What I Learned at My First Orgy

I know. The title makes it sounds like a third-grader's report on her trip to the planetarium. But you know, except for the third-grader part, it was sort of like that.

And I thought you might be interested to hear the story. I mean, who doesn't like a good orgy story?

My very first orgy happened when I was in college. Surprise, surprise. I call it my first orgy, but in a sense it was my only orgy: I've been to a decent number of sex parties since, but this was my only "puppy pile of bodies commingling more or less indiscriminately" that we tend to think of as a classic, Capital O-Orgy.

It happened more or less spontaneously. Or at least without any planning on my part. My boyfriend and I were hanging out on the steps of the student union, when these three girls came up to us, said they were putting together an orgy and asked if we wanted to join them. The girls were sort of renowned on campus for being what I would now call "sex-positive bi-dykes" but didn't have a term for back then (hi, ladies, I still remember you fondly; if any of you are reading this, drop me a line) ... and it only took a couple of seconds for me and my boyfriend to arrive at an enthusiastic yes.

They said they needed a couple/few more people and asked if we could round up anybody. So I raced off to one of my best friends and spent half an hour unsuccessfully trying to convince him that the obviously most sensible action would be for him to blow off studying for his big math test and come to the orgy instead. (I was arguing that in 20 years he'd never remember the math test, but would always regret having passed on an opportunity for an orgy. An argument I still stand by.) Alas, my rhetorical skills failed me; so I finally gave up on my friend and headed back to the dorm room where the festivities were being held.

There is nothing quite like walking into a dorm room with six naked people having sex together in a pile on the floor. Especially when one of them is your boyfriend. I had a brief moment of -- well, "shock" is too strong a word, let's call it "sudden adjustment" or "category error" -- as the reality of the situation was rather crudely borne in on me. Then I decided, "What the fuck, this is what I'm here for," hurriedly shucked my clothes and joined in.

And I learned two very important life lessons: lessons that stay with me to this day.

Important Life Lesson Number One: I really and truly do like having sex with other women.

I'd known that I had sexual feelings about women for a long, long time. But apart from some childish experiments that could only be considered borderline sex at most, I'd never done anything about it, except swipe my dad's Playboys and fantasize nonstop. I'd been calling myself "bisexual" ever since I'd heard the word (at about age 12); but I also couldn't really be sure that the word was accurate.

I had serious Nancy Friday My Secret Garden damage and had been persuaded that having fantasies about something doesn't mean you really want to do it. Even when you have said fantasies constantly, every hour of every day, and have had them for years. (Note to Ms. Friday: No, having sex fantasies doesn't necessarily mean you want to do that thing in real life ... but it sure as hell means that sometimes.)

This orgy was the first time I had actual, unquestionable sex with another woman. The first time, to put it crudely, that I put my tongue on another woman's pussy. And the moment I put my tongue on that other woman's pussy (hi there, L., if you're reading, I remember you, too, and very fondly indeed), my core sexual self-identity was transformed from "woman who has fantasies about other women but isn't sure what that means in her real life" to "dyke." It took no time at all. Tongue hovering above the pussy, not so sure; tongue on the pussy, dyke.