The Five Magical Sex Acts of Cory Kennedy

A friend and I went to a Cobrasnake party the other night. I left with some (act-|wait-)tress who, instead of taking her clothes off, decided to spend two hours explaining how she knew Emmy Rossum was a lez. My friend, on the other hand, got to leave with Cory Kennedy. I called him the next morning to find out how it was. He said:

“So amazing that it would be unconscionable for me to even attempt to relate the details to you.”

“Come on, tell me.”

“I will tell you five amazing things, and you must tell me which amazing thing comes closest to capturing the raw emotion of the experience.”

“OK.”

“OK. You ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“Number one. It was like riding on the back of a giant sea turtle, across the middle of the ocean at night, while, high overhead, the heat death of the universe begins.”

“OK.”

“Number two. It was like feeling the warm, sweet breath of a unicorn on your face and neck as it nuzzles you awake, deep inside an enchanted forest, on the morning of the final day of an epic quest.

“No.”

“You sound sure.”

“Come on.”

“Number three. It was like being made love to by a wind-wraith, a being both nowhere and everywhere all at once, an invisible yet sensate creature able to hover gently above every pleasure cell and erogenous zone all over your entire body–I mean each individual hair on your head, your fingers and palms, your lips and eyelids, the insides of your forearms and thighs, all of them–and trigger them simultaneously.”

“A wind-wraith.”

“Number four. You’ve been to the Playboy Mansion.”

“You know I haven’t.”

“It was like entering a place of unspeakable pornography, and being given the Holy Communion. Amidst the most horrifying perversion, you feel the touch of God, light upon your forehead, and are moved to tears. You are transformed utterly, but in the exact opposite of the way that you expected. Number five.”

“OK.”

“Number five. It was like a soul splitting in two. The ethereal half floats gently up to the ceiling, to gaze down upon the corporeal half and Cory, as they continue their primal, atavisitic ravaging of each other’s bodies. Then–at the exact moment of orgasm–the ethereal spirit ejaculates starshine all across the room. It cascades down and seeps into your skins. Your minds are suddenly flooded with visions. You are Anthony and Cleopatra. Lancelot and Guinivere. Jesus and Mary Magdalene. You are Adam and Eve. You are every couple, ever, from the beginning until the end of time.”

I thought for a moment. “Come on. It wasn’t like any of those things.”

He was silent.

I said: “You fucked her for 8 minutes and wished she’d squirm around a little more. She asked if you had any coke and you made an excuse about having to be at work early. Like it always is.”

“No.”

“Like it always is with girls like her.”

“There aren’t girls like her.”

“It wasn’t like any of those things,” I insisted.

He whispered: “It was.”