor + Rolf, Commes Des Garçons, Helmut Lang, Max Huber, Legos, Demitri Martin, Isabella Blow, Aubrey Beardsley, Kiki Smith, They Might Be Giants, Alfred Hitchcock, Stanley Kubric, Frederico Fellini, Criterion Collection, David Cronenberg, Ayrton Senna, Radio Lab, This American Life, New Order, Joy Division, Joan Jett, Tom of Finland, Toulouse Lautrec, Henri Cartier-Breson, Pageant Print and Book Shop, Subway Inn, Tramway Diner, Lever House, The Segrams Building, The Chrysler Building, The Ambassador Bridge, The Electric Company, Solid Gold, Dance Fever, Absolutely Fabulous, Donna Summer, The Dresden Dolls, Chuck Jones, Catherine Denuve, Anne Rice, Tibor Kalman, Emigre, Ray Gun, Christopher Isherwood, Anais Nin, index cards, the sound of slide projectors, David LaChapelle, Vivianne Westwood, John Gallianno, Mr. Pearl, Leigh Bowery, Matthew Bourne, Rufus Wainwright, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Stevie Wonder, i-D, Interview, The Face, Apple, the first 10 years of MTV, Jon Stewart, Stephen Cobert, Amy Sedaris, David Sedaris, Sarah Vowell, Le Tigre, LCD Soundsystem, Scissor Sisters, Eryhah Badu, Klaus Nomi, Dally in the Alley, Detroit Institute of Art, Sam's Jams, Moss, Michael Clark, Mondo New York, Paul Rand, Ellen Lupton, Paul Elliman, Edward Tufte, Cabinet, Antonin Artaud, Robert Frank, Edward Hopper, David Byrne, John Waters, Ellen von Unwerth, Sophie Calle, Wallpaper, Alain Robbe-Grillet, George Perec, Ayn Rand, Marquis de Sade, Jean Genet, William Burroughs, Luc Sante, Dennis Cooper, Thomas Mann, Will Shorts, Martha Stewart, John Hughes, Tilda Swinton, Michel Gondry, Spike Jonze, Chris Cunningham, Sister Corita Kent

to be continued…

art, design, music, film, fashion, other, places, architecture, television / radio, books / magazines, people

Justify My Love

I don't hate Valentine's Day

I'm pretty indifferent to Valentine's Day. With a boyfriend, I was pretty indifferent and without a boyfriend I'm pretty indifferent. I do like those packs of Valentine's Day cards grade school kids get to hand out in their class. Those are pretty rad. 

There seems to be just as much anti-V. Day sentiment out there as there is pro, but I really don't care that much about it either way. Giving flowers* and chocolates and talking teddy bears to the one you love because you want to show them how much you love and appreciate them is great! Doing it only because it's V. Day and you feel obliged to just means you're a little bit of a douche.

I love cranberry sauce. Not real cranberry sauce, but the fake jelly kind with the imprint of the can, you know? I love it, but for some reason I would only ever eat it on Thanksgiving. Then it occurred to me a while ago that I could eat it whenever I want. They sell it all year long! I could have fake cranberry sauce in the middle of the summer if I wanted!

It's the summer time jellied cranberry sauce that matters in a relationship.

So I don't really care if I don't get a dozen red roses on Saturday. I really, really hate baby's breath anyway. But, I have been thinking about one particular symbolic gesture that's been nagging at me.

My bed is situated in the corner of my room. The corner. That means one side of the bed is against the wall so only one side has a bedside table. One bedside table. I never really thought about it much until recently. I put that second glass of water, the other pair of glasses, the bottle of lube and so forth on that one table. I don't have someone in my bed every night, (and for the record, I don't know if I even want someone in my bed every single night) but when I do, they have no table of their very own.

I never really thought about it before and it's never really bothered me until now.

Is it a sign? Is it a signal that this bed belongs to one person and one person only? Am I not inviting the possibility that there may be someone who will need his own table for his water and his glasses on a regular basis? Am I saying to whoever is in my bed, "You are only a guest here." It suddenly seems so juvenile to only have one bedside table.

I do have someone else's toothbrush in my holder, but a toothbrush doesn't take up a lot of room. I have room for another table. Don't I? But, if I get that second bedside table, will it just be a reminder of the absence when there isn't a glass of water over there?

* Actually, I absolutely love getting flowers. Anytime.