I've been to more than a few orgy's in my time and let me tell you, there is nothing like the experience of six to twenty or more naked friendly people in a great big pile having pure animalistic orgasmic sex! It’s thoughtless, it’s mindless, it’s one big orgasm, and it’s simply wonderful. It doesn’t even matter who is doing what to whom. It’s a sheer exuberant joyful sensual celebration of sexuality, and of Life itself. The biggest, longest, most funnest one I ever attended was the one that happened at the 22nd St. commune in San Francisco where, except for violence, everything went. They had been there a long time having their weekly party. I partied with them on and off for a good five years. They were going before I ever showed up and continued long after I left. 22nd St. was also the most racially and sexually diverse commune I have ever been in. The main boohoo was a half black, half Spanish bi-sexual dude called The Mighty Quim. He had lived at the commune from its beginning and lasted to its end. The only other person with that distinction was a white guy named Don who was quiet and strange but loved to party.
One time Don decided to get rid of the mice in the commune. He set his traps and every time he got one, he'd skin it leaving the tails attached. He’d tan it's hide with it's little brains then sew the skin onto his jean jacket until he had a mouse skin coat. The meat he'd cook and feed to the dogs. Waste not, want not.
Lots of other freeks came and went through out the years including me. But some of the more long term members were: Pablo, a Moroccan dude from Boston who played conga all the time. Vinnie and Marie, an Italian couple who fought all the time because Vinnie would have sex with any girl any time and was never discreet while Marie never fucked anyone but Vinnie. Julie, a black bi-sexual from Watts. Bill, an English guy who never took any drugs but loved to drink lots and lots of beer. Rubin, a Filipino guy from LA who ate rice at every meal and loved really young babes. Cathy, a white lesbian from Georgia. Gyro, a white big time druggie and poon hound. Harry, a Lebanese photographer who took pictures of everyone all the time. Mia, a deaf girl who always signed as she spoke. Murices, a French-Canuk and general pain in the ass. Spyder, a 6'8" thin blond dude from Texas. Sofia, a beautiful but schizo Latina. Drew, a Jewish guy from New York with a crippled arm. Lawrence, a flaming queen who never went out without make up. Tonya, a Chinese babe from Seattle.
And well, the list goes on and on including lots of transients and runaways of both sex from all over the world. Of those who just visited and partied there the list would fill a book with every kind of doper, drunk, radical, musician, gay, ex-con, nut and just plain weirdo from all walks of life.
The house itself was a full basement and two floors. The commune occupied the basement that was barely used and the first floor. On the second floor were two apartments. One with an old deaf couple from Greece who never complained about the noise unless it got real loud and it was real late. The other apartment was occupied for a long time by the Woolly Bully, a stone junkie and Ann his epileptic wife. They never complained because they were always partying right along with the rest of us. And PAR-TY we did on 22nd St.
Every weekend from sunset Friday until sunrise on Sunday it was a house full of people having Big Time Fun! On weekdays it was pretty quiet. A few of the members worked while some dealt dope. Others just hung out and rested up for the weekend sponging off of one government tit or another: SSI, food stamps, welfare, unemployment or going to school on the GI Bill. But when the weekends came everybody would cut loose and PARTY! Now I have traveled the world a lot and let me tell you, no one can party like American dopers. Hell, the rest of the world doesn't even come close.
In Europe they think going over to a friends house or out to the pub then sitting around drinking, discussing politics and singing a few songs then going home and to bed is a party. Well, maybe it is for them but really, it's just boring. In the rest of the world, including the good old US of A, it's go out, get as drunk as possible, try to pick up a cutie, have a little fun with your mates, puke, then pass out. Better then Europe but...
In order to truly party you've got to have staying power. You've have to pace yourself so you can last for at least two or even three days then you’ll really have some Red Hot Fun! You start out slow, get some rest, take a nap the day of the party, eat a good meal, relax. In the evening before you leave your house smoke a joint, drink a beer and maybe take a little speed or a nurdle of acid, or both. Go to the party, see what's available. If someone is passing out downers take a couple but put them in you pocket for later, the same for speed. You have a good 30 hours or more to go so there's no rush to get totally fucked up. Stick with pot, coke, hash, beer, wine and maybe a little opium. Get mellow, talk with your friends, old and new, listen to music, dance with a babe, maybe even get lucky with her. Enjoy yourself. If you start feeling a bit tired, take a little more speed or acid. If you start feeling too fucked up, snap a popper under your nose. That'll clear away the fog.
By sunrise the first morning you should be feeling fine. Now you have a choice, either you can go home to crash for a few hours or drop a hit or two of acid and face the new day. If you choose the latter then plan something fun for the day. Go to the park to play Frisbee with your friends, or maybe to a rally where there’s free music, or just tramp around the bushes checking out the bugs and flowers. By early evening, the acid will have worn off and you’ll be feeling a little tired so take a short nap. After you wake up take some speed because Saturday is The Big Party Night and you won't want to miss anything.
I would usually start off by going to one of the many concerts that were happening in the City in those days. There was The Avalon Ballroom (my personal favorite), The Filmore (later The Filmore West), The Straight Theater, California Hall, Winterland, sometimes The Cow Palace or Longshoreman’s Hall and later The Family Dog at Playland on the Beach. Plus all the dozens of smaller clubs around the City that had live music. It was only $2 or $3 to get in and I went almost every weekend seeing every major and a lot of minor groups there were, and not just one group either. The music started at 8 p.m. with a local band, like Santana, then the two main bands would play. Unless the Dead were playing, they played until dawn or until the plug was pulled, the music would end around 2 a.m. which would then be prime party time.
You’d arrive and the stereo would be playing, the drugs and booze flowing. Since you would be crashing in a few hours anyway, it was time to party flat out, "Try this." "Have a drink." "Hi cutie. What's your name?" And the party would degenerate into total madness, which is why you came in the first place. Because in madness lays not only salvation, but a hell of a lot of fun. By Sunday morning it was time to crash, "Good bye." "See ya later." "We're out of here." Time to go home and to bed.
Now remember those downers you pocketed? Take them and sleep until noon at which time you had to get up for the free Sunday concert in Golden Gate Park at either Hippie Hill or the Polo Grounds. If you’re a bit hung over, don't worry or suffer just smoke a little grass while drinking a cup of strong coffee laced with a healthy shot of whiskey.
Anyway, it's Gyro's birthday and he’s going to have a private party slash orgy. He's only asked 20 of his closest most sexually liberated friends saying that since half of the invited are female and with a few of the guys being either gay or bi, there will be plenty of red hot babes to go around. He's even set up a new king size waterbed in the front bedroom with two more twin beds right next to it.
Plus he’s assembled all the party favors. Let’s see; there's a quarter pound of Colombian, an ounce of hash, a quarter ounce of coke, a few grams of Opium, with lots of beer, wine and muchies. And, Ladies and Gentleman, presenting for your pleasure and enjoyment the main attraction: A full jar of one hundred Roher 714's. A drug that was so much fun we just knew the government would soon ban it. So we took it every chance we got. All the regular 22nd St. partyers who didn’t live there and weren’t invited were called earlier in the week and told there would be no party this weekend, as we all had the flu. All is in readiness for Friday.
When Friday night arrives Gyro greets each guests who enters and gives them either a bottle of beer or glass of wine, a big fat hooter to smoke by themselves and two Quaaludes to swallow immediately then he tells them anytime they feel the need for another, just ask. A 33 year old babe who Gyro invited shows up with her hot looking 15 year old daughter. When Gyro reminds Mom as to the nature of this party she tells him, "That's why we came." Oh Boy, there's going to be some fun tonight!
After all the guest have assembled Gyro, who prides himself on his cooking of unusual but tasty dishes, sets out dinner and explains what it is. This time he’s made chicken breasts simmered in a bittersweet chocolate chili sauce, yellow saffron rice that he’s added green peas and orange carrots to and a red beet and white onion salad with a sweet vinegar dressing. After din-din he hands out more drinks along with another 714 to aid with the digestion. Then out comes the opium. We all smoke just a taste of because a little will not only make you horny but will even give you staying power. But, too much and the guys won’t be able to get it up and the girls just won’t care. Next it’s snort the coke washing it down with some more booze to help soothe the nasal passages. Since we all know why we’re here, everyone starts making out as we head for the bedroom. Soon it’s off come the clothes and we all become just one gigantic naked undulating sensual pile on the waterbed. Although at first the gay dudes stake out one corner of the bed with us straight guys and girls taking over the rest of it. However, after a couple hours when the drugs have kicked in real good, it just doesn’t matter anymore who’s doing what to whom and a fine time is had by all (except Marie who stayed faithful to Vinnie even though he was actively in the mix).
The rhythm of the night for most of us went like this: Screw who ever was next to you while fondling anybody else who was within reach. Using not only your fingers and hands but your toes, feet, knees, elbows, lips, tongue and even the top of your head for awhile. Then change positions and partners. Cum as often as possible. Keep doing this until you get tired. Extract yourself from the pile. Do more drugs, especially the Quaaludes, all washed down liberally with wine or beer while scarfing some munchies for quick energy. Go back to the pile and watch until you feel the spirit move you then join in. Repeat as often as possible. If you got really exhausted and just couldn’t keep up anymore then take a short nap right where you lay but only when absolutely necessary. You certainly didn’t want to miss out on too much of the fun.
Saturday morning comes and every body there is still at the peak of sexual frenzy. Since we all have plenty of energy and there’s lots of drugs left, except for the coke, it's decided the orgy should go on for another night with even more hot sexy bodies involved. Gyro gets on the phone and starts inviting other free minded folks especially ones who access to yet more dope, telling them to get their asses over here tonight or miss the time of their lives.
As many of us who could, crash out for the day laying nude on the waterbed. The rest crashed either on the twin beds or on some pillows that had been scattered around on the floor. Every time you would wake up you’d see somebody having sex with one or more somebody else’s and of course, they would draw you right into the middle of it.
By Saturday evening some of the revelers who couldn't take it anymore had to leave, only to be replaced by the fresh young succulent bodies of the newly invited, who as soon as they entered and saw what was happening, tore off their clothes and jumped into the mix. Until there's so many thrashing moaning squirming screwing sweat slicked juicy bodies on the waterbed, the twin beds and the floor that you couldn't tell which body parts belong to what body. And you didn't care because it’s just one big delicious ongoing orgasm. Anyone else who entered the house was either drawn into the pile or they quickly exited, except for Marie who stayed for the whole thing but refused to participate even though she was begged, cajoled, and plied with liquor and drugs. The pile goes on all Saturday night, one orgasmic mass of hot wet sensuous flesh in sexual ecstasy that just would not quit. Sunday morning comes and it’s still going strong. Sunday afternoon slowed it down but could not stop it. But as with all good things, so this too must end.
By Sunday evening the dope, the booze and the food are exhausted, and so are we all. Most of us are doing more napping than fucking. Most of the dudes just can not get it up anymore and the babes are either too stoned or too tired to care. People start untangling. Some go home to crash, other's just sleep where they lay. We are all a little sore and most of us will probably sleep for the next 18 hours, but it was so much fun. As I’m getting dressed, I look at the aftermath of the orgy and smile to myself thinking, ‘None of us is ever going to forget Gyro’s birthday party for a long long time.’