“Don’t worry, I won’t pie you,” Phil reassured me over Facebook a day before my arrival. I was to visit Los Angeles for a week-long workshop but Phil insisted I stay with him for a few days before, so I could get a taste of LA’s gay scene. I was a little reluctant, and it wasn’t just because he was basically a stranger. I sensed he liked me, and I wasn’t interested in him romantically. Not only that, but he had a pie fetish, in which he enjoyed throwing actual cream pies in people’s faces for sexual gratification. I feared that by agreeing to stay with him, I was obliged to be “pied,” so his Facebook message put me at ease. Don’t get me wrong. I was very curious, but it wasn’t something I was dying to try.
I’d met Phil at last year’s Folsom Street Fair and we hit it off. We had some interesting conversations, and although I found him attractive, he had a boyfriend at the time so nothing happened between the two of us. Still, we kept in touch on Facebook.
He had messaged me when he broke up with his boyfriend — I wasn’t sure if he was hinting he was now single and interested in me. The message came out of the blue, but I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend and he was in LA, so I didn’t think much of it. During that conversation though, he revealed he was into pie-ing. When I told him I was unsure what he meant, Phil sent me a series of photos of him pie-ing different guys, all tied to chairs and naked. Their faces were covered in cream and crust.
He explained it was about humiliation and control. Fair enough. I don’t judge, but it seemed literally too slapstick for my tastes. I love being restrained and losing control, but the pie aspect wasn’t sexy to me.
I did a bit of research and learned that pie-ing is an actual thing. I found a book, Deviant Desires: Incredibly Strange Sex, with a section on pisexuality, which includes pie-play safety tips. Apparently, sticky pies should be avoided for the sake of the eyelids and pies mustn’t be thrown but rather placed or lobbed, while avoiding the ears for obvious reasons. Also, one mustn’t inhale the pie, which makes a lot of sense too. Here are some suggested phrases to say to a pie partner: “Here’s your pie, sir,” “You want pie, I’ll give you pie,” and “You’re gonna take my pie and like it.”
Although I knew I wasn’t pisexual, I thought the phrases were kind of cute.
I landed at LAX and met Phil at his office building in downtown LA. He’s an accountant for a large film production company and thought it’d be easiest to meet at his work. When he greeted me in the lobby, he gave me a hug and told me how nice it was to see me, as if we were close friends reuniting — we’d only met that one time in San Francisco. Still, he brought me upstairs, and walked me around his office, introducing me to his coworkers as his “old friend” from Canada. I played along, explaining to one of his coworkers, aside, that I was looking forward to catching up with him and how I hadn’t seen him in ages.
Later, he took me to a rooftop bar down the street from his office, overlooking downtown LA. We sat at the back of the patio in the sun, downing cocktails, and sharing thoughts about love and life. He admitted to wishing he had a boyfriend, but needed to find somebody who could understand his pie fetish. A bit tipsy, I asked if he kept his fridge stocked with banana cream and lemon meringue pies.
“Yes,” he said. “Well, not banana. I use shaving cream on the pies.”
“Shaving cream? Interesting. Wait, wouldn’t that burn someone’s eyes?”
He was puzzled by my question. “No.”
We went back to his place in West Hollywood after some drinks to get ready for dinner. He shares a mansion with three other guys who also work in the entertainment industry. Nobody was home when we arrived so he took my bags and put them in one of the bedrooms. I wasn’t certain whether it was his bedroom, though it seemed it might be. I decided not to worry about it until I absolutely needed to . . .