I have been to many sex parties since my sex career has been fairly long and tumultuous. I think what the truth is that unfortunately I don’t like sex much, or I like it too much and so I have tried a number of things that don’t suit me and sex parties is one of them. I like the idea of them but I also have never had fun at one, so I don’t go anymore.
But I am finding that I miss them.
What I miss is the food. There’s always a really funny and odd variety of food at sex events that both puzzles and arouses me, not sexually exactly, but there is still tremendous desire involved. I would think about the food as I participated in the strange and sometimes irritating sex and couldn’t wait to get back to the buffet table and would be annoyed when yet another lover would pull me away from it.
There’s always chili, the home-made kind, with lots of canned kidney beans and ground beef and the flavoring out of a packet. Something about those ready made spice mixes gets me really excited. Perhaps it’s the egregious amounts of sodium or the odd chemicals and preservatives that have me hooked. They offer an imitation of life, rather than life itself, but I’d rather have an imitation than the real thing, because I am so used to the imitation that the imposter is more appealing. the chili was thick and bubbled over and was served in the pot it was cooked in, which is the best way.
Hot dogs and buns to eat with the chili were a must. Hot dogs and sex parties have long been inseparable entities. Even at the bare bones bathhouses and warehouse gatherings open only to gay men, they still had hot dogs and off brand soda available from 2 litre bottles left open so the carbonation had gone completely flat. Of course I have not been invited to any of these – but I heard about what was served.
Barbecue potato chips were eternally growing stale in large plastic bowls usually reserved for punch, which was less common. Barbecue was the flavor most likely seen at S&M functions, but then the swinger set could be relied upon a bag or two of sour cream and onion. Never plain, never baked and never salt and vinegar which is sad because salt and vinegar is my favorite.
There was always a big sourdough bread round hollowed out and filled with a spinach cream cheese dip, which I would illegally dip the barbecue chips and sometimes even the hot dogs in, criminal as I am, lawless to the core. I don’t know why they don’t serve the fluffy guts of the loaf next to the bread carcass, but that has never been the case. Perhaps it gets too hard to eat, but I actually like the crispness of fresh bread after its been exposed to the air for a time and it would give some body to scoop up the spinach dip.
The best part of sex party food are the cookies. The later parties I went to had trendier sweets like minicupcakes, which are sexy to look at and pleasing to the eye, like the lingerie of food, little fancies to get you going, but in my heart, the cookies were what I yearned for. These were always prepared by some kind of sex slave, so they were always baked extraordinarily well. This is one of things I adore about the leather community. Submissives made the best cookies and I think about those treats and I would happily turn up at anyone’s dungeon if the slaves were doing the baking.