Amateur Orgie
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Amateur Orgie
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February 24, 2020 at 11:00am AM EST
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Believe me: I did not start out my pregnancy intending to go to an orgy . I didn’t even start out that evening intending to go to an orgy. I had never participated in an orgy before, and if you’d asked me at the time, I probably would have found the idea overwhelming. I’d been in a few threesomes , and even three bodies was almost too many to keep track of.
But I did sometimes go to kissing parties. Yes, there are parties where the express purpose is to kiss people. They’re delightful. It’s like being back at college, but with less vomiting.
I’ll admit I don’t remember the exact thought process that led me to go to a kissing party while I was pregnant , but I bet it was something like this: Pregnancy made me horny . I loved how I looked with my baby bump when I took my long hair down, and I felt sexy as hell. I’m also a big believer in taking advantage of unique life experiences whenever they present themselves, so when I found myself both pregnant and single, it just seemed logical to go out into the world and seek out fun, sexy encounters that would make for good stories later.
So my friend Didi and I found ourselves at a kissing party in the upstairs area of a trendy downtown bar chatting up a guy wearing Virgin Mary pants. (Just to be clear, “Virgin Mary pants” does mean “pants covered with the image of the Virgin Mary.”) We’ll call him Pablo. Pablo was sexy and a good kisser and owned a string of hotels in Argentina or something. When he found out that I was pregnant, he suddenly snapped to attention: “Wow, I’ve always had a fantasy about having sex with a pregnant woman.”
Cut to the end of the kissing party. The bar is closing down. Pablo, Didi and I have both made out with a lot of people by this point. Pablo takes me aside and says, “Hey, if you and Didi want to keep hanging out, there’s a bunch of us going to my loft a couple blocks from here, you know. There’s a hot tub on the roof… you guys want to come?”
Pregnant women are not supposed to go in hot tubs. I did not know that. I just heard the words “hot tub on the roof” and immediately said yes. Again, I’m a big believer in taking advantage of unique life experiences when they present themselves. How could I turn down such an auspicious invitation?
So it’s me, Pablo, Didi, Pablo’s friend Cassie (a reiki practitioner) and a couple we’ll call Rob and Emma. We get to Pablo’s loft, and, like… I guess the hotel business in Argentina is a pretty good gig, because this place was ridiculous. It was huge even by non-New York City standards, exquisitely decorated, everything was automated and so on. And yes, there was a hot tub on the roof. (We didn’t go in. It was cold. This was in March or something.)
Didi and I were awestruck. As struggling theater artists, we both just aspired to live in apartments with windows that didn’t look out directly onto brick walls. We stood on the staircase together giggling in shock: “Dude, fuck art! Look at this place!”
Pablo thought I looked so nice with my pregnant belly in my red dress, he asked if he could take my picture, and I said yes.
Then the six of us all convened in a room called “the soft room.” The soft room is exactly what it sounds like. It’s a room that’s soft. Everything in it is soft. The floor is basically one big mattress. It’s the ideal room for napping, having a tantrum or — let’s just say — group sex.
So Pablo, Didi and I all started kissing. Around this point is when I started thinking, “All right, Pablo, take it easy on the pregnancy-fetish thing.” He was obsessed with my naked pregnant body, at one point actually saying the words, “Mmm, pregnant boobies.” I am not making that up; that’s literally a thing that he said.
Enter Rob, gorgeous Rob, who I don’t remember saying a single word before that point, though I know he must have. But Rob and I ended up in a corner of our own, where he went down on me for about a year. Rob was good at what he did. Like, he might have been a sex robot. I have no idea how many orgasms I had, but it was a sizable number. Every now and then I looked over at our cohorts: Pablo doing Didi from behind or Cassie doing Emma with a strap-on. They were beautifully lit up by the fireplace and obviously having a wonderful time, but Rob and I were in our own little world.
Eventually, he decided that was the end of that, and after I gave him the thank-you kiss to end all thank-you kisses, went to go check on Emma. I was honestly a bit sad about that. I wanted to pay this guy back like it was my job — or, you know, at least cuddle. “Call me,” I wanted to say (but I did not).
I went to the bathroom and took a breather, and once I’d gotten some space from the soft room, I realized that what I actually wanted was to go home. I didn’t particularly want Pablo to turn his attention back to my “pregnant boobies” — I wanted to come down from this bizarre evening. I went out to the soft room and saw to my relief that Didi was starting to get dressed. So I got dressed with her.
When I said goodbye to Pablo, he asked, “Can we just have sex real quick before you go?”
I said no, and he expressed his disappointment: “Having sex with a pregnant woman is my one fantasy I haven’t done yet.” I said we would totally have sex sometime. (I lied.) And Didi and I got into his elevator and left.
Even though it was kind of icky to have my body fetishized like that and even though my interaction with Rob left me a little lonely, I am so glad that I went to an orgy while I was pregnant.
It was incredibly important to me to keep being who I was and living my life, even as another life grew inside of me. To keep experiencing pleasure as my body underwent transformations, to keep exploring the world in all its strangeness and beauty. To say, “This pregnancy does not define me, and I’m going to keep showing up for adventure and delight.” So that’s exactly what I did.
A version of this story was originally published in September 2017.
If you’re not quite in the orgy market (yet) but are looking for a way to spice up your prenatal sex life, here are our best picks for pregnancy-friendly sex toys .
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February 24, 2020 at 11:00am AM EST
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Believe me: I did not start out my pregnancy intending to go to an orgy . I didn’t even start out that evening intending to go to an orgy. I had never participated in an orgy before, and if you’d asked me at the time, I probably would have found the idea overwhelming. I’d been in a few threesomes , and even three bodies was almost too many to keep track of.
But I did sometimes go to kissing parties. Yes, there are parties where the express purpose is to kiss people. They’re delightful. It’s like being back at college, but with less vomiting.
I’ll admit I don’t remember the exact thought process that led me to go to a kissing party while I was pregnant , but I bet it was something like this: Pregnancy made me horny . I loved how I looked with my baby bump when I took my long hair down, and I felt sexy as hell. I’m also a big believer in taking advantage of unique life experiences whenever they present themselves, so when I found myself both pregnant and single, it just seemed logical to go out into the world and seek out fun, sexy encounters that would make for good stories later.
So my friend Didi and I found ourselves at a kissing party in the upstairs area of a trendy downtown bar chatting up a guy wearing Virgin Mary pants. (Just to be clear, “Virgin Mary pants” does mean “pants covered with the image of the Virgin Mary.”) We’ll call him Pablo. Pablo was sexy and a good kisser and owned a string of hotels in Argentina or something. When he found out that I was pregnant, he suddenly snapped to attention: “Wow, I’ve always had a fantasy about having sex with a pregnant woman.”
Cut to the end of the kissing party. The bar is closing down. Pablo, Didi and I have both made out with a lot of people by this point. Pablo takes me aside and says, “Hey, if you and Didi want to keep hanging out, there’s a bunch of us going to my loft a couple blocks from here, you know. There’s a hot tub on the roof… you guys want to come?”
Pregnant women are not supposed to go in hot tubs. I did not know that. I just heard the words “hot tub on the roof” and immediately said yes. Again, I’m a big believer in taking advantage of unique life experiences when they present themselves. How could I turn down such an auspicious invitation?
So it’s me, Pablo, Didi, Pablo’s friend Cassie (a reiki practitioner) and a couple we’ll call Rob and Emma. We get to Pablo’s loft, and, like… I guess the hotel business in Argentina is a pretty good gig, because this place was ridiculous. It was huge even by non-New York City standards, exquisitely decorated, everything was automated and so on. And yes, there was a hot tub on the roof. (We didn’t go in. It was cold. This was in March or something.)
Didi and I were awestruck. As struggling theater artists, we both just aspired to live in apartments with windows that didn’t look out directly onto brick walls. We stood on the staircase together giggling in shock: “Dude, fuck art! Look at this place!”
Pablo thought I looked so nice with my pregnant belly in my red dress, he asked if he could take my picture, and I said yes.
Then the six of us all convened in a room called “the soft room.” The soft room is exactly what it sounds like. It’s a room that’s soft. Everything in it is soft. The floor is basically one big mattress. It’s the ideal room for napping, having a tantrum or — let’s just say — group sex.
So Pablo, Didi and I all started kissing. Around this point is when I started thinking, “All right, Pablo, take it easy on the pregnancy-fetish thing.” He was obsessed with my naked pregnant body, at one point actually saying the words, “Mmm, pregnant boobies.” I am not making that up; that’s literally a thing that he said.
Enter Rob, gorgeous Rob, who I don’t remember saying a single word before that point, though I know he must have. But Rob and I ended up in a corner of our own, where he went down on me for about a year. Rob was good at what he did. Like, he might have been a sex robot. I have no idea how many orgasms I had, but it was a sizable number. Every now and then I looked over at our cohorts: Pablo doing Didi from behind or Cassie doing Emma with a strap-on. They were beautifully lit up by the fireplace and obviously having a wonderful time, but Rob and I were in our own little world.
Eventually, he decided that was the end of that, and after I gave him the thank-you kiss to end all thank-you kisses, went to go check on Emma. I was honestly a bit sad about that. I wanted to pay this guy back like it was my job — or, you know, at least cuddle. “Call me,” I wanted to say (but I did not).
I went to the bathroom and took a breather, and once I’d gotten some space from the soft room, I realized that what I actually wanted was to go home. I didn’t particularly want Pablo to turn his attention back to my “pregnant boobies” — I wanted to come down from this bizarre evening. I went out to the soft room and saw to my relief that Didi was starting to get dressed. So I got dressed with her.
When I said goodby
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