The disco ball cast shards of light across our faces, offering brief glimpses of who was there and how they were feeling. Some smiled nervously, others looked to the ground or into the plastic prosecco glass they were clutching.
Like the majority, I was fully clothed, looking from the mezzanine area onto the bar below. It was 8pm on a Thursday evening and I was at a women-only sex party, held in a ‘secret location’ in central London. I had gone along to accompany a friend who felt nervous attending on her own. I was there to be her emotional support sex party pal — after all, isn’t that what friends are for?
There were about 100 women, most of whom had arrived alone, making small talk with each other, while a stripper swung herself, somewhat lazily, around a pole. A few women were in matching lingerie, and they tended to be the ones who ran up to each other squealing things like, “It’s been too long, I haven’t seen you in forever!”
They were also the ones who confidently raised their hands to questions after the introductions were over: ‘Have you ever been here before?’ and, ‘Have you been with a woman before?’. Most of us shook our heads, our hands firmly to our sides. This was a new experience for, I’d guess, 90% of the room. How, I wondered, could this party, with this group of women, hesitant and awkward on the sidelines, turn into an orgy? How would anyone know what to do?!
Once the introduction talk was over, the room began to clear. Until, eventually, there were only a few of us (the fully clothed) left. The pole was now empty, the dancer elsewhere. We hadn’t been told where to go, just that the party would end at midnight. Somehow, the others naturally began to filter off. I assumed perhaps to another bar, where we’d maybe get to know each other more. My friend had been told there would be ‘games’, like spin-the-bottle, to help us relax and migrate into the evening more.
Then… I went upstairs.
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There, along a corridor, were three different rooms that you could weave in and out of. In one, a pile of seven, maybe eight (it was impossible to count!) women were naked and tangled within each other. On the bed next to them, three women were involved in a three-way kiss. We moved our way to the next room, where a woman I’d made small talk with earlier, let’s call her Sofia* (“How was journey here? Yes, not too bad”), was bent over, while another expertly fingered her. The chorus of moans and screams echoed around the building. Along one wall, there was a line of mattresses (wipe clean), on which a line-up of women were going down on each other.
I cannot express how quickly all of this happened. Within the space of, I’d say, half an hour, this group of shy women — the majority of whom had said they’d never had sex with a woman before and that this was their first sex party — had stripped off and the orgy was in full swing. Everyone seemed very, very happy about it.
All my life I’ve been told: this is not how women have sex. This is how men have sex. Women need to know someone first before taking their clothes off; our desire is based on emotional connection. It’s men who have an animal need to ‘spread their seed’ and can readily, and willingly, have sex with strangers. Women, it’s said, both psychologically and socially, simply do not like or want casual sex as much as men do.
Yet here I was, watching a pile of women, mostly strangers to one another, screaming out in pleasure. Moving from one room to the next, exploring, decadently, what each possibility held. Down in the dungeon, there were more cubby areas, secluded places where two or three women indulged themselves — all to the sounds of a woman strapped into a leather harness being spanked.
We wandered back upstairs, where the scene was similar to before. Sofia was just finishing off using a sex toy on her companion and spotted us. Still naked, still covered in post-orgasm sweat, she picked up our conversation from before. “So…” she asked. “Do either of you have children?” We shook our heads. “I didn’t think so,” she said, looking us up and down. I don’t believe there’s ever a good time or place to ask this question — but a sex party is probably one of the worst places to do so. We excused ourselves.
The pile was still there, an amorphous blend of limbs — some new, some from before — and a woman stood beside them, masturbating, while staring intently at me. I suddenly felt very aware of my clothed state, like I was an observant of something I shouldn’t be.
Then I spotted the man with the bucket. He was shuffling between the rooms, mopping — with a bright-yellow industrial sponge — all the, er, fluid on the floor. And, while later this would be a detail I’d gleefully tell my friends about, laughing about what happens when sex work meets hospitality (it’s an important job! The floor was slippy!), his presence, at the time, made me feel uncomfortable.
It was now 10:30pm. It was time to go. My friend agreed. The people-pleaser in me felt rude for showing up and not actually partaking in anything, but it’s (I’ve been told by sex party veterans) perfectly okay to go along to a sex party and not have sex: you shouldn’t feel pressured into anything. Knowing this is even more essential when going along to something for the first time: you can assess whether the place, the people, the vibes, are right for you, and then next time, if you want and feel comfortable, and now know what to expect and with your own personal boundaries in place, you can join in enthusiastically, knowing you’re doing it for pleasure, rather than out of obligation.
Before darting out the door, we went to the bathroom, where a woman, still dressed, sat shyly by the mirrors. One of the other party attendees began to chat with her, asking her what had brought her tonight and how she was feeling. She said she knew she was attracted to women but had never felt “brave” enough to put herself out there. Being here was obviously a huge step. The other woman told her how beautiful she was and stroked her arms before asking to kiss her. She nodded, and then they kissed gently. “Did you like that?” she was asked, and again she nodded. They kissed again. “I’m going to go out to the party now, come find me when you’re ready,” the more confident one of the pair said. The other, once so shy, so folded into herself, stood taller and smiled widely.
When it’s suggested that ‘women don’t want casual sex’, what is often unsaid is the factors that have led to this. We are at a higher risk for sexual violence than men, and have also been conditioned to believe that having a lot of sexual partners will somehow makes us less ‘good’, less ‘worthy’. Men are told ‘boys will be boys’, while women are ‘sluts’. Then there’s the orgasm gap (something that was definitely addressed at this party): lesbian and bisexual women orgasm far more than those in heterosexual relationships.
When, throughout history, our sexualities have been weaponised against us, it can be incredibly difficult to untangle those societal messages from how we really feel, and to connect to what we really want. What if we were given the opportunity to have wild, multi-orgasmic sex with strangers, in an environment where we felt safe? Where we knew we’d be respected? My evening at this party offered me a small glimpse into this world.
As we emerged out into the crisp air, we bumped into Sofia again. She was almost unrecognisable in a fluffy pink hat, love-heart printed scarf and practical walking boots. “Leaving early?” we asked. “Yeah, got to get home to the kids,” she said, before quickening up her pace, eager to make the last train. Women have so many different sides, what would life look like if we were allowed to show them all?
Catriona Innes is Cosmopolitan UK’s multiple award-winning Commissioning Editor, who has won BSME awards both for her longform investigative journalism as well as for leading the Cosmopolitan features department. Alongside commissioning and editing the features section, both online and in print, Catriona regularly writes her own hard-hitting investigations spending months researching some of the most pressing issues affecting young women today.
She has spent time undercover with specialist police forces, domestic abuse social workers and even Playboy Bunnies to create articles that take readers to the heart of the story. Catriona is also a published author, poet and volunteers with a number of organisations that directly help the homeless community of London. She’s often found challenging her weak ankles in towering heels through the streets of Soho. Follow her on Instagram and Twitter.
