5 Things I Learned From a 5-Way With My Boyfriend

Discerning Daddy

This past weekend Layne and I had our first 5-Way together as a couple. We’ve had three-ways and one experience with another couple, but never a five-way.

I get nervous sometimes. Insecure. Jealous. I want to go fuck a bunch of guys with Layne. But I also want him to be all mine, to only want me: basically I want to go fuck a bunch of guys while Layne stands by and cheers me on, which is totally unrealistic as fuck.

So I have to learn to manage my feelings. Manage my insecurities and jealousies and basic cave-man-mentality.

Sometimes I succeed. Sometimes I don’t. Life is one big learning curve and I am all over the place.

The guys we were meeting were safe, they were friends, so we knew the situation would be comfortable. We knew no one was going to be super fucked up on drugs or assholes. We met at our friend Dan’s house in Venice. He had two friends visiting from out of town.

We all stood around the kitchen talking. In those initial moments I wanted to leave. I suddenly had thoughts like, “What if I can’t get hard? What if my breath smells? What if no one likes me or I’m fat or…” on and on the thoughts went, all the ways my head starts to tear me down. I even indicated to Layne that I might want to leave.

We all started to make out. Everyone was hard but me. My head had brought about the curse of the limp dick.

I was on the bed naked. Dan was sucking my dick and Carlos was making out with me. I was semi-hard, but I knew: it wasn’t going to work. I looked over at Layne who was sucking Pete’s dick. He saw me and he smiled. I indicated that I thought maybe this wasn’t going to work out and then he was there kissing me, telling me he loved me, playing with my dick while the others were all making out with each other and I learned the most important lesson of them all…

1. Lean in on your partner: This might be the most important of the five lessons. You’re there together. As a team. To have an adventure. This was Jeff and Layne’s great adventure, and when the adventure starts to go bad, find your partner and let them get you back on track. Just taking a few moments to connect with Layne, to feel him and to kiss him, got my dick hard and my head in the game.

If you’re having a sexy adventure with your partner being connected is one way to guarantee you’re going to have a good time. Make eye contact, no matter who else you’re fucking, make sure to check in, touch, kiss, fuck each other: this is about the two of you having an experience together.

So go out there and fuck the world together if you want. There’s nothing hotter than seeing your dude (or whoever you’re out there fucking the world with) making out with some sexy daddy, sucking some dick, getting fucked.

And I really love that moment when he looks over at me, his dick buried deep in some ass, and he mouths, “I love you so much,” or he smiles at me, or reaches out for me.: connecting with me.

I love watching my man be a stud. And I love going home with him, knowing that he’s going to fuck me so good, and then we get to cuddle up on the couch and watch Sabrina together.

2. You Can Leave If You Really Want To: This one is also important. And doesn’t need a lot of discussion. It’s one of the most basic rules Layne and I have: if either of us isn’t feeling comfortable and nothing we do gets us back in the game we get to call it quits. If, on Sunday, I had really wanted to go home, Layne would have supported that. He probably would have been disappointed, but I know he would have totally supported me, and we still would have had a great afternoon together. Sometimes these things just don’t work out and it’s ok to say you don’t want to play anymore. Our rule is clear: if, for any reason, one of us wants to leave, we both leave. We try to be polite, we try to be kind, but the priority is each other, and making sure we are comfortable.

3. Jealousy is Normal: I’ve written about this a lot: being jealousy is normal. And sometimes, watching your man take another dick, or fuck another dude, or just making out, is going to kick in that cave man attitude. This is where lesson 1 comes in handy again. When I’m feeling jealous, or insecure, connecting with my man, touching him, making eye contact, whatever, seems to dispel those feelings, reminding me that I am his and he is mine, and I don’t have to be afraid. If you find yourself getting jealous don’t beat yourself up. It really is normal. Just try to remember: you guys are in this together. It’s your adventure. And you’re the one he’s going home with.

4. The Whole Point is To Suck a New Dick So Enjoy It and Let Your Man Enjoy it Too: Yes jealousy is normal, yes being connected is essential, but also, remember: the whole point here is to experience different dick and ass. And to do it together.

I love getting fucked by some sexy top, making out with the guy next to me who is getting fucked by Layne. I love sharing a hot ass with Layne. I love watching my man suck another dick. One of the hottest experiences I’ve had with Layne was me making out with this sexy daddy while Layne jerked off on our faces. Cus that’s why you’re here: to fuck someone new. To have a new experience. So if your man seems really into the dick he’s sucking, or is really getting off on that dude fucking him: remember: that’s why you’re here. To enjoy it. To get drunk on new dick.

I always try to make sure Layne feels safe, to know he can explore new things with the guys we are with, to have fun. We aren’t the same people with everyone, and my dude might not be the same sexual being he is with me as he is with someone else: and that’s ok. It’s even hot.

As long as you guys are strong, and connected, and trust each other, then you should both feel free to explore and to have fun. Enjoy that new dick and ass, and watch your man be a total slutty stud: it’s the best porn I know.

5. It’s an Extension of Our Sex Life and Not a Replacement of Our Sex Life: I’ll say it again: Layne and I fuck. A lot. Sunday morning, hours before we went to our first 5-way, Layne woke me up with his dick in my ass. We fucked three times before we ever met those guys. When we go on adventures it’s to enhance our sex, to show off for each other, to connect in new ways: even in the middle of an orgy together it’s about us: our sexuality, witnessing and sharing in each other. Sexy adventures can be a way of keeping things fresh, of opening new doors, of exploring your sexuality and fantasies together.

After we got home on Sunday Layne took me into the bedroom and fucked me again: I had Pete and Dan’s loads in me. Layne held me down, talking in my ear, getting off on knowing that my ass was full of two other guys, until he added his own: claiming me for what I am: his.

And honestly: that’s it. Fucking other guys together, watching Layne with someone else, showing off for him, just makes me want him more. It adds to our sex life. Expands it. And connects us even deeper to each other.

I really encourage you and your partner (s) to go out and explore together and have fun together. I’d love to hear your stories. And remember: it’s ok to be scared, it’s ok to be jealous: just look to your dude to help you, be honest with each other and try to keep growing. Because that’s the whole point!

CHICAGO: REFELCTIONS ON LIFE, DEATH, SEX, AND LOVE

Discerning Daddy

When I was 15 I fell madly in love with a boy named Eric. His father lived in the Dakota, Eric’s bedroom windows looking out over Central Park West, and Strawberry Fields. I would spend weekends at Eric’s place. We would lie in bed jerking off, kissing and fucking. During the day, when Eric would lock himself in his bedroom and paint, I would go across the street to the park, and cruise the Rambles.

I would spend hours wandering those trails, trying to see how many guys I could get to touch me, to let me fuck them, how many different guys I could make cum by sucking them off.

And then I would return to Eric. We would get high on opium laced joints and he would tell me about what he had created: Eric believed his work was inspired by beings who lived in other dimensions. Eric believed that there were worlds within worlds, and if we closed our eyes we could see past the thin veil of our existence: we could see into the endless expanse.

Eric would wake me up late at night. He would be crying. He would tell me that he had to get out. He had to get away. I knew he was falling under the spell of whatever madness ate at him. And maybe a part of me understood it: understood the burning in his brain, the voices.

We would go for long walks, down Central Park West to 59th, meeting Broadway, through Times Square, and into the Village. He would sit in Thompkins Square Park, listening to the drums play, listening to the drunks and the conspiracy theorists yelling at the sky, and I would wander down 7th street to the stoop where the dope dealers stood.

A bag of dope for each of us. Enough to quiet our screaming heads. And we would sit on benches, waiting for the sun to come up, telling each other wild dreams of who we would be, of love and adventure. I was going to be a poet, a writer, Eric was going to be an artist, he was going to be a cult leader: and one day, when we were older, we would find each other again, and we would spend the rest of our lives in love somewhere in the desert, or in Paris, or Tunisia, or maybe in an apartment in Chelsea.

When Eric moved to Sedona to live with his mother I thought my whole world would fall apart. I had never known pain like that in my life. Eric is the first man I ever really loved.

And the loss of him ripped through me, tore at me, like losing a part of myself.

I didn’t know then what I know now: that even though it felt like dying, it wouldn’t kill me. I didn’t know then that I am strong, and that love, even the loss of love, will just make me stronger.

My mother, Beverly, used to talk about the fires that burned in her head. How they would burn bright and then dark. How life was an endless battle between those fires. Beautiful and destructive and consuming.

“We are like that, you and me. We burn bright. And that burning can make life feel endlessly magical, but if you aren’t careful those fires will consume you and everyone you have loved.”

She’s right of course. Those fires have consumed me over and over. Like heroin. Like the screaming thoughts in my head.

The first time I kissed Eric was in Madison New Jersey, where my father was living, where his mother lived before moving to Sedona. We were on the golf course, it was three in the morning, and Eric was sure that the night sky was full of alien crafts, that the shadows were hiding whispering men, we were tripping on mushrooms and I think I kissed him because I wanted to shut him up as much as I actually wanted to kiss him.

He held me. He was so warm. I was high enough to feel us becoming one. I was high enough to believe we could stay like that forever, breathing in the night.

Layne likes to ask me when I knew I was in love with him, and I never want to tell him, because what if I fell in love with him first? Because I resist him, I don’t want him to think I love him as much as I do: I’m afraid of falling in love with Layne: I’m afraid of losing him. I’m so afraid of losing some battle that is a self-made construct: I am so afraid of giving in, and yet here is a secret: when I give in I win. Every time. When I give in I no longer even care about winning: I’m just happy.

But lately I’ve been thinking about it a lot too. When did I fall in love with Layne? Was it the night he showed up alone at Ostbahnhoff, a warehouse party in Downtown LA, where I was with my boyfriend, Noah, who was visiting from Berlin with friends of ours? Layne stood there, on the dance floor, watching me, something about his eyes, the way he looked at me: I wanted to walk up to him, to kiss him: I wanted the whole world to stop so it could be just the two of us. He smiled: maybe I fell in love with him the first time I ever saw him smile because Layne has one of the most beautiful smiles I have ever seen: because even though he wouldn’t agree with me, I know it is true: Layne’s smile that night was so full of hope and dreams and life , or maybe it was the first time I realized he was just as scared as I was, or the night, driving home from another warehouse party and we pulled over on the side of the road and he fell asleep, because I wouldn’t let him sleep over yet, because I was still refusing to give in, and his head was on my shoulder and I listened to him breath: listened to him live.

When did I fall in love with you, Layne?

Was it the time you asked me to come to the Eagle and watch you dance, and I did. I got dressed and drove to the Eagle and you danced for me. And I knew: this was important. It was important that I did that.

My mother would tell me we had been in love forever. Before we even met: that our love was just waiting for us to find it.

I come from the kind of women who believe in magic and love and destiny: the kind of women who have spent their lives refusing to be anything other than who they are.

Maybe I have loved you forever, Layne. Sometimes that is exactly how it feels.

Layne and I fuck. A lot. And we fight. And we burn as bright as we can: and we do everything we can not to be consumed, even when all I want is to be consumed.

When I got sober the thing I was most afraid of was losing what made me special, of becoming like everyone else: a man who goes to work, who grows old, who loses his dreams. What I didn’t realize was that the drugs were the things that were holding me back, the things that were robbing me of my real fire, of my true dreams.

Sobriety is a challenge for me. The voices in my head, the anger, the jealousy, the obsessive thoughts. I struggle with quieting my head so I can hear who I really am: that little voice underneath it all.

This is amplified in my relationship. I am slowly realizing that when I am mad at Layne, or jealous, or scared, it rarely has anything to do with him, or us, but with all the stories I have built from that very first kiss with Eric, through all the men I have loved, through all the loss and all the dreams that didn’t come true and all the fear: sometimes I have to step away from Layne and realize: this isn’t about us . It’s about me.

Because, like anyone who has made it 51 years, I am damaged, and that’s ok. It’s actually kind of beautiful. If I let it be. We are all these amazing, damaged survivors: we are the ones who get to tell the stories.

Layne grew up in Nebraska. He moved to Chicago when he was 27 to be an actor and an artist: to be the man he really always was. So going for a three day trip to Chicago was going home for Layne.

The most amazing thing about going home with someone, going back to where they were creating the dreams that would define them, is you get to meet all the people who loved them. You get to see them outside of the context of the life you have together: you get to see Them.

Maybe you fall in love with someone many times: maybe it isn’t one time. Maybe I fell in love with Layne listening to stories his friends told me of the actor, of the young man, of the crazy man: of my man. Or maybe it was the night we stood in the middle of a sex party at Jackhammer and Layne wouldn’t let me go, whispering in my ear, “Mine,” or when he walked me around Sidetrack in Boys Town excited to show me his world.

Or maybe it was when he showed me all the places he had fucked, or sucked dick, the dark rooms and the guys he had met there. Or walking all the way from Downtown to Edgewater where we were staying because he wanted me to see everything: the theatres he had performed in and the apartments he had lived in: he wanted me to love Chicago as much as he did: he wanted me to catch the dream.

This is what it means to get to get to know someone: to learn them: to see them. There were those moments in Chicago where I realized: This is Layne. This is a Layne I’ve never met before. This is a whole new Layne for me to fall in love with.

And we got to fuck some really hot dudes together, and I got jealous, and we fought, but mostly we walked and we talked and we grew: and we fed the fires so they could feed us.

My mother had a friend, David. David was gay. He would spend summer weekends on fire Island, he bartended at a gay bar in New Hope. David would spend weeks with us, sleeping in our guest room, telling my brother and I wildly inappropriate stories about all his adventures. Stories I would jerk off to, hungry for life.

David was the first man I ever knew who died of AIDS. I remember being at his funeral, all the men crying: it was the early years, the years we were still able to cry: before all the funerals my mother would make me go to: “Because we owe it to them. We owe it to all of them.” After the funeral we went to Washington Square Park and someone played a pop song I can’t remember on a big black radio and we all danced and I remember the way the sun burned against the buildings, the way the clouds rolled over the City, and the way a summer rain fell, and we still danced.

And I remember my mother saying, when I asked her why we were dancing: “Because what else are you going to do? It’s either dance or die, baby boy. So we’re gonna dance.”

When I found out I was HIV positive I was terrified to tell my mother. Because she had lost everyone, all those men who had helped raise me, because there came a time when we no longer danced, when we no longer cried: a time when we just knew: eventually they would all be dead.

I remember calling her. I couldn’t stop crying. I kept saying, “I’m so sorry, mom, I’m so sorry.”

And she said to me, “Baby. I love you more than anything in the whole world. This is just a thing. Just one more thing. It will not take you down.”

And of course she was right. I sero-converted in the age of undetectable viral loads and PreP and TASP, in the age where this would not kill me. But I felt guilty. I felt ashamed. Like I had let her down.

“You will make this something important,” she said to me. “You will use this to change your life.”

Maybe I fell in love with Layne when his dick was buried deep inside this little muscle dude we met in Chicago, when he reached out for me, his eyes connecting with mine: and I saw him there, I saw him loving me as he fucked that guy, or maybe it was when the three of us were kissing and I felt Layne’s hand taking mine in his, his fingers interlocking with mine…

…because this is what life is, isn’t it? All the dreams and all the love and all the loss and all the living…the burning as bright as we can without being consumed…

We fight and we fuck and we dream and we burn bright…and we love…and I wonder if Eric is the leader of his own cult in the desert, or if he is in Paris, or Tunisia, in some studio making brilliant art, or maybe he is a banker, or a homeless man, or maybe he’s dead, and I wonder who David would have been if he hadn’t have died of AIDS, or all those men who we could have loved, but instead, we turned our backs on, who as a nation we allowed to die alone from a disease that for me, in 2019 is totally manageable, and I can make their deaths matter: I can make David, who was so beautiful and funny and vibrant: I can make him matter…by loving Layne, by following my dreams all the way to the end, even the ones that never manifest: just by living and not giving in…

And maybe the first time I fell in love with you Layne was when…

Art work by Layne Manzer.