Love & Sex


By Jesse Archer

Given today's popular preference for anonymous cybersex, Mike is something of a dinosaur. He brings people together live, in person, at his roving sex parties that travel between gutted lofts to keep police off the scent.

I'm one of Mike's ringers'a public relations agent. Ringers roam around half naked so paying clients will tell others the party isn't full of trolls. Ringers bring all the boys to the yard, and Mike needs more boys in his yard because his parties are too successful'in the wrong way.

At Mike's parties, paying regulars keep falling for each other. Inevitably, they become boyfriends and fail to return. Mike is losing some serious income. 'I should charge a finder's fee,' he wails with each success story. 'It's a sex party, not Love Connection.'

Of course, I had no intention of joining the ranks of his satisfied customers. Then last year Mike introduced me to a fellow ringer at one of his parties. 'This is Bam,' he said, and my jaw dropped in shock and awe. Before me, in nothing but briefs, stood one chiseled hunk of 6-foot-2 Australian manmeat.

The attraction was dizzying, really'and mutual. Bam and I vanished together behind a black tarp and into the party. Mike called after us, 'I'm gonna be pissed if I lose my ringers!' But Bam and I shared a chemistry you can't re-create in a lab. It felt more than physical, and, yes, feeling anything more than physical at a sex party is ludicrous, but love is like the flu. You can catch it anywhere.

Mother may have advised that the only way to find a loving long-lasting relationship is to meet your mate at the proper place'at the sock hop, walking the dog, or shopping for Tater Tots at Ralphs. Poppycock. If this worked for you, congratulations, but one time this guy cruised me at the supermarket and it totally creeped me out.

Gays don't maintain conventional relationships, so we shouldn't have to apply conventional guidelines. As far as compatibility goes, I prefer to see your birthday suit before your grocery list. But that's just me. Promiscuity isn't for everyone. I'm merely suggesting that the next time you find yourself in a surprisingly unromantic setting, pay close attention. It could happen to you.

Decent men lurk in the most unlikely places. My good friends Ian and Remy have been in a monogamous relationship for six years, but that's not how it began. They met sloppy drunk, vomiting on each other at a dirty dive bar called the Hole. Do they regret how they met? Does it mean they won't live happily ever after? Are they still slamming tequila shooters? No.

Meet first, make policy later. I grew up in buttoned-up Beaverton, Ore., but that doesn't mean I can't end up at a sex party in Manhattan'and smitten, I might add. Bam would be mine, I'd decided, and after our initial 'intro' I excused myself to swish some minty-fresh Scope. In the restroom mirror, I pursed my lips and hummed like one of the Dreamgirls. He's gonna love me!

Then I traipsed past a gang bang in search of my man. He wasn't in the middle of it, thankfully, but across the gutted loft I spotted some jock doubled over a pommel horse; plowing into him from behind was the big bloke from Oz, Bam. Bam, bam! And I am telling you'I clutched my pearls.

Beaten at my own game. So why was I turned on? I liked that he didn't apologize for being at a sex party, or desperately rush me home to smother me with flowers and fancy dinners. We'd just met. Romance could come later. Another day, another time. Hopefully right after he'd finished over at the pommel horse.

When Bam emerged, he was back in love but I had crossed my arms in mock shock. 'You cheated on me already?' Bam blushed pink, manly hands all over me.

'I had the seven-minute itch,' he smirked. 'Will you forgive me?'

We've been together ever since.