Wait, wait, wait. Don’t go jumping to any conclusions. I’m not having a party. My Naughty Valentine is the name of the party I went to the other night (well, the party was called Chemistry, the theme for that night was My Naughty Valentine).
Before I tell you about the party, lemme give you the back story: Friday morning I got a strange email from a friend who works at Thrillist, asking if I’d be interested in going to a “very exclusive sex party”. One of their editors was invited but he needed to be with a woman to get into some of the “events”. So, of course, I seemed like the perfect person to tag along
I said, “Hell yeah!” Now, just for clarification, I’d never been to a sex party before. Never been into that scene. But going as an observer, that seemed kinda cool (not because I wanted to watch people have sex, or whatever – but because I wanted to see how people would be interacting and stuff).
So over the course of the day, me and this editor (a very nice young man who was clearly scared to death at the prospect of going to a sex party) made plans to meet for a drink and then head off to the far reaches of Brooklyn for the party. We each had to fill out a questionnaire and submit pictures of ourselves (leading me to believe that there was a minimum “attractiveness” requirement but evidence did not bear that out).
Our drink turned into many drinks. Neither of us were in a rush to get to the party. The night was cold, the bar was warm and I was wearing next to nothing (people were encouraged to wear thematically appropriate attire which I translated into red lingerie and a mini-skirt). Plus we figured there was no point in getting there early. My hunch was that things would really start heating up later in the night.
We got there around midnight (the party officially started at 10) and found ourselves in a not very big loftspace full of mostly 20 somethings with a light sprinkling of 30 and 40 somethings. It looked, for the most part, like any loft party in Brooklyn except there was a guy dancing in nothing but a g-string and about one third of the women were in some sort of lingerie. There was a dance floor and a bar and a bunch of places for people to sit and talk.
And a little screened off area for people to go off and have sex, if they should so desire. You don’t see those at most parties, true.
Anyway, we were there for a few hours and there really wasn’t much going on for the first hour in terms of dancing, flirting or people going off behind the screens. Like so many other situations, people seemed to need plenty of liquid courage before they did much of anything. But eventually the music got louder/faster, more people started dancing and a lot more people started fooling around (and a few couples didn’t bother going behind the screen). There were clearly a few couples there who came for the express purpose of having sex with an audience.
I gotta say, the most bizarre thing about the whole experience was that I didn’t hear a single sex noise the whole night, even when there were people having sex just 5 feet away from me. Not even a low grunt. It seemed like people were going though the motions of having sex, but no one was all that much into it. Or maybe none of them are the type of people who make noise when they’re having sex.
Entirely possible. Bizarre, but possible.
Oh, and did I mention that the very first person I laid eyes on as we walked in the door was someone I dated, briefly? That was awkward!