Hoping their good mood would rub off on me, I chatted them up. They were all employees of the space, rather than employees of a catering company or Killing Kittens itself, but surprisingly, they said sex parties were common at the venue. Then Buddy and I hit an all-night diner to shake off the orgy before going back to his place for some good old-fashioned, one-on-one copulation, no finance bros or Danny DeVito lookalikes in sight. They seemed to be the only other non-serious couple there, so we bonded immediately. The bar was stocked with oysters, cheese, strawberries, and grapes. I was there as a guest like everyone else. Further complicating the name issue is the gender issue. Twenty-four hours before the party, Killing Kittens sent us an email with the secret location of the party and a list of rules.
Further complicating the name issue is the gender issue. I was in the lobby with Buddy, a man who looked like Vito from The Sopranos , and a woman who seemed too beautiful to be with him for free. This seemed inauspicious, to say the least. They are exploratory with each other. Given the absence of sound, I wondered if anyone even came. My behavior was affecting the party. Later in the night, I watch her orally pleasure a young blond girl with fake eyelashes on a silver ottoman. Cellphones are prohibited and must be checked at the door. The high-level membership is currently limited to just 11 men and one woman, ranging from Grammy-winning musicians to successful businessmen, according to Lawner. Shortly after breaking that barrier, we were approached by a couple who both looked like Danny DeVito. They had me down as a single, not a couple. This time, I guessed there were probably too many prude journalists altering the inhibition level. So much for female pleasure. The party tried to straddle the line between classy and upscale and seedy, barely legal, naughty fun. When the bartender somehow recognized them, Buddy and I snuck away. Then Buddy and I hit an all-night diner to shake off the orgy before going back to his place for some good old-fashioned, one-on-one copulation, no finance bros or Danny DeVito lookalikes in sight. The sex was fairly tame. From the street, it could easily have been offices or an apartment building. Buddy and I briefly tried to join in, but neither of us was feeling very sexy. But last Saturday night, for a few hours, I became one. I had a decision to make: It was so quiet you could have heard a pube drop. We were expected to be attracted to people wearing masks. All parties have a masquerade theme, and while masks are required for entry, many take them off inside. Buddy not his real name and I had already hooked up. They said they had in Paris and were glad Killing Kittens had started up so close to home. Buddy and I whispered to each other between fondles, making jokes to ease how unsexy we felt.
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