So I went to a sex party…

Yes you read that correct. I went to my very first sex party organized by the Organ House and recorded the whole experience. Audio that is. Confession: I’ve been to a sex club before so I knew this wouldn’t be SHOCKING, but what made this different was that I would know some of the people there. And that’s just…awkward. My friends and I went with an open mind and I think you should hear about our experience for yourself, but here are some of my major learnings:

1. Most first timers don’t end up having sex with anyone.  But the cheese and music are orgasmic.
2. Many couples go as a form of couples therapy. As one couple said at the party, “We’re here to figure out where we want to take over relationship.”
3. Radical consent is contagious! The first time I experienced this was a woman at the party asked if she could give me a hug. It made me pause and think about every time I should give consent or ask for consent about something I take for granted.

Give it a good listen and I’d love to hear about your first experiences at a sex/play party.

Here are some pics of the communal apparatuses found throughout the sex party:

Ask Miss Singlefied: STD testing…how to bring it up?

The best condoms as used by Japanese porn stars

That Kind of Crazy (Women) – Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell (Episode Three)

Written By: The Unsung Romantic (Continued from Episode 2)

Her Codename: Little Miss Manners

Category: Multiple Personalities, Control Freak

I call her Little Miss Manners (She’s a loaded cannon of fucktarded contradictions and will come up in future episodes). I based her name after those Little Miss books from the ’80s my sister would collect – I now associate a lot of them with grown women who carry the same peculiar traits.

What still leaves me bereft of comprehension is how well groomed her public performances, I mean appearances, were and yet how unabashedly filthy this girl was under the sheets, behind closed doors … in the back of a cab. This one was (is) a special kind of crazy and I think she represents more than a justifiable amount of women out there who believe that decorum isn’t only exercised on the floors of military galas, but in every fucking aspect of her life. That is, for everything except the bedroom. She abides by that age old sports locker room, military barracks meets Catholic church policy also known as the “don’t ask, don’t tell” motto.

Let me help you understand to what level of “don’t ask, don’t tell” Little Miss Manners executed this bipolar mantra:

The Action: Post-dinner at one of the wonderful gastronomic spots in Tribeca, we dart over to the piers to meet friends for more drinks. I’m suited up, she’s looking remarkably perfect and everyone we are schmoozing with admires no more than an occasional peck on her cheek from me. Little do they know what comes next in our timeline will deliver several sexual health violations. The cab ride to her place of work turned into a ride through Times Square where I found myself pants off, ass up and her heels in the air while Mr. Cabby thought it would be a benefit to him and the innocent tourists in the city to experience what all New Yorkers do in cabs regularly – fuck. This led to her office that officially reinforced my belief in a greater being and that porn does exist in real life … She asked for a “pearl necklace” on her office floor.

The Reaction: Jump to a couple of days later where I now feel as if I have reached a much deeper understanding of who this woman is, what she likes and how we conduct our business.

Phone call from me to her – Me:  “Hey babe. How are you? I can no longer look at a cab in the same way.”    Her: “What are you talking about?” Me: “I wonder who’s vacation photos we will end up in after the trip down great white way. Anyway, you looked beautiful the other night. And I feel bad for wrecking the office.”   Her: “Um, what are you talking about. What happened in the cab? Please don’t address my office as if it is a free for all …”  Me: “Uh, I’m just saying it was a great evening. Pearls and all.” Her: “I have a client coming in, but let’s grab dinner later! muah. bye!” 

I spent the rest of the day wondering if I dreamed the entire night. Were we that wasted? Did she not remember? Shit, maybe she didn’t like one bit of it. I was baffled. And then the craziness ensued. After multiple months of dating, intimacy and continuous porn sex, the aftermath that ensued when I casually offered a wink or at times abruptly stated my dirty approval was always received by the same amnesiatic responses:

“What do you mean?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Excuse me?”

I came to the self-conclusion that it’s possible I was either hallucinating, blacking out or simply losing my mind. That was until this convoluted illuminating sentence came out of her mouth while sitting on the couch after I gently whispered in her ear some not for Sunday school thoughts, “Shhhhhhhhhh. Stop it. Do you not understand? Don’t ask me, don’t tell me. I don’t do those things. They don’t happen. You have me confused for someone else. ” 

What came after was another fine romp in the sack and a morning break-up by me.

The question for you is this: Why? Why would I give up someone who was a lamb by day, wolf by night? Or is it lady by day, whore by night? You get the drift. We fellas spend all of our waking hours dreaming of a woman you can bring home to mom, marry and still have the ability to make YouPorn with, but is there is a limit to that multiverse. Is Little Miss Manners an example of that limit? For me, yes, but if a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy is your style then my advice is to make sure you have at least one good “girl”of a friend in life that is your acting dirty-story soundboard advocate to spill all of your guts to after the act.

Background Check: After further investigation, it was discovered that Little Miss Manners wasn’t so button-lipped after all. Thanks to her best friend (girls are so loyal), it was noted that not only were the sexcapades shared, but they were full-detailed monologues … delivered in public spaces.

Do you have a That Kind of Crazy story to share? Tell us and we’ll make you one of our next episodes.

Cheers,

The Unsung Romantic

 

 

 

Check out “Sex Diaries” in New York Magazine, real life sex stories from New Yorkers.

That Kind of Crazy (Women) – She Always Loves Two of Us (Episode Two)

Written By: The Unsung Romantic (Continued from Episode 1)

Her Codename: Kinky Double-Lover

Category: Polyamorous (See Polymory)

Maybe this is the kind of crazy you want? A girl who is admittedly convinced that it is possible to be in love with more than one guy at a time – or more. Before we summarize the story of Kinky Double-Lover (KDL), let’s always remember our task at hand with each episode: To find out what kind of crazy is just the right amount to make you want to lose your mind for her, forever. I’m not quite there yet.

So I met KDL online under the masquerade that is Match.com. I’ll be honest, online dating is a shitload of fun, if only for the sole reason that the majority of women and men patrolling the menu pages of specimens already have severe issues dating in a traditional, conventional way. I also have an underlying theory that many of the people on Match.com have severe sexual fantasies, repressions and primal needs they mask with the task of meeting your perfect match to live happily forever after with … It is possible.

The thing with a polymorous individual is that there is a constant need for attention (sexual and emotional). Most of the time, if the male grants her with both of these stimulus packages she is unable to handle what she states she wants. So, for you as the guy, you either have to be the one to fuck her or not-to-fuck her. Unless you can find the ability to role play every couple of months into both male figures.

How did it play out with Kinky Double-Lover? Within the span of a year, we met online, went on our first date and decided it be prudent to go on a second date where the inevitable happened – We had sex. Not just any sex, but the kind of sex that automatically brands this new relationship as we are only here to fuck. Then the ultimate-inevitable thing happened – she said after texting away furiously on her phone by our fourth date, “So I just broke up with my ex-boyfriend … ” “What do you think?” This is where I first thought as the alpha-male that I was so damn good I made this girl break up with her boyfriend, which was instantly followed by me saying, “What boyfriend?” and “So, what do you want me to do now?” What I learned was that apparently she loved the way we fuck and the taste of my dick so much more than anyone before (a line she had rehearsed very well, with very many).

But here is the real truth as we fast forward one year into the future …

Over the span of twelve months, KDL broke up with me twice, said she loved me twice, got back together with me twice and at the 10th month anniversary, broke up with me a third time after an impromptu trip to Italy just after Christmas all because she was now madly in love with my Italian counterpart who had a similar name, similar job, similar age, was an ex-boyfriend and best of all – had a similar fucking-style. So similar that in a surprise email via Facebook from my arch nemesis, I found out that she had professed her love for him and me in a very convoluted double-life she was living by telling us exactly word for word these beautifully recited lines, “No one fucks my ass like you. No one. God, I love you. I could marry you.” Here is the best thing we found out after joining forces in a cooperative investigation – When KDL was saying I love you to him, she was asking me to throw her against the wall and (fill in the blank). When that got old, she would swap our roles and we’d be the fun-loving just hang out, cuddle team who would speak of a future together while she was sex-skyping Mr. Italy.

When either one of us reminded her that we could fulfill her need to be loved and be fucked like a loveless creature at the same time (gasp), she exploded into a violent storm of denial telling the other that we did not fulfill one of those elements. So in the end, she broke up with him and then, I broke up with her, leaving her to create another paradox relationship of two guys and a girl in a galaxy far-far-away.

The thing is, KDL is the polyamorous fantasy of a girl every guy sometimes dreams of. The one that wants to just be cuddly and leave you to fucking others one month, while the next she is begging for you to fuck her until she bleeds (literally) and no one else. And the best thing is, she never, ever asked me, nor him if we had other affairs going on.

The question for you is this:  Do you have what it takes to tell your ego that cuddle-fucker is most likely now and forever in search of filling continuous separate voids of sex and love? And that no matter how good you are in bed, or how much love you profess, it will never be enough for her. She will always somehow and somewhere have another kinky double-lover hidden under the sheets. If that’s your crazy, my advice is to check your emotions at the door as hard as it may be and keep your #2, #3 and more on speed-text up until the ripe age of death.

Background Check: After further investigation, it was also revealed that polyamorous KDL is a Korean-Adoptee.  We will cover the particulars of adoptees, Korean girls and Asian girls as a whole in future stories.

Do you have a story about what your “That Kind of Crazy” is? Spill it, brother.

Cheers,

The Unsung Romantic

 

 

 

Sex Stories w/ Dick: Hope Your Fourth Was Explosive

I will admit things had slowed down somewhat for me between work and real life drama lately. I had been hanging out with a woman more and more and somehow I just couldn’t close the deal and was going to end up in just friends land. This past weekend changed it for me.

Every Fourth of July I play paintball for a number of years. I have been playing paintball off and on for awhile so I am pretty good at it. Fuck it why be modest? I am great at it and I’ve been featured in a paintball magazine or two.

Since it was Fourth of July, the paintball matches were war themed. Our referee, this cute short college sorority “I just wanna be treated like one of the guys” firecracker took us on the D-Day field. Half of us are Americans storming up this hill against the other half in four bunkers as the Germans. I am on the bottom right with three other guys. She blows the whistle and we storm Normandy. Paintballs are flying all around us, teammates are going down, and we are pinned behind cover, paralyzed in the moment of faux warfare.

I yell to the younger guys to cover me so I can get to the next part of cover. They cover me laying down a flurry of paintballs. I make it and manage to take out one enemy. I then yell to the guys to flood this side and cover one another on three. Ready! For America! 1! 2! 3! We storm the shit out of the other team wiping out all the remaining enemies. High fives and fist bumps all around. My cadre of players is formed for the day and I lead them from win to win.

The ref pulls me aside later on when we break for lunch by the equipment rentals and gives me her phone number and kisses me full court press. After my testosterone soaked gamer day of paintball, I am late and unshowered to meet my soon to become girl who is a friend. I am feeling super ballsy and confident that when we are told dinner will be an hour and and half wait at the restaurant, I make another bold move as we are leaving in possible defeat.

I jump the fence for the outdoor dining section and ask another couple if we could join them as my friend needs to eat she isn’t feeling so well. They agree and we are nom nom on some good chow without an ungodly wait. I am telling my story of p-ball glory to my girl soon to be just friends when I see it. That moment on a woman’s face when you can see she has decided she is going to fuck you. I speed through dinner and get her home in time for our own fireworks.

I’d give details but its 7:21 am and we just finished our second marathon session of sex and I have to meet this blog deadline. Plus, I might just make this one an actual girlfriend.

Who am I kidding I’m still a dick.

Sex Stories with Dick: Viva Las Vegas!

Written By: Dick Lambert

The saying is “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” unless you did what I did in Vegas and it was so terrible you just have to hear it.

My first mistake was going to Vegas for two weeks with then girlfriend Mirna. When traveling to Vegas never import your own chica. Vegas is the land of lust and honey if you have the money and should be traversed with your amigos. I had visited the city of sin numerous times, this was the first with girlfriend in tow.

Here I was with Mirna in Vegas at the Flamingo Hotel, which by the way is a great cheap hotel in the middle of everything and has one of the best pools on the strip. Mirna was without a doubt one of the most beautiful exotic dick holsters I have ever claimed repeatedly as my own. Peruvian but that not so pure Peruvian, more mixed with a little Indian. She had to one of the darkest, luscious manes of hair adorning that empty vapid creature’s head. I took every opportunity to wrap my cock up in her hair and cum all over it, not because I had some strange hair fetish but because her hair was just so stunning, she was a bit of a haughtiness to her that I liked to reduce, and I told her it was great for her hair. Mirna was beautiful like I said but she was also so very very dumb. Once, she asked with all the seriousness a four year old musters when asking daddy a question, “Dick, why do they call them buffalo wings? Buffaloes don’t have wings right?” Three things about beautiful vapid vacuous women: they love to get fucked, they will always take you back, and you will take them for granted.

The second week I was very bored of Mirna and if I cared to notice she may have been tired of my particular line of bullshit also. One night she turned in early and I hit the strip clubs. I ended up in one of my favorites off the beaten path and found Amber, a regular dancer who remembered me from previous visits. Three hundred dollars later, I am naked with Amber re-familiarizing myself with her degrees of flexibility. An hour or two later after many gin and tonics, I am back at our hotel lobby and I have the stripper stank about me. Strippers wear an obnoxious amount of perfume to mask any BO they may have, mask your disgusting scent, and lure you to lead with your cock. I needed a shower before I climbed back in bed with Mirna.

I looked for the hotel’s gym and instead locked eyes with a Lynn. Lynn was a blond soft skin doe-eyed prostitute with cold eyes that told a different style of her mercenary occupation. She says in a fake southern accent, “I saw you looking and it’s alright as long as you’re buying me (long pause) a drink.”  I asked her if she had a shower and she said no and it would have to be my room. I slur “alright.”

I quietly open the door to our hotel room and duck into the bathroom with Lynn without turning on a light. I tell Lynn we have to be quiet, my girlfriend is asleep. Lynn laughs and says if it ain’t the girlfriend or the wife then it has even been a cousin once or twice. We hurriedly disrobe and step into the shower. Lynn obliges and actually washes me and herself quickly and playfully. I struggle to get the condom on and Lynn offers her professional one handed assistance. We are intertwined in one another’s arms, our eyes locked, and it is far more intimate a scene then I am used to, even with Mirna of late. She holds my gaze and makes me pick up the pace until I cum. She cleans me off and I shut off the shower. I hear Mirna ask what I am doing right as I am about to sneak out of the shower with Lynn. Mirna asks who is it and I tell her I had to shower, I took a walk on the beach and room service brought up some towels. Lynn says in Spanish, “Thank you Mr. Lambert, have a nice evening.” I get in bed with Mirna and she comments how nice the hotel staff is. My heart is racing and Mirna notices and I tell her how much she excites me. I finish the triathlon half-assed limp, spent and exhausted clinging to Mirna.

Viva Las Vegas!

Sex Stories with Dick: Paying For It.

Written By: Dick Lambert

I am torn at times between the sentimental notions of romance put forth by today’s romcoms, my insatiable lust to fuck like a rabbit, and the stark realization that sometimes I find women too much trouble to deal with on a romantic or even lustful level. Guys, let’s all admit right here right now if there did not exist the slightest hope of fucking any woman in our deranged mind, would we actually bother speaking with them? I sometimes more than others think the answer is no.

That very reason is what has at times led me to taking part the oldest profession in the world and I am not talking about politics. Yes, there certainly is a stigma around prostitution but I don’t think it really has impacted the business, no matter the economy, men still need to get their drink on and whores.

A friend and I were going to a strip club together around Christmas. Oddly enough my friend was married at the time to a stripper. Go figure. We really have no limit to our debauchery. We stopped at a nearby ATM when two blonde Brazilian women pulled up next to us in a black open top Jeep. Using very poor broken English they asked us where the club was we were about to head to. Patricia (her real name because really who gives a fuck, she is a whore) and her friend whose name escapes me as I didn’t fuck that particular whore, both followed us.

After the club closed we followed the girls and their pimp to their brothel apartment in a convoy of sin. I got Patricia because she spoke a little broken English and the other whore only spoke Portuguese. Patricia was young, with that amazing natural tan Brazilian skin that you want to run miles on with your hands, tongue, and dick. She was petite with small tits but an amazing Brazilian ass hung on that tiny fuckable frame like a masterpiece by Gauguin.

Same quick words of wisdom on whore fucking;

1) Trust your instinct if you think she is a diseased skank, she is.

2) Don’t be afraid to slow her down and take control as it’s on your dime. She just wants to get it over with. Slow her down, it’s your hour and it’s an hour, not a race, to make you cum.

3) This is your chance to get some freak on. She likely won’t say no, at worse charge you a little more. Gain some real world fucking experience and practice on that whore.

I slowed Patricia down and put her in doggie happily slapping that delicious rotund ass around. I was fucking like Santa Claus jingling this Latina ass like the dirty little reindeer she was, too much Christmas reference? One of the best things to do with a whore is to figure her out like a the puzzle all woman are and get her to cum. You do have an hour. Patricia started moaning and I started moaning. I heard my friend in the room next to me and his girl. I also heard the pimp probably in the living room getting his lemon squeezed by some other girl. Soon enough it became a symphony of moaning, then it became a competition between the three of us, and then finally it just became comedic to us all.

I heard my friend laugh and turned to see him and his girl standing there naked making moaning sounds. He suggested she help me and Patricia out. She got on the bed and started licking my balls as I continued to pound Patricia. The pimp walked through the room, smiled at us, and grabbed a towel, completely naked, so surreal. I tried to get my hours worth but with the frantic ball licking, Patricia’s perfect ass slamming into me, the natural warmth her body gave off, and my desire to end this weird situation brought me to a satisfying climax. I got my money’s worth, all of it BS free, no drama, no craziness and maybe Patricia one day bought a house or at least got herself some English lessons.

Singlefied does not advocate prostitution and asks you to respect your state laws.

Sex Stories with Dick: The Crime Scene

Written By: Dick Lambert

Roxy had an annoying roommate who was always home and I had at the time a roommate who smelled like cheese. The roommate dilemma left Roxy and me with romps around the office in the copy room, on the conference table, in the break room, and after happy hour we would rent a hotel room for sex. One night, though, our usual fuck session went a little different.

Roxy was riding the red tide, had her friend, the curse, Aunt Flo was visiting, yes, she had her period. This wouldn’t stop our weekly ritual of fornicating on the sheets of the local hotel. Roxy was a lusty and sultry Latin woman who had this delicious tanned olive skin and hips that had to be the most dangerous curves I had ever driven upon.

She had complained about not feeling very well. I knew something wasn’t right when I was taking her from behind on the bed and instead of the usual flesh slapping noises, I heard a more squish squish sounding noise. My cock also felt like a thermometer in the mouth of someone with a 110 fever. I looked down at what is usually one of my most favorite sights, Roxy’s ass cheeks backing up into me while minute ripples play across her skin. I instead saw a lot of blood on my cock and all around me.

I paused for a moment and pulled out. This made a pretty sickening sound that would have given a lesser man pause. The biggest, deepest red blood clot followed after my cock and plopped onto the mattress. Roxy urged me to continue as it was making her feel better.

I, of course, always the gentlemen continued with much earnest. The more I pumped Roxy the more blood that gushed everywhere, on me, on her, and on the sheets. My knees now were covered in blood as it just pooled on the over-soaked sheets. Finally she came. She was still bleeding and now I was a little worried. We used up all the extra sheets, blankets, and towels in the room. The room looked like a crime scene from CSI.

Roxy wanted nothing more then to get out of there so we split leaving behind this destroyed pile of linen and towels for the poor maid to clean up. I left a big tip for the maid and scribbled “Sorry!” on some paper. I fully expected at some time to either get a dry cleaners bill from the hotel or a call from a detective asking me to come down to the station for some questioning.

Sex Stories with Dick: ASL (American Sex Language)

Written By: Dick Lambert

I was at a local club for an early morning DJ set from one of my favorite DJs.  There was immediately one woman who caught my attention. She had short brown hair in a cute bob style, a pacifier, little daisy duke shorts, and a spaghetti tank top with a unicorn on it. Filling the tank top were wonderfully small tits and perky nipples looking to escape. Susan was her name and she was certainly enjoying the moment as she was sitting on a big woofer speaker. Usually, when I go dancing it is for the music and to dance, not so much to pick anyone up. This time was different.

I approached Susan and offered her a bottle of cold water. The cold water offer is an awesome ice breaker because it’s not alcohol and doesn’t scream I want to get you sloppy drunk and do unspeakable things to your hot tight lithe body. The water bottle move says “hey it’s hot in here and I thought you might like something refreshing, aren’t I a swell guy.”

She readily accepted the water bottle and signed to me “thank you.” I don’t know sign language but I figured she said thanks. I made a cute little bow to her and said how much I love this club. She nodded and pointed at the DJ and said she was a huge fan of his. I agreed and also learned she could read lips, which was great because she was literally sitting on the woofer speaker and all the bass was being channeled through her body and into my ears.

We ended up dancing for the entire DJ set, getting ourselves worked up. She told me she loved anything techno because she could feel the music. I took her to her apartment and that’s when we got freaky.

Susan kept the music on loud and blindfolded me. She wanted me to experience a heightened sense of touch without my eyesight. She loved rubbing my dick all over her and I’d have to guess what part she was rubbing my dick on. If I guessed right, she rewarded me a lick on my dick’s head or a quick slip into her warm pussy. This carried on for as long as I could take it, until I took the blindfold off and picked her up and backed her against the wall. I tried to keep a good rhythm to the music. I’m not sure what got into me, maybe the naughtiness of her sensory deprivation game, but I started talking really dirty to her.

Usually when you are first with someone, you slowly test the waters and gradually escalate the dirty pillow talk, until you reach their acceptable raunch level. I was really into it, saying all sort of nearly vulgar things, like “can you hear me pounding your pussy?  I can hear how wet your pussy is, you whore.” Then suddenly, she slapped me hard in the face! This wasn’t a playful slap, this was a slap that brought me to a stop. She then said, “hey dummy I may be deaf but I can still read your lips, and hear most of what you are saying, so roll it back a little.”

I did as I was told and we finished together on the next song.

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(Sorta) Sex Stories with Dick: Every Dog Has His Day!

Written By: Dick Lambert

“Every dog has his day” is an old saying originating from Shakespeare’s Hamlet “Let Hercules himself do what he may; The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.” Now, never say you didn’t learn anything reading my posts.

One particular day I was bringing around my trophy girlfriend Christina to watch football with my friends. I had no other motive than to show her off. Christina was a wonderfully vapid, voluptuous and wonderful tart. Long curly springy blond hair that seemed to dance teasingly around her plunging neckline. She had two wonderfully full scoops of vanilla ice cream breasts that she adored showing off. Yes, and for once they were real! Nice long legs sculptured from time at the gym and an outrageously black short skirt which she would happily have to maintain throughout our stay a dollop of demureness. Please do note that I flaunted Christina around not out of arrogance but to inspire.

Just as I was putting ass to seat, cracking open my first beer, and completely prepared to watch some football and my friends drool over Christina, in comes my friend’s huge akido dog named Hiro. Christina is bending down to reach her drink on the coffee table, more a curtsy bow than anything. Hiro without missing a mark bounds into the living room and knocks Christina on all fours and mounts her.

Hiro goes from zero to sixty in milliseconds and is madly humping away on my date. Christina at first is dumbfounded, then she yells to get him off of her. Only, we can’t as we are paralyzed by the shocking sight of Hiro humping Christina with total abandonment. Then collectively we realize the dog is in such throes of ecstasy that to interrupt could risk one pulling back a stump instead of a hand. Christina is trying to crawl away but Hiro is secured fast around her hips going to town. I can’t do anything but laugh and luckily Hiro’s owner quickly regains perspective and rips Hiro away from his passionate lovemaking.

Christina, embarrassed, pulls down her skirt and as red as I have ever seen anyone, commands me to take her home. I comply of course, missing the game. Christina breaks up with me because I didn’t do anything but laugh.

We at Singlefied do not condone bestiality; we do believe that if you keep reading Singlefied you will have your day and hopefully days, you dog!

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