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Sex Party: What Happened at My First Orgy

Like many forms of sex deemed "deviant," group sex seems to be becoming more mainstream.
 
 
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“Are you blocking my way on purpose?”

“Yes.” 

It was the shortest sexual exchange I’d ever had, and all it took for these two strangers, both blond, tattooed, and with foreign accents that sounded faintly Russian, to push me backward onto a bed in a room comprised of nothing but beds and people fucking each others' brains out. While the Russian couple proceeded to have their way with me, I caught glimpses of other nearby fornicators, in pairs, in groups, and one lone male Adonis who simply sat on the edge of a bed while a line of women took turns sucking him off. 

Going to a sex party was never something I imagined I’d do. Like windsurfing or re-watching all six seasons of Alias, it fell very low on my list of life goals. Then the woman I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with dumped me in order to date men, and I found myself saying yes to a lot of things I never would have otherwise. I also happen to abide by the Writer’s Manifesto: A good story is better than a good time. 

My two companions for the evening -- I’ll call them Steve and Jessica -- and I walked into the unassuming San Francisco Mission District flat on a Saturday evening in early August. We were all virgins to the sex party scene and more than a little nervous. But we did have a few tricks up our sleeves. We were young, we were jaded, and we were more than a little bit tipsy already.

We climbed the creaky stairs to the second floor, where we were screened to make sure we had come dressed appropriately. "Kinky Salon," a monthly sex party and cabaret in San Francisco, has a strict dress code. No jeans, khakis or sportswear. “If you wear something creative you will make more friends,” says the Web site.

I did not find myself inspired to befriend the graying gentleman in nothing but a neon thong, who was the first person I saw upon entering. Much to my relief, almost everyone else was clothed. The costumes ran the gamut, per the typical Burning Man mentality that has crept into so many San Francisco events. There were woodland creatures, goth fairies, sexy librarians, boy scouts, court jesters and other Renaissance Faire characters, dommes and subs being led around on chains, steam punks, and so on. Elaborate costuming didn’t make very much sense to me at a sex party. Why would you bother with the frilly things and the many layers and the tights if you were just going to take them off anyway? But despite my uninspiring attire, I was still able to “make friends” at the BYOB bar, which is where we went immediately.  

As soon as we poured our first drinks, a Kinky Salon volunteer rounded up all the men and took them into a separate room to talk about etiquette, and how to not be douches, or so Steve reported back to me when the lecture was over. The first guy I met was also a volunteer, and he was dressed kind of like Aladdin. Since I was nervous, I immediately made a sex joke, which I assumed would be well received at a sex party, but which instead made him laugh anxiously and then start rubbing my thigh. This was oddly my first, “Oh, I’m at a sex party!” moment. Before then it was just an ornate house party.  

As a woman, you expect to be hit on at bars, but I was wholly unprepared for two minutes of awkward small talk leading so quickly to first base. It made me really uncomfortable, so I made an excuse, grabbed Jessica, and together we took a tour of the house. In addition to the Room of Beds, and the bar/lounge, there was also a dance floor, an enclosed patio for smokers, and a play room, which didn’t really have much equipment, save for a spanking bench. “The place was intoxicating, the people were,” Jessica noted, somewhat wistfully.  “And the vibe really was friendly and kind and generous, but it was also emotionally overwhelming.” 

 
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