The Party of November 26, 1966

by Sam Sloan

"Welcome to Berkeley," I said, almost choking from laughter.

When I was 18, I had hitch-hiked to Berkeley from Cincinnati, Ohio. I tried to imagine how I would have felt if, on the evening of my arrival, I had stumbled into a scene like this. I wondered what he was going to write to his friends back home about our little community. Judging from his reaction, it occurred to me that perhaps the friends back home were more knowledgeable than I had imagined.

Zona, who was 22, talked to Sharon, 18, about birth control. She said that Emco without a diaphragm was highly unsafe and suggested that she get a prescription for pills.

I asked Zona how she had happened to come to this party. She said:

"My husband and I were at this other party but it was breaking up. So someone handed us this invitation. We looked at it and decided we might as well come."

I asked about her husband. She said: "He was feeling tired tonight. He doesn't mind my staying out like this."

We talked about various other things. After about an hour we left. We arranged to have Bertrum drop Sharon, Peter, and myself off at Henry's and then drive Zona home. I felt up-tight about this wondering what terrible thing Bertrum would do to Zona once they were alone. I shrugged it off, hoping that Bertrum had learned something during the evening, and realizing that I could do nothing to prevent it, anyway. He let us off and the three of us climbed the stairs. I went into the orgy room and laid down. I put my hands behind my head. I lay there for a moment meditating. I realized that a whole way of life was over and a new one had begun. I would never be the same person again. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

THE WEEK OF NOV. 20-26, 1966

I woke up the following afternoon. I went into the kitchen. Henry was fixing bacon and eggs. He offered me some, but I told him that I was going out, feeling that I had a lot do that day. I asked him about Rita. He said:

"She left before the party had really gotten started. After that thing about Pete and Gina last week, one decided she didn't like orgy scenes. She went down on the avenue to find a place to sleep but she should be back any time now."

I asked about Sharon, who was sleeping with Peter in the orgy room. He said. "She came walking in the door on Monday. you know, I've gone almost a week without trying to make it with her. I can't seem to find a place to start."

"What about last night?"

"Oh, wow! Man! I didn't even think about that! I just did it."

I understood what he was talking about. Sharon's mind had seemed off in space somewhere. Henry's approach to females was to try to establish some sort of psychic contact with a girl before attempting to make it with her. I could see why this would be difficult Sharon's case. Bertrum had broken through it by asking her to fuck but Henry would never initiate such a direct approach.

A few minutes later I walked out the door, down the stairs, and onto the which had been present the day before were still there. It seemed strange to find myself back in the same world. I had almost expected everything to be different. I turned and walked down the street.

As I walked, I thought about many things. I thought about the people I had seen and the events that had happened the night before. I thought about Deana, Laura, Judith, and Zona. I thought of Henry, pushing himself, trying to squeeze every last drop of energy out of his system. I thought about Judith wanting to have as many different men as possible on her at once. I thought about Sharon and then Zona waiting to be fucked. I thought about how this fit in with the world in general.

On this morning, it seemed difficult to visualize trying to make it with a girl without being successful. I could not imagine any reason that any girl would have for not wanting to do it. It was simply out of my conceptual framework. It seemed hard to believe that sex was something that most people wanted to do off in dark corners and in secret places. I could not imagine any reason that any girl would have for not believe that sex was something that most people wanted to do off in dark corners and in secret places. I could not imagine why anyone would want to reject the rest of society in this way. I felt, for example, that if a girl, any girl in the world, had happened to walk in to Henry's apartment during that early hour of the morning when we were sitting around, she would immediately have felt hour of the morning when we were sitting around, she would immediately have felt the vibrations within the room, ripped off her clothing, and lain down just as Sharon and Zona had done. It was hard to imagine anything else.

I realized, however, that what seemed like reality to me, was fantasy to everyone else, to almost everyone else, that is. Objectively, I had to realize that I would not be able to make it with any girl I wanted and that most people were far away from the point where I felt I was. I decided that something big had happened to me and I had a duty, an obligation, to go out and tell everyone else what it was. First, however, I had to figure out what it was myself. Then I had to try to express it in words. Then I had to shape these words in such a way that other people, people who had not been to the party of Nov. 19, could understand all of them or at least part of them. Finally I had to find a way to communicate these words to other people. This appeared to be a monumental, if not an impossible undertaking. I wanted to become some kind of a Messiah but I had no idea how I could do it.

I tried to think of ways to explain isolated phenomena of the party. I wondered how I could explain Henry and what he was doing. I, myself, could see it. Basically, he was trying to put as much of his body and soul as he could into every girl he made it with. While I could understand this, I could not see how I could communicate this to anyone else. I constructed the following imaginary conversation:

"You see, we've got this guy Henry, and he tries to put as much of his body and soul as he can into every girl he makes it with."

"What does he do?"

"Well, basically, he fucks them."

"What's so great about that?"

"You have to see it to understand. Like, the other night he made it with five girls, fifteen minutes each. I was there so I know."

"Big deal!" He sounds like a sex maniac and an exhibitionist. What is he trying to do: prove himself by displaying himself results. I could not think of anything which did not sound like some combination of an ego trip, a publicity stunt, an appeal to the prurient interest, and an outright lie. I did, however, have one powerful force going for me: sex. I had seen how, after making almost every mistake imaginable, I had still been successful beyond my wildest dreams. I decided that I now knew enough to avoid some of the biggest pitfalls and that I might be able to generate a movement with far-reaching implications. "Why not?" I asked myself.

I walked into the back door of Joyce's and Mara's apartment. The door to Joyce's room was open. I poked my head in and saw that she was sitting on the bed talking to the man with the mustache I had seen there the previous night. She looked up and said:

"Oh. Hello, Sam."

"Hello, Joyce, I've got to tell you! We had the most fantastic party last night! It was just unbelievable!"

"What happened?"

"Well, uh, er, I guess the main thing was that a lot of people got laid."

"That's nice," she replied.

A moment later she looked up at me again and smiled irresistibly. "Sam," she said, "Could you drive us around to a few places? Robin says we can borrow his car. He gave me the keys."

I agreed. They got up and the three of us went outside and got into Robin's car. I took them to a flower shop where she ordered some flowers and to the U-Save Market where she bought some groceries. Then I drove them back. The entire trip had taken about an hour and a half. We went inside. A few minutes later the mustached man left.

"What do you think of my new friend?" She asked.

"I don't know, " I replied. "He didn't hardly say anything."

"I know, but I like him, "she said.

"Where do you know him from?"

"I met him in the Med last night. I had seen him there twice before but I had never talked to him. So, finally, I worked up all my courage and went over and sat down by him." So, finally, I worked up all my courage and went over and sat down by him."

"What happened?"

"It was funny. I told him I had been wanting to meet him and he told me he had been wanting to meet me. So we left and came up here. You came by right after that."

"That's nice. Do you think you will ever see him again?"

Her eyes dropped. She paused and said, I don't know. Do you like him, Sam? Tell me if you really like him!"

"Well, you've caught me at a moment where I love everybody. But I really can't say anything about him one way or the other."

"Well, I think he's nice."

Shortly thereafter I left and went down to the Mediterreaneum to get something to eat. I ordered and received a Stuffed Cabbage Dinner. I spotted Art, went over, and sat down beside him. I wanted to make him the first recipient of the message I had to bear. After we had exchanged a few words, however, I realized it was hopeless. Perhaps we were supposed to be on the same team, but I had the feeling that we were not even in the same world. I bolted my food and headed for the door.

I went to see Connie. She had been sitting in her apartment reading When I came in I asked her why she had not attended the party on the previous evening. She said: "I've given up hope. That orgy you planned never came off and I didn't feel right about it anyway. I don't think I'll ever find what I'm looking for. At least, not at one of those parties."

I proceeded to try to explain to her what had occurred the previous evening. I stumbled along and felt that the words I was using were woefully inadequate. I talked about things like group unity, a sense of purpose, a fusion of the minds, and a feeling of multiple love. Most of the time I was using terminology I had heard somewhere before, but I had nothing else to work with. Fortunately, Connie was a willing listener. Any gaps which I left out, she provided inside of her own mind. I was not sure that her mental image reflected reality but I could only attempt to communicate it. Basically, I talked about the emotional experience rather than about the specific events. I hoped that some of it was coming through.

We conversed for about two hours and then decided to go down on to the avenue. There, we ran into a Negro hypnotist named De la Gina, who had come to the EBSFL party I attended on Whitney St. and later had undertaken several hypnotic sessions at Claire's apartment while I was living there. He had been born in the Azores and had lived for several years in Mazatlan, Mexico. At the Whitney St. party he had worn a jewel which had hung from a ring in his penis. At the time, he had stated he was completing a five year period of self-enforced chastity. He was about 35.

I introduced Connie to De la Gina. He invited us down to his apartment on Carleton St. We furniture but only soft matting on the floor. He cut off all but one very faint light and asked us to remove our shoes. We quickly realized the significance of the place. The walls were colored with fluorescent paint in psychedelic patterns. The room was clearly intended for LSD trips. Even now, we could see strange combinations of pattern projecting out at us. I told De la Gina a little about the party of the previous night and he listened intently. Then we talked about related topics. At one point, Christina said that she sometimes experienced fantasies which involved having a series of guys rape her. I made no special note of this, realizing that a great many girls experience this same fantasy. De la Gina, however, picked up on it.

After a while, De la Gina suggested that we down and dig the patterns on the South wall. He went out and brought back three pillows for us to rest our heads. I lay there for a while feeling relaxed. Shortly, my mental state returned to where it had been the previous evening. Following my instincts, I leaned over and kissed Connie. I used my tongue to probe inside of her mouth. After a few minutes I leaned back and looked at the wall again.

A short while later I leaned over and started kissing her again. This time De la Gina reached over and did something I never would done. He unbuckled her belt and unzipped and unfastened her slacks. At first I tried to motion him away but he persisted. I was kissing Connie so I knew best what her reaction was. She seemed completely uncommitted. She was receiving me, and I at times, was receiving her as though nothing else was happening. Instinctively, I did not want to be part of this whole thing but I continued anyway.

De la Gina, working gently but quickly, removed first her slacks, then her panties. I leaned back and he kissed her in my place. I decided I might as well go through with it, so I removed my clothing. Then, while De la Gina continued to kiss her, I began to perform cunnalingus on her. From this point on, the entire routine seemed completely natural. It was as though I had been doing this all my life. I became erect, moved up, and started to fuck her. De la Gina leaned back and removed his own clothing. A night's sleep gave me some momentum and control so I made it with her for about a half hour, Her movements were just the same, or almost the same as all of those other girls. I decided I might as well give De la Gina his turn so I came and I stopped moving. I moved off of her but continued to kiss her. De la Gina got right on her without any preliminary efforts. I leaned back and watched him.

De la Gina worked around over her body for about ten minutes. At first I thought he was making it with her but then I realized he was not. Apparently, he was erect enough to get it inside of her properly. He moved his body off of her. Connie lay there passively, her legs spread slightly apart. I was not sure what she was waiting for but I was sure that it was not going to be me. My last ejaculation had been slightly painful and I did not want to try it again.. In addition, I was not sure that there were any special insights to be gained from making it once more.

Still, I had a moral obligation not to let her lay there like that, so I went over and began to eat her out again. As I lay there, I began to speculate as to whether I would ever find the time to spread the word of the new realization to be achieved, if I spent the rest of my life doing this. I was beginning to think it was all a bit ridiculous. I was also beginning to notice that I was getting turned on in the process. This, too, was ridiculous. Still, I was unable to do much to prevent it and, before long, I was completely erect. I decided I might as well find out what it was like, and, with this in mind, I proceeded forward, with vigor.

About ten minutes later, I came. This time, however, it was different. Pain shot, first through my genitals, and then up and down my entire body. While I could not see it, I knew that my face was becoming twisted and contorted. I wanted to fall off and roll up into a ball. Still, I knew I could never allow myself to do this. Somehow, I was still erect. I closed my eyes and kept pushing and pushing. I tried to pretend like nothing had happened.

The pain began to subside. Connie, however, seemed to know that something unusual was happening. Her legs were up and around me, but she lowered them to the floor and began to stretch them out. This was my signal to start stopping. A few moments later I moved back and down. I began to eat her out again. De la Gina, sitting nearby, seemed interested. I could tell by Connie's movements that she did not want that either. I stopped. She sat up. We moved and propped ourselves against the East wall.

"Something funny happened to you. What was it?" She asked, almost immediately.

She reached for her purse, pulled out a cigarette and matches, and lit up.

"What happened?"

"Well. When I climaxed it felt sort of painful. It's never been like that before."

"Why didn't you stop?"

"It's hard to explain. You see, I've got this thing. I refuse to stop, no matter what, it I think the girl wants me to keep going. It's like an ethical principle. Of course, if I can't do it, I can't do it. And if another person is round and I think the girl would be just as interested in making it with him, I will turn her over to him. Otherwise, though, I'll keep going."

"You shouldn't have done that," she said, puffing on her cigarette. "I didn't care that much one way or the other."

"But you seemed to be digging it."

"Yes. I was enjoying it! But it wasn't that big a thing. That's all."

"Maybe so. But this is my own particular thing. It's just the way I feel."

The three of us sat around, without saying anything. Connie smoked several cigarettes one after another. Perhaps forty minutes later I put my arm around her. She still had only a blouse on above the waist, while being nude below the waist. I started kissing her and after a few minutes, I became erect again. At first I rejected the notion of making it with her again. Then I decided I might as well. I was curious to see how many times I would be able to do this and with what results. Connie, however, would not let me. When I started to make the characteristic moves, she adjusted her body slightly and turned her head away from me. I did not have to ask her what this meant.

A few minutes later, we got up, got dressed, and walked up to the avenue. We went into the Mediterreaneum and ate together. Later. I walked Connie home, sat around her apartment for a few minutes talking, and left. I went back to my room, stretched out, and did some thinking. Finally I decided to sit down and write a first hand account of the party of Nov. 19. I decided that was one of the best ways to communicate some understanding of what it was all about. I stayed up all night working on it, and finished in time to go to school, arrange to set up the campus table, and attend my classes.

On Monday I walked into my class on the psychology of personal and social adjustment. It was taught by Dr. Alex C. Sheriffs who had once been a Vice Chancellor under Chancellor Strong. in this capacity, Dr. Sheriffs had once been instrumental in gaining a university grant of $700 for the U.C. Chess Team, of which I was the captain, to play in the U.S. Intercollegiate Chess Championship at Note Dame University in December of 1963. Thus, I had felt warm feelings towards him for this reason. Later, I began to doubt my judgment especially after I heard that it was he who had issued the administrative orders which had led to the Free Speech Movement. Like most of the other administrators involved in that fiasco, he soon found himself back teaching classes.

When I came charging into the lecture hall that bring Monday morning I still had not lost the feeling of exhilaration that the party of November 19 had created within me and the events of the next day had, to some extent, sustained within me. I saw the world as a wonderful place to live and I was sure that any girl in the auditorium was mine for the asking. After seating myself, I smiled, leaned back, opened my notebook, and prepared for the lecture.

Dr. Sheriffs came in, greeted the class, and started speaking. "I am disturbed," he began, "by the events of recent days on this campus. Once again a willful minority of students are rebelling against the rightful powers of legitimately constituted authority." The class knew that Dr. Sheriffs was referring to a march on the Chancellor's office by a group of 300 students to present a petition, after Chancellor Heyns had issued a statement indicating a possible decision to revoke the right of students to make speeches on the steps of Sproul Hall.

With that, Dr. Sheriffs began to develop a theory and launch an attack on "the irresponsibility of today's college students." At one point he said, "In an earlier era, the boys sometimes staged panty raids. Now they hold mass demonstrations. They may claim to have high ideals but their true motivations are just about the same."

His basic thesis was that Berkeley students were the victims of a "mass hysteria." A small group of outspoken rebellious youngsters had "duped" the other students into believing that the student body as a group was opposed to the administration. "Then," he continued, "they decide the group must be right, ignore their own feelings, and go along with the crowd."

To prove his point he raised the question of virginity among college students. "The mass media had deluded young college girls into believing that all their schoolmates are doing it. Then, to prove that they are "in" with the in-crowd, they begin fabricating false love affairs. Soon they are bragging to their girl friends about how many lovers they have had. This chain reaction makes everyone think there is a lot more happening than there really is."

"The truth is that today only about 23 percent of unmarried college seniors are non-virgins. This compares with 22 percent of two generations ago. Today's college girls are not much more promiscuous than their grandmothers were."

Still feeling in a bright, carefree mood, I sat in the back of the room writing all this sown. I began chucking to myself but fortunately nobody heard. Then, feeling somewhat impish, I considered jumping up and, in the most serious, concerned, tone of voice I could manage, asking: "Dr. Sheriffs, how many times in his life did your grandmother make it with five girls within 20 hours?" As much as I wanted to do this I couldn't quite get up the courage.

I did look around the class room to observe the reactions of the other students. I noticed that they continued to write even though I suspected that few of them believed Dr. Sheriffs figures. The point was that whether his statements were correct or not was a question of minor significance to them. The important fact was that put them down as the "correct" answers if required to do so.

At the beginning of the lecture I had not held Dr. Sheriffs in high regards as a distinguished scholar. By the end of the sermon, all the respect that I did have for him had evaporated. My primary objection was not to what he had said, but to the way he had presented it. While he had quoted some statistics, he had done nothing to indicate their source, document them, or support them in any way. Furthermore, he said nothing to indicate how they were arrived at and whether there were any doubts as to their validity. Since he was usually not so sloppy I began to think that he, in a moment of crisis on the campus, had fabricated them to try to create a special effect and quell to impending student outbreak. Tactics such as these are common on the Berkeley campus, and administrators cannot seem to realize that such fabrications more than anything else, are the factors which lead to campus discord. After the lecture was over I decided to give Dr. Sheriffs one more chance. I went up to him and asked about the source of his data on virginity. He said, "I don't remember where they came from, but I am sure they are correct." I considered telling him that such casualness was appropriate for a cocktail party, but not for a lecture at the University of California at Berkeley. I elected not to do so, however.

Later, I was to ask Dr. Bruyn of Cowell Hospital about the virginity question. He quoted, from memory, several studies on the subject and concluded that the most reliable estimate was that 30% of college students are virgins. I did not tell him about Dr. Sheriffs' statements.

The main effect of this lecture was that it brought me back down out of the clouds and more in line with the rest of the world. Now I could settle down to the important, normal, everyday, affairs of life. I decided that if I ever got the time, a worthy project would be to figure out a way to rebel against the rightful power--the legitimately constituted authority.

After my classes were completed. I spoke with a Berkeley Barb reporter who talked as though he had heard about the Saturday night party. I felt too tired to formulate the ideas I wanted to project clearly, but I attempted to do so, anyway. I spoke in language which I felt that Barb readers could understand and with which they could identify. This meant that I used the terminology of the LSD religious cults, although I included a put-down of LSD and marijuana in the process. I also talked about forming a religion based on sexual freedom. This was a serious idea of mine which I had reformulated as a direct result of the party. The Barb reported wrote down what I said and assured me that there would be a story on it.

I also asked him about doing some publicity on a "Sexual Rights Conference." This was a Jefferson Poland idea, although he had asked permission to conduct it under the name of the Campus Sexual Rights Forum. The EBSFL was much too inflexible for such a project. Basically, my attitude was that while I had little time to devote to bringing a group of people together to talk about sexual freedom. I was more than willing to allow Poland or anyone else to use the name of the CSRF for such a purpose. In this case, I had tried to secure a lecture hall for the conference on campus. This, however, was impossible since the conference was to be held over Thanksgiving weekend and the University was to be closed. Poland later selected Stiles hall for the spot, paid $35 out of his starvation budget to reserve it, and arranged for speakers. He also got me to print up a leaflets on the subject. Things were going great until Saturday noon when I went by the Berkeley post office to pick up my mail. It contained a letter from Poland which said:

"Dear Sam, I have left for Tolstoy Farm. You will have to run the Sexual Rights Conference yourself."

I considered sending a time bomb to Tolstoy Farm, which was, incidentally, a retreat for anarchists. I knew nothing about the conference other than the material on the leaflets he had prepared for me. I could not even call it off since I had no way to get a hold of the speakers. I decided, however, to go ahead with it, thinking that perhaps it would run itself. I had not had any intention of spending my weekend in that manner.

After talking to the Barb reporter and settling the business I had on campus that day, I went home, such as it was, and went to sleep. I slept well.

On Tuesday, I met Roy on campus and asked him about Deana. After talking with him about her for a few minutes he said: "You better stay away from her because otherwise you will probably fall in love with her." I told him I was willing to take the chance. He gave me her address in Oakland and suggested that I fuck her while I was down there. I went the following evening.

When I arrived a Negro dance instruction with a bad stammer was talking to her. They were sitting on a couch. I sat down in an armchair on the other side of the room and quietly listened to their conversation. About a half hour later a swarthy looking young man came in. When I inquired he said he was from Morocco. He went over to another armchair and seated himself. About an hour later the guy from Morocco got up and walked out, having said almost nothing during the entire time he was there. A half hour after that the dance instructor got up and left also. It looked as though I had won the endurance contest. I wondered if I was going to get the prize.

As we began to talk she got up and walked across the room. Just watching her do that was a sensual experience.

She went over to a mirror and started combing her hip-length hair. With all that hair, I knew she must spend a large part of her life combing it. I asked her if she had ever been Miss Sacramento. She laughed and said, "No." Then she added, "that sounds like something Roy would say," I admitted that he was the one who had given me the idea. I understood Roy's point however. While it was hard to imagine Deana entering a beauty contest, it was easy to see her winning one.

We talked about various things. I asked her age. She said she was 22. The conversation seemed a bit forced as though she was not overly interested in talking. For this reason I said little, feeling contact to sit and watch her comb her hair. It was quite a while before I said: "How did you like the party?"

"It was nice," she responded.

We exchanged a few more words and she opened up a bit.

"I really dug it," she said. "It was obvious that just everybody there came to fuck."

"I kind of liked that myself. I'm glad to hear someone else does."

She stopped combing her hair, went over, and sat down on the couch. She said: "I really dig sex, but, wow! Man! Sometimes it gets to be a big drag."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like all these guys," she said, waving her left arm in the air expressively, "These guys are always coming down here and they all want to fuck me."

She lowered her arm and stared straight into my eyes. I did not know what to say. Finally, I replied: "I guess I have to admit that was at least part of the reason that I came down here."

There was a brief silence. Then she said, "Why me? Why don't you go off and fuck some other girls? You must have all kinds of other girls you can fuck. What is it about me?"

"I don't have so many other girls!" I replied, almost apologetically.

"Oh. I'm sure you do. Don't put me on. There must be all kinds of girls you can fuck."

"Anyway, I dig you. That's all. What else can I say?'

"Yes. but, why do you dig me? All kinds of guys dig me. So, why is it?"

"I guess it must be because you're fantastic. I'm sure that has something to do with it," I said, trying to laugh myself out of a tight spot.

"But what's so fantastic about me?"

"It's the kind of thing I can't express in words. All I can say is that you are the most fantastic thing I have ever gotten remotely close to in my entire life. Meeting you was a big thing for me. As far as the other guys are concerned, I do know that you are a beautiful girl. There is no question about that. It is easy to see why a lot of guys would be attracted to you."

"But that's just the thing. Do they like me because they think I'm good to look at and good to fuck or do they like me because I'm me? Like you, for example. What is it that you like about me? Surely it must be something you can say."

"It isn't. Like I said, it's just not the kind of thing you can ever say."

"Look. you hardly know me. Before you came down here we had hardly said anything to each other. So, how can you like me? How can you think I'm so fantastic when you don't even know anything about me?"

"Believe me, Deana, I know a few things about you. I know things about you, I would never find out in a lifetime of conversation."

"What is it? What do you know about me?"
I paused for several moments and then, lowering my voice to just above a whisper, I answered, "Well, one thing I know is that you don't have orgasms."

She lowered her eyes. Then she raised them again and, speaking softly, said: "Oh, wow, man. How did you know that?"

"No special way. I just watched your eyes and felt your body and saw how you moved and what you did and I knew that after all that time you didn't have an orgasm. Of course, maybe I was wrong. I mean, I know you must have orgasms when you masturbate and maybe you do when you are with someone else and doing something else. I didn't think so, though."

"You're too much. How did you ever learn so much about sex?"

"I don't know very much about sex. In fact, I'm just a beginner. I have picked up a few things here and there, however. I have a feeling I know a few things about you that you would never guess I know."

"Like what?"

"I don't want to say. Maybe I'm wrong and anyway it's not important."

"No. It is important! Tell me."

"I don't know. Like. I bet you want to make it with a girl."

"Oh. Wow. I can't believe you. What else do you know?"

"Well, maybe the reason you want to make it with a girl is because you think that girls know about each other. Maybe you think that girls are softer, and more gentle, and more subtle, and know how other girls' bodies work so that maybe a girl can give you an orgasm where a guy cannot."

"Right. Exactly. Perfect. Tell me more."

There really isn't much more to tell because I don't actually know much more. Like I said, I know almost nothing about the subject, except for a few simple things. That's one reason that I came down here. Maybe, if I stay around here for a while, I can learn something from you."

"Like what?"

"Like, why you don't have orgasms. Have you ever made it with a girl?"


"Why not?"

"I don't know any girls. I haven't had a girl friend since I was 12."

"Is there any special reason for that?"

"I don't know. I think it's a rivalry thing. Like with Zona. Zona, the girl at that party, was the first girl I've ever come close to, even for a second. And then I felt like she was drawing away from me, like she was afraid of me. I don't know how to say it."

"Like, maybe, you're a beautiful girl and other girls feel competitive because maybe they're not as beautiful as you."

"Maybe. Something like that. Of course, Zona was a nice-looking girl too. I was hoping that might make a difference. I thought that a nice-looking girl like her would not feel so competitive, maybe insecure is a better word, around me. But I had a feeling it wasn't true."

"I think If anything, good-looking girls are more competitive around each other."

"I guess so."

"I have a feeling you should have stayed around the party and not left so soon."

"Why is that?"

"Because, after you left, Zona made it with another girl.'

"Oh, really! Wow, man. I never would have guessed that. I thought the party was over."

"It's funny thing about these parties. Sometimes, just when you think they are over, they are only beginning."

"That's too bad. I wish I had stayed."

"It's no great loss. If you really want to make it with a girl, it's no problem."

"How's that?"

"It's like anything else. This, too, can be arranged, if you really want to."

"What do you mean?"

November 25, 1966

Berkeley Barb article


Also same issue


"Well, I know all kinds of girls who want to make it with a girl. They all say the same thing. They don't know any girls to make it with. So, if you want me to, I can try to figure out one of these girls who would dig you and who you would dig and arrange it, and bring her over here, and split, and let the two of you do your thing together."

"Wow, man. I really appreciate that because other guys have offered to do the same thing except they always say that they want to sit around and watch the two of us make it and then jump in and fuck us both. I don't dig that at all."

"Well, that' not my bag. I just like to spread the joy."

"If you really will do this then, call me up when you are ready and we will work it out."

We talked about other things but it was getting late and Deana had to get up early the next morning. The idea of trying to make it with her passed through my mind but I rejected it immediately feeling that such an attempt would obliterate the value of the conversation and probably would not be successful anyway. A while later I left.

The Sex Rights Conference was scheduled for Friday, Nov. 25 and Sat. Nov. 26. On Friday morning I got up, went out, bought a Barb, and made my way to Stiles Hall. I looked at the Barb and saw that they had given headline billing about the party, and front page billing to the conference. I certainly had no complaints about that. I read over the article on the party several times. It seemed difficult to imagine that I had been present at the event described and even harder to believe that I had said all that. I knew, however, that I had been there, I had said all that, and that the Barb had printed almost exactly the kind of article I had wanted. As I read over it, I could see that it just didn't sound right. I realized that I was going to have to do better.

I arrived at Stiles Hall at 10:00 a.m. A small group of people were seated around the entrance. I inquired and learned that one of them was Bea Boyd of the "Daughters of Bilitis, "a female homosexual organization. She was a petite woman in her twenties with delicate features. We went upstairs, pulled up a circle of chairs, and she began her discussion. At the beginning, only about ten people were present. Later the room began to fill. I detected that those who were present at the beginning were people who had received one of my leaflets, and those who came in later were people who had purchased a copy of Barb and rushed down to Stiles hall in response.

Bea Boyd gave am excellent discussion of female homosexuality. At the beginning she talked about "the Movement" and "the organization." I could understand her desire to avoid any specific discussion of female homosexuality because of the fact that much of the literature on the subject was intended to be pornography rather than to provide factual information. A few well-phrased questions from the audience, however, brought her around to telling us about some of the things we wanted to learn about. Among other things, I was able to verify the fact that the scene between Zona and Sharon was relatively typical of female homosexual activity. The position used consisted of one girl on top of the other; the girl on top occupying an aggressive masculine role and the girl on the bottom taking the passive feminine role. The position resembled heterosexual intercourse. 69 was rare. Bea also mentioned "daisy chains" which apparently consisted of a string of girls, each one performing cunnalingus on the next. She explained that the individual normally occupied the masculine role, while she, Bea, generally took the feminine role in sexual relations. I could see that Bea was a very feminine woman.

Colette came in after the discussion had started and pulled up a chair beside me. At one point she raised her hand asked a question:

"Dr. Albert Ellis," she said, "has stated that anyone who is a compulsive heterosexual is neurotic. As a compulsive heterosexual, I would like to know what I can do to acclimate myself to bisexuality." She exuded neurosis as she spoke.

Bea's answer was appropriately evasive. In fact, she gave no answer at all. I was glad said. I did not think that he was advocating that Colette and other girls should go out and make it with girls. On the other hand, I knew that Colette had tried several experiment with female homosexuality and that this had been an ulterior motive of hers in forming her "woman's discussion group."

During the talk Jefferson Poland came walking in the door. I was happy to see that he had decided to visit us. After the discussion had been completed I spoke with Bea Boyd and then talked to Poland. I pointed out that I had substituted myself into a spot where he had been scheduled to give a talk. I had done so since I had not expected to see him around and now that he was here, I offered to return it to him. He hastily replied that he had no desire to give a talk and had merely put himself in to fill a gap in the agenda. He was glad that I had nominated myself to take his place. It all sounded like a calculated plot to me. In this case, however, I was glad to have a chance to say something.

I tore into him a bit about the nude party notice in the Barb. As early as the evening when he arranged for the CSRF to be turned over to me, we had talked about holding the Sex rights Conference and throwing a nude party that evening. His plan had been that the representatives who came from outside of the Bay Area not be required to bring dates. This had seemed reasonable to me at the time but later, after I had learned more about parties, I had voted that idea. After that, I had forgotten all about the nude party plan. When I arranged to have a party Saturday night at Henry's it had not occurred to me that the date concurred exactly with Poland's plans. When Poland had asked me to produce a leaflets, I had deleted the part Poland had contacted the Barb independently and mentioned the party which he had decided would begin at 10:00 p.m. I politely informed him that it was my ass and not his that was on the line if the affair got busted and I did not appreciate his efforts to proselytize in this obtrusive manner.

I also told him specifically not to make any announcements during the conference concerning a nude party Saturday night. I said that if people wanted to ask me on an individual basis, they could, but otherwise they would have to find out about it through their own sources.

With that, I turned over the entire Sex Rights Conference to him and excused myself. I checked back from time to time later that day and during the next day. I could see that Poland was becoming more and more agitated because of my absence. As far as I was concerned, however, I had other things to do which could accomplish more for the Cause than sitting around talking to people about what they would like to do but never would do about Sexual Freedom. For that kind of discussion, I could go to a meeting of the Executive Committee any Wednesday evening.

I was supposed to give my talk at 1:00 p.m. on Saturday. When I arrived, two minutes late, I saw that the place was packed. All the seats were taken and people were standing around the walls. Someone estimated the crowd at 150, well over the normal capacity for the room. I decided that this must be a response to the Barb article since I had seen nearby as many people at any of the other sessions. I article since I had not seen nearby as many people at any of the other sessions. I had never spoken to a group like this before, but I was game.

The subject on which I was supposed to speak was the "Social Phenomena of the Nude Party." I was somewhat hesitant about the whole project feeling that I knew woefully little about the subject. On the other hand, I imagined that I knew more than anybody else I knew of in Berkeley and I felt I might as well try to explain some of what I knew or though I knew. In my discussion, I talked about the nude party from a historical perspective within the limitations of the Sexual Freedom Movement as founded by Jefferson Poland and Richard Thorne. I discussed what Thorne had done and what successes and failures he had had. At one point I stated that: "Richard Thorne held eroticism classes which were restricted to couples. I understand that they were highly orgiastic. Other than that, there seemed to be relatively little sex in the Sexual Freedom League." Later I talked about Thorne's departure for Mexico and the fact that the SFL had stopped holding parties during the summer. Then I talked about my efforts to hold parties. In conclusion I stated that, "as a result of the most recent experience, it appears that we can hold nude parties with more than enough sex. I consider this to be a significant accomplishment and now we are looking for ways to broaden our perspective." I asked if there were any questions.

I had not made any reference to the emotional aspects of the nude parties, preferring to let the audience come at me on that. I did not have to wait long. The first question came from a guy who asked about a quote from the Barb in which I had said that "everyone desired only to express his complete love for humanity." He sounded as incredulous as I would have been had I read that statement were it made by another person. In answer I talked about the party participants "feeling a sense of love both for individuals and for the group as a whole." I said, "It is possible for a person to love an individual, a group of individuals a special atmosphere created by a sense of unity, and the rest of humanity, all at the same time." The whisperings of discontent spread through the room.

The next question came from a guy asked how this was possible. Feeling that I was making a serious error, but seeing no other way out, I used the example of a female carrying on a physical relationship with four makes at once. I stated that she could love each of the guys, all of the guys, the effect of the group interaction, and everybody else, all at once. As I looked around, I could see that nobody believed a word of it.

The next question came from guy who appeared completely hostile to everything I had stated. He said: "you're just talking about sex. You don't have any idea of what love is." That statement appeared to reflect the feelings of everyone present. Beginning with that statement, I was battered by a series of questions, non-questions, and generalized attacks from all sides. I did notice that all of the questions came from males. The many females in audience elected to remain silent. Somehow, this made me feel that they were lending a more open ear to what I had to say. I also wondered how many of the males present had even experienced sexual intercourse, not to mention a feeling of universal love.

One guy had a fairly knowledgeable-sounding question about the positions of sexual intercourse which were used at the parties.

I responded: "It seems that almost invariably the position used is the traditional one of a male on top and a female on the bottom."

He said: "I think that is crude and barbaric. The people of Tahiti and places like that don't use that position."

"Maybe so, "I said, "but far be it from me to determine that. If people want to do their thing in a crude and barbaric manner, I'm not going to stop them."

"Do you do it that way?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied.

Someone else said, "So you just want to blow your nuts on as many broads as you can, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, everybody knows that you can't hold an erection long when the guy is on top. How can you have so little consideration for the girls as to do it that way?"

"Well," I said, "maybe you can't hold an erection long on top but I happen to know for a fact that there are all kinds of guys who can stay erect for exactly as long as they want to."

Immediately after I said it, I realized I should not have used a personal reference as a way of counter-attack. I felt like the entire room was alienated. Another guy asked, "So, you still haven't explained why the guys should be on top."

"Well, if you want to know the truth, the fact is that a lot of guys make it in such an active manner, that there is no other place for the girl to be except on the bottom. Besides, the girls seem to like it that way. if she were on top, she would just get thrown off or it wouldn't work for some other reason."

Another guy said: "I think you are just a guy who likes to brag. I've heard this all before and I don't like to hear it. In fact, I don't believe a word of it."

They had me. There was nothing I could say. I had told the truth, as accurately as I could and bottled myself up in an indefensible position. There was nothing I could say to extricate myself. I added, somewhat apologetically, "Another reason is that the position with the guy on top and the girl on the bottom is one that everybody knows. That way there is no hassle about which way to do it."

Jefferson Poland was standing on the sidelines with Colette who had just come in. He had been talking to her, apparently briefing her on what I had said. At this point he interrupted and said: "We have Colette, the coordinator of the East Bay Sexual Freedom League, here. I believe that if she answers questions along with Mr. Sloan, it will present a more balanced view of sexual Freedom."

Colette came up. in response to one question she said, "I've spent a long time thinking about going to a party and having sex with ten man. I've decided that this is just not where it is at. As for the girls who do, I can only wish more power to them." While this was intended as a put-down to me, I was glad to hear it. It, at least, acknowledged the fact that there were girls who went in for this sort of thing. After that, the discussion was more moderate. A small part of the credibility gap had been bridged.

A short while later Poland came up and that it was 2:30 and that we had exceeded the time limit by a half hour. He announced the next speaker, Joe, who was going to talk on the "Role of Women." Colette and myself walked away and were replaced by Joe who chose to begin his talk by reading a poem which he had written. Within minutes, most of the crowd had left.

I had been surprised and unprepared to meet the reaction I had encountered. I had expected almost anything other than an attack in the love-making ability of people who attended nude parties. While I was standing in the hall a few people came over and asked some more questions. I probed around to see what they were trying to say and suddenly I realized exactly what had caused this particular method of attack. Maxine Sanini had given a talk from 8:00p.m. -11:00 p.m. the previous evening. I later learned that she had spent most of her three hours attacking the CSRF and the Barb article. As I though about it, question about positions of intercourse that had come from the group had sounded like a paraphrase of something Maxine might say. These people were merely playing back something they had heard the previous evening. I knew that Andrea, for one, was unwittingly aiding us by attacking Discussion Groups which were sponsored by the CSRF. At any rate, my ninety-minute ordeal had been an educational experience for me, if not for those in the audience.

Later I went downstairs, into the lounge of Stiles Hall, pulled up a chair, leaned over a coffee table, and started addressing envelopes from memory. I was going to use them for a future mailing. A guy came up to me and sat down in a chair next to me. He said:

"My name is Harry."

He stuck out his hand. I looked up briefly and shook it. I bent over the table again.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Addressing envelopes."

"A great man like you shouldn't be doing a menial task like that."

"I'm doing it anyway. Besides, who says I'm a great man?"

"I do! I heard you talk upstairs."

"Glad you like it."

"Anyway I'm a photographer on a special assignment from the LA Free Press."

"Where's your camera?"

"I Left it in the car. I am here to do a story on the parties your group holds."

"Ask me. I'll tell you anything."

"I could but I would get a much better story by coming to your party tonight."

"Who says there is a party tonight?"

"Jefferson Poland."

"When did he say that?"

"During the conference. He told everybody."

"Next time I see him, remind me to shoot him."

"So, can I come to your party?"

"Did the LA Free Press really send you? I can't believe they would do that."

"Well, they did!"

"I take it your game is that you want me to get you a date."

"You don't expect me to bring one from Los Angeles, do you?"

"No. As a matter of fact, I don't."

"So. can I get in?"

"No. Not without a date."

"But you have to let me in. Otherwise I can't write a story."

"Make one up. Others before you have done the same. A little thing like ignorance never stopped them."

"Be serious."

"I am serious. I don't care if you are President Johnson. You still have to have a date to get into one of my parties."

"Where is the party going to be?"

"What party?"

"The party tonight. Don't give me that."

"O.K. I admit it. There will be a party tonight and you are not going to be there. Understand?"

"Even if I find a date?"

"O.K. Here. I'll give you an invitation. Now go out and find yourself a girl."

He continued to talk to me as I worked. I was used to this kind of reaction but he was unusually persistent and unpleasant. After about an hour I got up and went back upstairs. Poland was sitting in a circle of perhaps 15 people. They were trying to draw up a resolution on Sexual Rights. Poland's idea was that such a resolution would be a demonstration that the conference had accomplished something. When I entered the room, Bob, the poker hustler, got up and walked over to me. He introduced me to a friend of his named Robin, a student, who wanted to organize a group in Los Angeles. Another guy named Dwayne, who was 22 came up. I remembered them from the nude beach party of April 2. He had ridden with Richard Thorne and I on the way back from the beach and had spent most of the time talking about how badly he had wanted to meet a girl. The four of us went out to eat at the Mediterreaneum. I talked to Robin about his idea of forming Los Angeles Group. I told him about a number of things such as the ease with which he could find people to come to parties and, on the other hand, the headaches and disillusionments which he might encounter. At one point I said: "Let me give you an example. The CSRF is barely a break-even organization. In fact, I think that if I kept books carefully, I would find that it has cost me money to run it. As of this moment if doesn't have a cent. It is flat busted. Still, everyone thinks it is a rich organization. They do not want believe anything else. It is only my personal day to day efforts that keep it going."

Dwayne asked me, apologetically, about letting him into the party without a date. I told him "No." Then he started talking about wanting to meet a girl. He was quite reasonable and I didn't mind talking to him.

"Can you help me find a girl friend?" he asked.

"No. I can't. Nobody but yourself can do that."

"But I want a girl so badly. Any girl. I don't care."

"Why can't you find yourself one? You're good looking, intelligent, easy to talk to."

"But I don't know how to talk to girls. Maybe if I meet one I will learn."

"I've met plenty and I haven't learned."

"Look. I'm desperate. I'll do anything you want. Just let me in your party tonight."

"In a way I'd like to but I can't do it."

"Your membership dues are $24. Right?"

"Yes. But don't Join unless you want to donate or something like that."

"If I join and pay you $24 will let me in the party be a waste of money as far as you're concerned."

"No. Besides, its not worth it. It would just be a waste of money as far as you're concerned."

"Please, You don't understand. I'll do anything."

"You know, if you think you will get laid getting in, you're wrong. In all probability you will not see anything but some people with their clothing off and some sex. Besides sex isn't that big a thing. It's way over-rated, especially if you don't know how to use it."

"But, I've got to start somewhere. I've never even come close to sleeping with a girl in my whole life. Can't you please do it?"

I began to think about it. The life of the organization was being threatened by financial difficulty and he did seem like a reasonable guy. On the other hand, I had no desire to reduce the CSRF to a prostitution ring. Still, it occurred to me that only three other people need know about my clandestine deed. They were: Bob, the poker hustler, who understood such things, Robin, the guy from LA, and Tom, the doorman. Besides, I did want to see Dwayne get laid. Finally, I agreed. He wrote me out a check which he assured me was good. I had acquired fairly good judgment on such matters and I decided that he was honest.

2545 Benvenue Street, Apt. #3, Top Floor, Berkeley

After leaving the Mediterreaneum, I went up to Connie's apartment and borrowed her car. I bought all the party goods, delivered them, and told Tom about the deal I had made with Dwayne. He sounded anxious to find out what the outcome would be. I returned the car the Connie and walked back to the party. I arrived at 8:30. I went in the door and came back out a minute later.

"Tom. How many people are in there anyway?"

"About 40."

"Forty? Usually there are only about four at this hour."

"Yes. I know. And I think I hear some more coming up the stairs."

"Tom. What are we going to do? This is a disaster."

"Pack 'em in. Think of how many we got into my place. We can get a lot of people in there."

"But, you don't understand. If there are that many people here at this hour, it means that half of Berkeley must know. The cops and everybody will be here."

"That's not my problem. I'm supposed to stay outside the party. Remember?"

A group of three couples reached the top of the stairs. While Tom was talking to them I went inside, cursing the name of Jefferson Poland. I knew, by his own frequent admission, that he was not trustworthy, but I had never expected him to do this to me. It occurred to me that I could always call off the party. I decided, however, to ride the waves and hope the CSRF survived the evening.

I looked around and saw that about a third of those present nude. This seemed quite promising. Someone came up to me and said, "A girl just did this fantastic strip tease!" I looked around the room and was not surprised to see Andrea, nude, standing in the corner. I removed my own clothing, hung my coat in the closet near the kitchen and put my pants, shoes, and other garments, in the closet in the orgy room, which was empty, I went into kitchen and saw Harry standing near Henry. Harry said "Hello" to me and left the room quickly. I asked Henry about him. He said, "I don't know, man. He came over here earlier this evening and begged me to let him stay here, so I told him he could." I did not comment on this, realizing that Harry's persistence had almost made me give in. Furthermore, Henry did not have nearly the amount of experience with this type of situation that I did.

A few minutes later, I poked my head out the front door. Tom turned to me and said:

"Damn it, Sam! Let me tell you what just happened. A guy came walking up the stairs and said that his girl friend was on her way up behind him. He gave me $2 and told me to let her in when she arrived. Before I even had a chance to think, he was inside. So I waited and waited and no girl came."

"Come in and show me who the guy is. I'll run him out."

"That's just it. It happened so fast that I didn't have a good chance to see what he looked like."

I pulled my head back in and closed the door. A second later Tom opened up and said:

"Sam. Joe is here. He says he wants the strobe light to be his date."

"He didn't have a date last week, did he?"

"No, he didn't. You weren't near the door when he came so I decided to let him in."

Joe, strobe light in hand, peered through the crack in the door and said: "Look, Sam. I fixed your record player last week when it broke and this strobe helped a lot. Why can't you let me in?"

"O.K. Come on in," I said, feeling that he did have a valid point. This of course made six extra males at the party: Henry, Harry, Joe, the party crasher, Dwayne, and myself. Still, with so many people present, it hardly seemed to make a difference.

I went into the kitchen to ask Henry about the fact that there were only five mattresses in the orgy room. "What happened to the mattress at the entrance to the orgy room?" I asked.

"I threw it away."

"But, I had a great sentimental attachment to that mattress."

"I wish I had known before. It's gone now.

I went back in the living room and looked around. The room was filled with people and a fire was burning in the fireplace. Joe was setting up the strobe light. most of the people were sitting around and only two couples were dancing. I went over and turned up the volume of the music. A few more couples started dancing. I looked around and I decided that if there was such a thing as universal love, I could detect none of it in the room. I decided that perhaps my own mental state was to blame. I felt nervous and uncomfortable as though were doomed to some impending disaster. After a bit of reflection, I decided that perhaps my fears were irrational. My problem was that, while I was used to taking chances, I always took them on my own terms. I did not like being swept helplessly into an uncontrollable situation by someone else's actions. Still, it seemed that this party could become a success rather than a disaster and I was able to anticipate no real difficulty. I decided to try to get things going.

"Sammy," a feminine voice called from across the room. I went over in response. "It's me, Gina," a petite girl said. She was wearing only white panties. I leaned over and kissed her. I paused and she said: "Ooh. That felt good. Kiss me again."

I did. She put an arm around me. I reached over, picked her up, and carried her out of the room. It was a phony, ostentatious display. I had never done anything like this before. At other parties, I felt that nobody even knew who I was. This time, however, I had a feeling that everyone was watching me in particular and I had an obligation to do something special. While I did not like to play this particular role, I went along with it anyway.

I carried Gina into the far corner of the orgy room and laid her down. I asked her if she wanted to make it. She said "Yes". I put my hand into her panties and started rubbing on her. She said, "Wait a second." She sat up, pulled off her panties, lay back down again, and spread her legs. I felt like I was ready to go without any preparation and started to move onto her. While I was doing this I glanced over my shoulder. That turned out be a serious mistake.

A group of six people were standing in the entrance to the orgy room watching. I could not make out their faces but I visualized a flashback of myself being nailed to the wall earlier in the day concerning matters of sex technique. Now, I imagined that these six people had heard me at the lecture and were standing there waiting to see how convincing my performance would be. Suddenly, I felt physically ill. I was nervous, up-tight, uncomfortable, irritable, and self conscious, but miraculously, erect. I decided to go ahead and try to satisfy the demands of the group by offering a demonstration sexual prowess.

I moved onto Gina and prepared to enter. I felt as though I was ready, but I could not seem to penetrate into her. I tried for about two minutes without success. Then I moved down and commenced cunnalingus on her. She said "What's wrong, Sammy."

"Nothing," I responded.

"Put it in, then, Sammy. Put it in."

A few minutes later I moved up and tried again. Several times I thought I was on my way inside of her but I was wrong. She reached down and directed me but without success. By now it was clear that I was not totally to blame. Gina had an unusually small entrance way and I suspected that I would always have difficulty. Against her protests, I moved down and ate her out again. Then I moved up and tried for a third time without success. Finally I said:

"Do you want to go back to the rest of the party."

"Anything you say, Sammy."

"I guess we might as well, unless you want to do something else."

We got up. She put on her panties, and we went out of the orgy room. I felt terrible.

I spoke with Bob, the poker hustler, Robin the student from LA, and their dates. A few minutes later I found myself standing in the living room with Connie. Pete walked up to her on her other side and started talking to us. After a few minutes he put his arm around her. She turned her head to me and I leaned over and kissed her. She put her arms tightly around both of us and began to lift up her weight. I put my arm around her. Simultaneously, Pete and I reached over and pulled up her legs. now we were holding her in mid-air between the two us. It seemed natural and certainly had been unplanned. There was only one way to go. We carted her off into the orgy room. She was smiling.

We took her to the far end of the room and set her down gently. We laid down on either side of her. I began to hiss her and put my hand down on her cunt. She spread her legs apart. Pete said, "well, it looks like I am excess baggage." He got up and walked out before I had a chance to tell him to stay. I had been counting on him to make it with Connie since I had more or less decided that I was going to spend the evening in platonic contemplation. Now, I was left to my own resources. Once again, I felt like I had some kind of obligation to make it with her but I did not want to try to fulfill it. I looked over my shoulder and saw Henry standing inside the door to the room. He was exactly the man I wanted to see. I waved my arm, beckoning for him to come over. He walked across the room, dropped to his knees, moved up between her legs, pushed himself into her, leaned over her, and started fucking. He had not performed cunnalingus first nor had he pulled her legs up as usually did. He had simply fucked her, no questions asked. I laid nearby and watched.

A week earlier I had been in almost exactly the same position watching Henry make it. Then it had seemed like a beautiful piece of artistic creativity. This time it looked like a cold, hard, pieced of ass. I was sure that part of the difference lay in my mind rather than in the objective phenomenon of what was occurring.

At this time, only the three of us were in the orgy room other than a few people who were standing in the entrance. As we laid there, other couples started to come in, lie down, and begin to make it. When Henry finished, he said a few words, got up, and walked away. I lay there talking to Connie for several minutes. We moved a few feet over to the longer wall and talked some more. By now a lot of people had filtered in. Connie leaned back. I moved down between her legs and began to lick on her. I obtained a routine sort of erection which had come about without much conscious effort.

[End of this Section ]
[The preceding chapter was entitled "The Party of November 19, 1966".]

This story is about real events and real people. We have photographs of two of them, Mara Suviks and Deana Pino .

To learn more about this student club, see: My Halcyon Student Days , The Party of November 19, 1966 , Lisa Lindvall, Sexual Freedom Organizer , How we got Mara into Playboy Magazine , Mario Savio and the Free Speech Movement and Orgy Host Ordered to Quit House .

We were not merely throwing parties. We were also student campus revolutionaries in our spare time. Here is a picture of me in the San Francisco Chronicle for December 6, 1966 News Clipping of Sam Sloan, Student Striker, in December, 1966.

Here are links:

Contact address - please send e-mail to the following address: