When you fall in love with a Guy you meet at this drug infested orgy, and you only ever get to see him at drug infested orgies, and the only time you get to be with him is when both your highs are way above the legal limit, the only real relationship sprouting from that scenario is your relationship with reality.
My reality was as follows:
I fell in love with Guy #168 at this orgy this one time. He embodied the youth I had lost to a closet. My wish was not only to be by his side at orgies, but also to become friends without the nakedness of others. I wanted to get to know Guy #168 sober and find out he was the amazing Guy I fell in love with when we were both high.
I quickly got frustrated by the fact I could only ever meet him at orgies. The reason for this was simple: he had little to no interest in meeting me outside of this cocoon where gay orgies take place.
So I opted to believe an alternative reality, or as it’s commonly called: a fantasy.
My strategy for getting closer to Guy #168 was to chase a mirage I had created for myself: I searched the horizon for faint clues of him being madly in love with me, whilst ignoring the reality that was only apparent when I wasn’t high.
While high, I could easily fit every word, whisper, sigh, eye contact or even absence of contact into the narrative I wanted to believe: that, at least on some level, Guy #168 was into me and shared my feelings, that I was on his mind as much as he was on mine, and that he too wanted nothing more than to get to know the real me, that he too was aching to be with me on occasions that were not just orgies.
So when I ran into Guy #168 at this orgy again one day, it struck me as odd he arrived on the scene in the company of another Guy, an amazingly good looking one I instantly felt didn’t fit my preciously twisted narrative.
Part of me couldn’t blame Guy #168: the Guy that accompanied him was one of the hottest people I had ever seen in my life. One might even say he was hotter than Guy #168 himself.
Of course Guy #168 preferring someone even hotter than him didn’t fit my fantasy one bit, so I decided not to like his friend, regardless of how good looking and annoyingly charming he was.
As much as I tried not to give this Guy who was stealing my thunder any attention, it was all but impossible to pursue Guy #168 and ignore his friend at the same time. They were pretty much inseparable.
Then came the moment I was on my knees giving Guy #168 a blowjob, with his hot friend lined up next to him. I found myself in the awkward position of more or less having to perform oral on one of the most beautiful Guys I had ever seen and resenting every second of it.
So I went down on Guy #168 and his companion, making the latter Guy #206.
Orgy culture being what it is I should’ve felt blessed to be able to get my hands on someone as gorgeous as Guy #206, but my crush on Guy #168 rendered me jealous above anything else.
My guess is Guy #206 felt my resentment. I considered him the competition after all.
When you give a Guy a blowjob and your heart’s not in it, that tends to be noticeable. I was orally obligating my way through Guy #206 while being heartbroken over the fact he was kissing Guy #168 at the same time. The very act of giving it to Guy #206 shattered the reality I so much wanted to believe.
The chemistry to turn our gathering into a real threesome was lacking. I simply couldn’t bring myself to like Guy #206, and seeing him with Guy #168 only paralyzed me and what sexuality I had to offer.
So instead of focusing on the sex, I deemed it wise to show off my amazing sense of humor:
“So tell me, where do your parents think you are right now?” I asked Guy #206 mid-blowjob, showing him that what I lacked in looks I made up for in wit.
Sadly, neither Guy #168 nor #206 seemed to understand why on Earth someone would bring up the subject of parents during a blowjob, at an orgy.
What little eroticism we shared quickly dissolved in my attempt at being funny.
Guy #168 and #206 went away to be with other people, leaving me to fend for my own groove.
Instead of shifting my attention to other Guys, I could only quietly spy on Guy #168 and how he was giving all his attention to his friend, flaunting him in ways I had never been flaunted.
Even though I found myself in a house with about 30 horny homos, all open for business, I couldn’t get myself to strike up the slightest bond with any of them. My entire self confidence had become dependent on Guy #168. Without him validating my presence, I felt like a weird outsider.
Seeing Guy #168 living up the orgy lifestyle with Guy #206 and excluding me from it, I grew faintly suspicious that maybe, just maybe, Guy #168 didn’t see in me the man of his dreams.
It wasn’t exactly the reality I wanted to have a relationship with, so I quickly went through the 5 stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, sadness and more drugs.
The drugs, in this case a tender mix of XTC, GHB, ketamine, 2C-B, weed and the occasional laughing gas allowed me to cling to the reality I had come for, to believe that Guy #168 was into me and my awesomeness.
Little did I realize I was constantly testing my reality, and with it Guy #168’s patience, by demanding attention from him, constantly killing his groove by imposing mine. I noticed he was appreciating my presence less and less, which I remedied by forcing more of me into his personal space. We were at an orgy after all. He was someone who had given me attention this one time. I had given him and his way too attractive friend an amicable blowjob earlier.
While I was slightly aware of the fact I was pissing off Guy #168 in ever increasing dosages, I couldn’t get myself to back off. The drugs had lowered my inhibitions and any form of self control was now out the window: I just wanted to be with Guy #168 and relive the high we shared at our first orgy together.
I guess I never stopped to think that drugs can bring out the worst in you when you can’t accept your relationship with reality.
Whenever I saw Guy #168 and his Guy #206, I would join their company, only for them to leave my presence as quickly as they could. At the time I thought my avances were subtle. Sure I could see Guy #168 and #206 rolling their eyes each time I appeared, I could see them whispering about me behind my back, I knew my hotness was declining with every bit they saw of me, but in my reality Guy #168 was into me.
If all of this is confusing to you, try having a go at it with six different drugs coursing through your system.
To simplify, I kept coming on to a Guy who treated his own space as if it was his to own. And the more he pushed me away, the harder I tried.
Cut to Guy #168 and #206 getting cosy with a third Guy. It hurt to see it transpire right in front of me: in a house filled with Guy #168 and 30 other Guys, I wasn’t even his second choice!
I suppose the potent mix of insecurity, denial and drugs convinced me it would be a good idea to impose myself once more, to turn a threesome without me into a foursome in which I would claim top billing.
So I did.
Or at least I tried to.
I sat down behind Guy #168 and his two friends and started massaging his shoulders, to which he responded with a deep, resonating sigh. Guy #206 started breathing angrily, no doubt pissed off at me for spending all my time trying to hit on Guy #168 at his expense.
A few seconds into my attempt Guy #168, #206 and their newfound friend got up and walked away, clearly not wanting to be with me.
This is painful I thought, but the drugs weighed it as one would a distant siren at night. I didn’t yet realize I was the one in pain.
So I went in pursuit of Guy #168, #206 and their hook-up. I rejoined them as they were smoking a cigarette. When I did, their annoyance had been replaced by disdain. I had pushed them to the point where they could no longer be polite.
As a result, they no longer made the effort to uphold my reality, instead exposing it for the fantasy it had always been.
It was the moment it hit me. Seemingly out of the blue reality washed over me, with me unable to hold on to my narrative, unable to escape what was real:
Guy #168 maybe kind of liked me, but I wasn’t special to him. Nothing about my behavior was subtle or sexy. I was being obnoxious, sad, clingy and worst of all, I was unwillingly revealing my true feelings. And in doing so I had been rejected from a threesome. I had exposed myself, my needy ego and my naked self, and all three were scoffed at, at an orgy.
The embarrassment flooded me to the point that I froze. I found myself in front of someone I was madly in love with who kind of liked me when I kept my distance, accompanied by Guy #206, who was getting really tired of having to constantly fend off my bad intentions toward him, and their friend, who no doubt thought I was sad. It was like hearing that distant siren at night and suddenly realizing it’s coming for you.
As before, Guy #168, #206 and their friend fled the scene to not be with me. Only this time I was too overcome by sadness to pursue them.
I secluded myself to a mattress of sorts, surrounded by people who were having sex. I lay down on my stomach, my eyes hiding in my arms, and cried, at an orgy.
A lot of questions went through what was left of my mind as I hid my tears:
Why did I do anything as stupid as revealing my true self to someone I loved?
Why is my true self such a far cry from the Guy I want to be?
Can I ever face Guy #168 again?
Can the people sharing my mattress see I’m crying?
How did I manage to find myself in a house with countless attractive Guys and not have any fun?
How can I ache for sexual freedom and be consumed by jealousy at the same time?
Isn’t XTC supposed to make you happy?
Then why am I crying at an orgy?
Eventually I fell asleep, at that point the only escape from reality left at my disposal.
When I woke up a few hours later Guy #168 and #206 had gone.
I was left feeling sad, embarrassed and hurt, at an orgy that was still ongoing.
So I did what any wise Guy on drugs would do.
I went on the rebound. Plenty of Guys to choose from after all.
I chose Guy #207. And in case you’re wondering how that went, you should read about him in my next story: The horrible aftermath of that time I cried at an orgy.
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