One of the issues with Miracle Manor was how sexually stilted the place was. It was not like there was any overt prohibition, just a lot of people in their heads who were not open to any sexual conversation (much less contact) and some who were hostile to it. This sometimes had a spiritual pretext; the New Age and all forms of Christianity have long made their living on denying sexual reality. The underlying assumption of sin is that it’s connected to guilt and therefore to paying for repentance.
Further, what was called ‘politics’, meaning the news in any form, was treated like it didn’t exist. While I lived at Miracle Manor, I was a news reporter and into sexual experimentation, so there was some tension. It was largely unspoken. I did my best to brush it off. Yet it’s not subtle being around people who suspect that sex is in some way unholy and best avoided.
As for the setting. Miracle Manor was a short-lived (two years in duration) residential community in central new Jesey for people studying A Course in Miracles. I was there the second year of its existence with my girlfriend Ginger, from August 1986 through August 1987, age 22 to 23. At the time, about 16 other adults lived with us.
Miracle Manor found its home on a 16-acre property along the Raritan River, in a building that was formerly a convent for itinerant nuns. The ground floor included a big multipurpose room with an institutional kitchen. This opened to a phenomenal yard that was bounded on one side by the river and another by a road.
The second and third floors were residential. The second floor also had an office, a lounge and a chapel along with some dorm rooms; the third floor was all dorms, about 16 singles.
There was also an apartment tucked into the building, inhabited by the community ogre, Rosalie; she held herself as Mother Superior. Being a formerly Catholic facility, there was a confessional. Behind the chapel was a vestry, the room where vestments and sacred objects were previously kept, and where the priest would hang out and prepare for mass. The place had not been owned by the Catholics since the late 1970s, when it had been deconsecrated.
Ginger and I had the last two rooms on one side at the end of the third floor. We must have held the world record for sex in the building. She was as sexy as all the other women combined, though a few of them were friendly and some had unusual spiritual gifts: channeling angels, communicating with plants, visiting the space brothers, and that kind of thing. Nearly everyone was a devoteé of the guru Hilda in Manhattan. In truth, there was not much happening with A Course in Miracles, though I worked through the whole program in self-study mode that year.
The men were an interesting lot, and among them was George. I guess he was about 35 at the time. He seemed a lot older than I was, and he was gay. He was the only gay person in the community that we knew of, and I don’t recall that he had a boyfriend who visited. The fact that he was open about his sexuality made more room for Ginger and me to be open in that environment.
In one late night conversation with George, I said I was bisexual but had never had sex with a man. When I went back to her room, I mentioned this to Ginger, who I knew had a fascination with male homosexuality. She suggested that some time I let something happen with George. That’s all you need to do — let it happen.
One Thursday night I didn’t have a late meeting to cover, and nearly everyone in the community was taking class with Hilda at St. John the Divine in the city. It was pretty much me, Ginger and George in the building. Ginger was absorbed in a work-related project. I tapped on George’s door. The door opened and he invited me in. We both knew where things were going. The room was dimly lit with a candle and a colored light bulb. We sat down on a carpet in the middle of the floor.
After a few moments of silence, he asked, “Would you like to play?”
I nodded yes.
“Would you like a hit of weed?” I nodded yes.
He packed a little glass one hitter and handed it to me with a lighter. I took a hit. Technically the place was no-smoking and “drug free” but nobody much was home and anyone who might care didn’t ever leave her apartment. With one drag I was suddenly very dreamy. I had tripped the day before in the city and that has a lingering affect for me; with just a little weed the whole world became morphy.
Ginger’s words floated back to me: let it happen.
By the time he slipped me out of my pants and undies at the same time, my penis was stiff and eager. I felt my teeshirt come off. George was not a big man but I felt small and feminine. I knew I had to do nothing, so I focused on breathing. My eyes were closed. I felt my balls pulled up and he licked underneath them, pushing my legs wide. His tongue painted me right where my vulva would be if I had one, in broad, delicate strokes. I could only moan and relax my legs and let them drop open wide. It was if I suddenly had a vagina and he was eating me out.
Then he sucked my penis into his mouth and took me all the way in and I was penetrating him. But that delight was short lived, giving way to something else.
He rolled me over onto my belly and pulled up my ass a little, spread my cheeks and began to swirl his tounge around. I had never been naked with a man before and now I was fully under his control. I could not have resisted if I wanted to, and I did not want to. He knew just what to do. I’ve had my ass licked out a lot. Ginger did it all the time but this was different, bold and direct adn his scratchy cheeks were different from those of a woman. And then…he fucked me deeply with his tongue and I felt his heat inside me. My whole consciousness was focused on what was happening and my breath. He clasped my hips with his hands, gripped me and took me. I grunted in the rhythm to his penetration.
Then my mind caught hold of what was happening to me. I was naked with a man, being deeply pleasured by him. I knew that some time soon I would orgasm with a man and there would be no going back.
I wanted him to strech me open and fuck me with his cock, but I could not say anything. He could have done anything to me and I would have loved it. All I could do was grunt and moan in acceptance of the gift he was giving me. All I could do was vocalize my acceptance of what was happening in that moment and not know what would happen next. I felt his tongue plunge deeper and deeper into me as I melted into myself and allowed and invited myself to be taken. His strong hands felt so good holding me.
Then he sat me up and leaned me against his bed. I looked around. The room was a sphere. I thought of Ginger down the hall, who must have figured out what was happening. Then I caught a little glipmse of my face and my naked body in the mirror hung on the back of the door. I felt like masturbating myself, so I did. He looked at my face and smiled and just said, yes.
Then suddenly my penis was in his throat again. His hands clasped my hips and he pulled me into himself and encoaurged me to rock and fuck his mouth. I looked up and was looking at my face in the mirror, which I could barely stand and barely recognize but I pushed myself to do it for a moment or two, and saw George, still dressed, taking my cock down his throat. I had never been sucked off like this before. Women were so gentle and delicate about it. This was neither.
Then I could feel that his full intention was to swallow my orgasm. I delighted in the truth that there was nothing I could do about this. I remembered something I had read about a lesbian initiatory experience: your body knows what to do. With that, one of his fingers slipped up my ass and my orgasm seized me as I both throbbed around his finger from my core, and pusled down his throat. He grunted as he swallowed and pulled me all the way into himself. My ejaculation must have been enormous because this sensation of being penetrated and spurting into him and his swallowing seemed to last forever.
Then I seemed to black out. I could feel him lift me onto his bed as I lay in half-dream, drifting in the pleasure of my surrender, half-in, half out of consciousness, laying on my belly. I felt his tongue plunge into me again. Then he rolled me over and sucked me off and I thundered and cried out in surrender and he swallowed me…again...letting me feel his thirst for semen…for my semen.
Then I drifted off to sleep and at some point awakened. He was sitting calmly on the floor, smiling.
“I think Ginger is waiting for you,” he said.
“I think you may be right.”
I sat up and he handed me my clothing in a little folded bundle.
I needed to walk through the corridor naked, wishing to be seen in this state. But nobody did. I entered Ginger’s room, where I usually slept, slipped into bed and found her naked. My mouth went directly to her vulva and I licked her pussy and her ass and swallowed her through several orgasms. Then with both of us in half-dream, I told her about what happened with George. Deep in the night with that truth open between us, she sucked me herself and swallowed me gently like she had so many times.