Sunday Morning Questions: Group Sex Edition

A few of my readers, in this week's entry entitled "The Rule" about the three-way I recently had, wondered about other so-called rules that seem to arise in group sex situations.

Frequent contributor Saab, for example, wondered aloud if the first rule of a three-way was Don't do a three-way unless you would do the one you're less into, by himself. And it's a valid point. Walking into a situation in which you find one of the participants incredibly unattractive is simply setting the group dynamic up for failure. It's kinder for everyone if you're able to pay more or less equal attention to both the other players. (I'm assuming here that everyone's all male, or if it's a mixed-sex gathering, everyone's bi. If you've got a three-way with two straight men and a woman, it's perfectly acceptable for the two straight men not to want to bang each other, and for the lucky woman to get all the lovin'.)

I replied to Saab that for the encounter with Chase and Art, I broke one of my own three-way rules, which runs a little like, I won't do a three-way or group unless I'm personally acquainted with one of the other men involved. I kind of like the confidence of knowing at least one man in the group who would be able to give me a general indication of whether his buddy is going to find me attractive enough to make the encounter work. Likewise, I hope he'd remember my tastes and be able to assure me I was going to enjoy myself with both of them. The vetting process isn't foolproof, but it works a lot of the time—plus it helps me feel like less of an outsider.

With those guys, I just drove on up there without knowing either of them. It worked, and worked well. But that's kind of rare.

And finally, another reader wondered what the rules were with groups of more than three. I find that the dynamics there change based on the number of people involved. In a group of four, even if all the men are playing in the same room or even on the same bed, they tend to pair off into two pairs. Those pairs might be changing all the time, but it still feels like you're having several one-on-one sessions in rapid succession. In a group of five, I've noticed there always tends to be a three-way going on, and a couple going at it off to the side.

In larger groups still, there's still smaller clusters of people. There are paired-off guys, and smaller groups within the large. Everything's always shifting, and sometimes there are some group circle-jerks or circle-sucks going on, but what I tend to notice is that there will be two men fucking over here, another two over there, and a clump of three having fun in the corner. It's human nature to keep the interactions small and manageable, even within a group of twenty or more.

But what about bukkake scenes and gang-bangs? I hear someone asking. Well, I've never seen a bukkake group for real, ever. Maybe it happens, but I just assumed it was one of those porn things that people fantasize about but has little basis in everyday practice. Gang-bangs happen, and I've been to them. But that dynamic is usually clearly established beforehand; the guys know what's happening. The bottom knows what's happening. Anyone who steps outside the boundaries is usually reprimanded.

Left to their own devices, people tend to fuck in as small as configurations as possible . . . even when it seems they're crowding a bed or a floor or a playroom together. That's just how it seems to me.

If anyone else has any more group 'rules' or tendencies they've noticed, share them in the comments!

And in the meantime, let's get to some questions from formspring.me.


Did your family play cards at home when you were young? Do they still?

My family played bridge every Saturday night for years, starting when I was about ten. My parents were both bridge fiends during their college years. They were so certain that if I became a cut-throat player of contract bridge, my popularity in college would know no bounds.

When I got to college, of course, I was indeed a cut-throat bridge player. But absolutely no one in a college dormitory had played bridge since the Kennedy administration, so I had to be content with keeping my initials at the top of the Crystal Castles machine down at the Tinee Giant convenience store across the road from my dorm.

In Michigan, no one played any card games save for euchre, which I dislike. I'm adept at a lot of other card games, though, from pinochle to hearts to spades to bridge to my personal favorite, canasta.


Do you have a favorite candy bar?

Yes. Bit-O-Honey.

These are more candy than candy bar, but lately I have become addicted to Chimes Ginger Chews. My god, are those things good.


Would you ever bottom again? Do you think men who bottom are less masculine?

My first impulse is always going to be to top. However, I never say never—I wish I got more offers to explore my versatile side, but they aren't exactly flooding my inbox.

And no, I don't think that men who bottom are less masculine. It takes two guys to fuck; a top is pretty much useless without a bottom to meet his needs. Besides, I know a hell of a lot of masculine bottoms who'd rightfully kick the sorry ass of anyone who'd dare to suggest they were less manly for being on the receiving end.


Do you have any food preferences that are identifiably southern?

I have a weakness for a good pulled pork sandwich. Also, at Thanksgiving, I have a distinct preference for a Southern cornbread dressing over a traditional stuffing, and for pecan pie or sweet potato pie over pumpkin. (I have excellent recipes for all those.)

My mother was a good cook when I was growing up—my father not so much—but I inherited from her a box full of recipe cards that belonged both to her and to her mother, that typify what I think of as Southern Church Cooking. Everything involves cans of soup, boxes of processed food, or tins of un-fresh vegetables. So there'll be a casserole made out of a box of au gratin potatoes, canned meat, and a Campbell's, topped off with crushed potato chips. Or one I remember vividly, a layered casserole of frozen tater tots, frozen onion rings, hamburger, and cream of mushroom soup. A lot of the stuff I cooked when I was in my teens and twenties was of that nature—I could work wonders with a protein and a box of Rice-a-Roni—but as I grew older I realized how fresh foods and simpler preparations were a lot tastier and healthier. So I don't do Southern Church Cooking any more. (Okay. Much.)

I do watch shows like Honey Boo Boo, in which they make spaghetti sauce from catsup and hot water, and think, "There but for the grace of god. . . ."


How would you react if a kid of yours decided s/he was going to have a sex change operation?

I know it's difficult for anyone to come out to his or her family as trans. Harder than coming out as gay or bi, and that's often difficult enough. Even in this day and age we assume that gender identity, particularly of people in our families or whom we know, is an unchanging thing. Having that assumption challenged is always a rattling event.

So while I might be initially jolted if something like this were to occur, I hope I'd be supportive; there's more to a person than what clothes he wears and how high or low his voice is. Those kinds of things are mere details. I'd hope that any family member of mine would know that I'd love them no matter what their ultimate gender.


Do you have any memories of Jack Wrangler from the '70s or '80s? What do you think of him, in the pantheon of porn stars of that era?

I was aware of Jack Wrangler's name in the early eighties, but it wasn't until the middle of that decade that I had my first exposure to porn of any kind and actually saw him. I had a pornographic magazine that had Wrangler in one of its layouts—probably the hottest layout in there, if I remember correctly.

The thing I remember most about that magazine, though, was that the text accompanying the story was so lurid and badly written that I could never get a charge from the photos themselves, because the terrible ellipsis-laden text was that distracting. It read something like:

"His love shaft . . . his slick stick . . . his penis d'amor . . . stiff . . . turgid . . . was hard as baked Alaska and filled with more cream . . . baby batter . . . hot SPERM . . . ."

Pages of that crap. Very distracting!

I saw Wrangler: Anatomy of an Icon when it came out a few years back and thought it was a great documentary. I highly recommend it as a look at an era.