I sent around a note asking for a show of hands. Should we veto the party? Organize to watch the results? Or ignore politics altogether with sex as usual? Our landslide decision was to compromise: we wanted company for this nail-biter and we didn’t know how to be together with clothes on.
And so it was that on Tuesday, November second, two-thousand-four, we gathered on the Upper West Side of Manhattan to go down on each other as George W. Bush went down in flames.
We began as usual, having wine in the living room, catching up on the two weeks since we were last together. The election naturally flowed into the conversation. All but one of us, a non-citizen, had voted that day. New York would go for Kerry, no question, but the results from four years prior had left us all too jittery to be complacent.
Mark joined our rally, arriving late as usual. This was our signal that it was time to get naked.
“It feels weird to have the television on,” I said as we undressed in the bedroom. “I can’t really pay attention to sex when Peter Jennings is talking.” I muted the sound. We stood nude by the light of candles and cathode, enjoying the familiar sight of ourselves glowing.
The yoga instructor turned to kiss her husband, the nurse. Jen and Phil were sweetly in love and always started off together. Lynn and I followed suit. Others began to touch and talk softly, in pairs and clusters. The matched couples always had the advantage of first call on the bed that wouldn’t be empty again.
Jen and Lynn lay back on pillows. I reached for a condom, not bothering to offer one to Phil. I entered Lynn, leaning forward to kiss her, lingering as we felt our bodies welcoming each other. I sat back on my haunches, holding her thighs as I gently fucked her. She glanced at Phil, smiling as he watched us. I leaned over to kiss him. He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into a deeper kiss. My hand traced down his chest, his pulsating abdomen and down to his bare cock, soaking in his wife’s slit. Lynn groaned; I felt her fingers touch my cock as she worked her clit.
Mark put a hand on my back, stroking his cock with the other. “Hey, sorry to interrupt; everyone is so busy! But Lynn, you still look like you could use more.”
“Oh yes, I was just thinking that, Mark, thank you,” Lynn replied, twisting her body to receive his cock in her mouth.
“Pulling all the levers, eh, Lynn?” I joked, but if my voting booth allusion was funny, she was too busy to notice. I looked over my shoulder at the television: the northeast was turning blue.
Phil and Jen switched positions so that she could blow him. “Yeah, lick your pussy off my dick,” he encouraged.
I ran my hand along her pussy and brought my fingers to my lips. “That is pretty delicious. How about I fill that vacated position?”
“Actually, would you mind if I go first?” Phil asked.
Jen took his cock from her mouth. “You just did go first . . . ?”
“No, I’m sorry I was unclear: do you mind if Jefferson fucks me and then you, instead of the reverse? I’ve been craving a dick in me all week. Do you mind, Jefferson?”
“Whatever y’all decide,” I grinned, continuing with Lynn. “Plenty of me to go around. I’m here all night.” I leaned over to kiss Lynn, running my tongue along the cock in her mouth. “Honey, if you need me, I’ll be right next door.” She puckered her lips on Mark’s cock, blowing me a kiss mid-blowjob.
I pulled out of Lynn and flung my used condom toward to wastebasket. It landed close with points only for effort. I retrieved it on my way to the bathroom to wash.
When I returned, Mark was fucking Lynn and Phil’s face was buried in his wife’s pussy. His ass wiggled in anticipation. I picked up lube and walked across the bed on my knees, tearing open a condom package.
Mark was fucking Lynn, I was fucking Phil, Phil was devouring Jen. This would be my favored set for the night. I tended to fuck Jen as prelude to fucking her husband, and signaled my last dance by fucking Mark. Then I would relax with the remaining guests before crawling into bed with Lynn and a nightcap. For now, it was novel to reverse my usual order with this sweet couple.
I checked the room. Everyone was doing well, with some having repaired back to the living room. Beck was playing down the hall. A few more red states in the south.
Jon stood on the bed next to me, steadying himself with his hands on the ceiling as he joined our cluster. A few moments later, he turned to the television. “Hey, is it weird that I’m the only Republican here?” I laughed so hard his cock nearly fell from my mouth.
“Guys,” he said. “My side got Florida.” Everyone stopped to look at the television. Jen and Lynn sat up against the wall.
I reached for the remote. “ . , . to repeat: ABC News is now projecting President George W. Bush has won the state of Florida. We add this to his wins in the Carolinas . . .”
“No! No, no!” Jen shouted. “You take that back. Fuck.”
“Pretty early, too,” Phil noted. Jen wriggled from our bodies and left the room. Phil pulled away to follow.
“Jefferson . . .” Lynn began, scooting forward to sit next to me. I wrapped an arm around her.
The room watched in silence. Soon, more results: blue hugging the Great Lakes, red filling in below. Texas, of course.
“I need a drink,” I said, rubbing Lynn’s calf.
“You and me both,” she said.
We found Jen on her belly on the couch. Phil was rubbing her back. She was crying. Lynn and I passed into the kitchen to pour bourbons, then repaired to the terrace. We sat nude in the still, cold night, watching the traffic.
Mark came to the terrace door, wearing his coat. “Hey, you guys, I’m heading out. A few of us are walking to the subway.” Lynn got up to hug him. I followed him to the door to say goodbye to our departing guests.
I returned to find Jen reclining on her side, her cheek resting on a hand. “Phil went to get our things,” she said. “A while ago. I guess he got sucked into the news.” She looked to the hallway. “He would’ve come back if any of it was good.”
I sat on the coffee table, listening.
“How is this happening?” she asked. “I mean, nine-eleven . . . he lied, just lied, about weapons of mass destruction, he’s stupid, he lies, this idiotic war . . . and John Kerry, he’s not perfect, I know, but . . .” Her voice trailed off. “It is impossible, impossible to imagine anything worse.”
“I hear you,” I nodded. “Nothing could be worse.”