A Public Education: My Weird History at Sex Parties
Getting naked and sexy with a bunch of strangers can get awkward sometimes; in that way, sex parties are just like the other kind.
First, a disclaimer: Don’t take this as a Complete Guide to How to Go to a Sex Party. I don’t feel even remotely qualified to write such a thing. Even in my late forties, I feel like I’m still figuring all of this stuff out. Instead, think of it as an opportunity to learn from my mistakes and awkward moments.
I started going to sex parties fairly late in my erotic life — or at least, a lot later than I wanted to start. Most of my education about kinky and queer sex started on the internet — before the internet was really a thing, back in the days when all the porn was made out of ASCII characters. But I was really perverted by the discussions in the Usenet newsgroups, which is where had my first conversations about safewords, bondage and spanking techniques, polyamory, bisexuality, and safer sex techniques.
The problem was, it took me a long time to put any of that stuff into practice. I stayed on my ass in the computer lab geeking out on sex while not actually having any, even though right outside the door was 1990s San Francisco, an ideal place to put all that theory into practice. Part of that was because, like a lot of writers, I’m a huge introvert whose native habitat is sitting in front of a computer keyboard or a book. It was also because for the last few years of college, my depression was so bad that sometimes even being alone made the room feel too crowded.
Ultimately, though, the internet also gave me the tools to start exploring my sexuality in ways to a degree that would have been impossible for someone like me when everything was centered around bars. First it gave me a vocabulary, then an ethos about consent and safer sex, and finally I began to connect with real people.
Sex Parties: Surprisingly Normal
There’s very little that’s predictable about anyone’s first time at a sex party or public dungeon, but there’s one thing that is certain: It’s going to feel weird, and usually not in the ways that you expect. People usually brace themselves for one thing or another, only to find something totally different happening.
Possibly the most surprising thing about play parties is that once you get past the fact that everyone’s naked or wearing fetish gear, how incredibly normal everything is. When I first started attending sex parties, the anxiety around the sex stuff went away pretty quickly. My normal anxieties about socializing at parties — clothed or not — clung on for dear life.
As a massive introvert, I tend to be the person who winds up sitting at one end of a couch eating chips and dip. That’s pretty much what happened the first time I attended a party solo (which was also my second party ever). My main activity at that party was chatting with another guest about rental prices of apartments in San Francisco vs. Seattle. If you’ve ever lived in either of those cities, you’ve probably wound up having that very conversation more times than you can count; keeping a roof over your head is important, after all.
I’ve had more of those conversations than you might expect. Yes, I’ve spent a lot of time in dungeons fucking and sucking and getting tied up in various configurations — but I also also remember the time my partner and a dom started comparing memories of their Bar/Bat Mitzvahs while an intense waxplay scene was happening behind us.
That shouldn’t be taken as a sign that the party was a bad one, by the way. On the contrary, I think stuff like that is the sign of good party, one that’s created a comfortable and friendly atmosphere where bondage, fucking, or idle gossip are all equally valid ways of connecting with other people.
Awkward Meetings: They’re Just Part of the Game
If you go to enough sex parties, you’re almost guaranteed to run into some people that you don’t expect — or don’t wanna — see at an orgy. I haven’t had any of the really bad ones, like running into a family member or employer when they’re tied up and having electrical jolts applied to sensitive body parts.
However, I did start off my very first sex party with an awkward meeting. Nowadays, it would be nothing, but this was the first time that I was naked in public. In addition, I was coming out of a long dry spell. To put it more bluntly: I was in my late twenties, and until about two days before the party, I hadn’t had sex with another human being for three years. (At some point, I’d love to write about what depression does to one’s sex life, but that’s another story.)
After we surrendered our street clothes at the front of the party, the woman I was with stepped away for a few minutes to network with our host, a prominent educator in San Francisco’s sex-positive scene. (If that seems weird to you, read the last section again.) While she talked publishing stuff, I sat bare naked next to the hallway that led down to the action. It was a weird, intoxicating moment. My brain was flashing between euphoria at the possibilities and the urge to flee. And I was sitting there, trying to absorb all those emotions and work them into something coherent, I heard the two words that I couldn’t deal with at that very moment:
“Hi, Chris.”
I looked up and standing there was J, a guy I’d met from answering a personal ad a couple weeks before. Nothing happened; we hung out at a coffee shop and chatted, but it never went further than that. Almost twenty years later, he and I are still good friends, and we’ve worked together on several writing projects. Now, I’d think nothing of running into him at an orgy. But at that particular moment, it was a little bit overwhelming to run into him when I was already overwhelmed.
Even in the best circumstances, I’m not good with small talk or socializing at parties (again, see above), but I managed to keep my composure and chat until my friend came back from her networking. When she returned, we went into the main room and had a great time. Despite the weirdness that started the evening, the party as a whole opened an entirely new chapter of my sex life.
It’s almost inevitable that if you go to kink events or play parties on a regular basis, you’re going to have a similar experience eventually. Usually you can just kind of roll with it; if someone wants to rat you out, they have to rat themselves out, too.
What’s trickier is just dealing with the fact that there are some people — like family members — who you just don’t want to watch doing sex play. That has come up pretty consistently for me, both with family members and employers. In those cases, everyone knew what the others were into; but the boundaries of our relationship meant that we didn’t want to share space while getting tied up, flogged, or watching other people have those things done to them.
So how do you handle that? The same way good, responsible kinksters handle anything: negotiation and consent. When my partner and I were planning to go to a bondage exhibition, we would check in with certain people about what they happened to be doing that particular night. It didn’t have to be explicit, like asking, “Say, are you going to be at the nipple play demo on Saturday?” Just confirming schedules was enough to make sure that we missed any uncomfortable situations.
By not checking in, I did almost wind up attending an event at a San Francisco art gallery where my boss was going to be a demo bottom. Running into her and her boyfriend a block away from the gallery was embarrassing, but not as much as it could have been.
There’s a lot to say about attending sex parties, both for and against. They might be liberating as hell, or it really might not be for you. Trying to force yourself one way or the other is unhealthy. I’ve learned a lot from sex parties: I’ve learned things about my body, about consent, about what’s possible — and where I just don’t want to go. But even so, sometimes I’d much rather stay at home and watch Doctor Who episodes, silently lusting after David Tennant and Alex Kingston.
The main thing that I’d suggest if your explorations of sexuality do wind up taking you to play parties is to research the specific party that you’re going to as much as you’re able. There are some things that stick out as red flags. For instance, when I lived in NYC, there were several parties that required attendees to submit pictures. They have to make sure you live up to their standards of attractiveness.
Not only am I unlikely to meet those standards (such parties tend to favor thin, white bisexual women no older than 22), but they sound like toxic environments even if I did. That’s the sort of thing that I go to sex parties to get away from. I love feeling that my body, even with its decades of time and weird physical quirks, can still be and feel sexy. I want space to explore beyond all the myths and hangups about sex. So I tend to favor queer or queer-friendly parties, where there is more likely to be a broader range of acceptable genders, orientations, and kinks. In San Francisco, that kind of option is easier to find than in other places, but the advice about trying to find out a little ahead of time still stands.
And above all, consent. Be prepared to hear NO from other people, and to take it graciously when you do. At the same time, feel free to say NO when you need to, and insist that other people take it seriously. If the party hosts aren’t prepared to enforce that basic rule, consider that the reddest of red flags.
If you decide to explore public sex, good luck. And I hope that my weird and somewhat erratic history helps give you a few markers on the road.
