Okay, so I’m back in London, the sun is shining, and spring is here. What does a young woman in her 20s immediately book upon her return to the big city and against the growing noise of fascism? You guessed it! A sex party.
We all knew this was coming! My frequent complaints of getting no action, my boredom with the increasing conservatism in clubs and the desire to be in more queer spaces after my boring months in the Shires urged me to come back to London with a bang – and I did! Not a literal bang, however… more on this later.
First, let me set the scene. My friends and I – equally down bad Black queer baddies – booked Riot Party UK, a POC and sex worker led queer sex positive rave. We looked at their rules and felt they really championed creating a safe and inviting place for us to get absolutely railed, and we were looking forward to it!
The three of us donned our sluttiest gear, deeply aware that the party started at 5pm(!) and so we’d be trekking in broad daylight, quickly throwing on some layers to prevent us catching a case on our way there. We caught the bus, all three of us looking like flashers. Me with my large overshirt covering my bloomers and see-through baby doll dress, and my friend wearing a literal trench coat to hide her stockings and ass-less chaps.
Upon entry, what struck me first was the immediate community! Everyone was so kind and accepting – which I guess you have to be in spaces like that (it’s kind of crazy to be a dick when your dick is out, right?); also everyone was very very sexy, hence my immediate cock/cooch fright (there isn’t a more eloquent way to put it, sorry). The organisers had set up this courtyard filled with crafts and snacks, and tables for people to commune and chat. I would love to say I immediately sat down and started getting to know people, but in reality, I went mute! I shut the f*ck up – and if you know me, that’s a big deal. The weeks of fantasies and expectations I’d built up in my head vanished from my body and were instead replaced with a severe awkwardness to the level of Michael Cera. I was meant to be this angelic, ethereal baddie with banging tits and adorable space buns, yet I felt like Ayo Edibiri in Bottoms… an ugly bitch wearing overalls (please note: neither I nor Ayo are ugly bitches and we do in fact pull off overalls as all true baddies do).
Now, if it’s your first time at a sex party or you’re there by yourself, what you’re gonna want to do is head over to the dance floor. The dance floor is your friend! It’s dark, loud and the writhing bodies that are equally, or more, naked than you makes you feel like you can get lost. Someone needs to do a study of how catching your friend’s whines and throwing it back can melt away the tension under the neon lights. With every bass thump and excellent blend between tracks, I remembered just how hot I actually am. Feeling revived, I took the opportunity to return to the courtyard in the bright light of day and survey the potential people who would be lucky enough to get fucked by me.
For some reason, I can only describe it as delusion. I set my eyes on an older couple. Clearly, I thought, why be rejected by just one person when I could be rejected by two simultaneously! and awkwardly blurted out, ‘You’re both hot. Do you come here often?’ Dear reader, they could see the fear in my eyes and hear the tremble in my voice. It’s clear to say, I struck out. I did not get invited into the playroom with the sexy couple – and that’s okay! Did my friends also have bad luck and struck out with the people they had their eyes on? Also, yes! But the important thing is we failed together! Instead of feeling embarrassed, we danced. We got to know the other amazing queer people surrounding us; titt*es and c*cks to the wind, we discussed work, books, music, love, life. Everyone was so respectful, no one touched you or got too close if you weren’t about it. I’ve honestly never felt so comfortable in a club setting before.
As the sun went down the party got busier, arses were being bitten on the dancefloor, a person had their penis out and a t-shirt on (they were Winnie the Pooh’ing some might say), spankings and chokings galore were unfolding before my eyes! At this point, there’s no point being shy, so I joined in on the fun! Deciding to be daring and dancing with some good-looking mascs in leather harnesses. I even chatted to a beautiful femme and they asked for my number! Though my Catholic school upbringing had me gagged for several hours, I’m glad to say that I made the most of it and truly would go again. Spaces like this are truly the only place where you feel complete freedom from judgment and expectations. In a room full of very naked people, I felt extremely comfortable in myself and my sexuality.
Again, I didn’t fuck, but I genuinely had a great time with my friends and meeting new people. Who knew how normal you could feel surrounded by gimps and dildos. Maybe the real sex party is the friends we made along the way.
Yours truly,
Demi x
Failed dating show contestant on BBC “I Kissed a Girl” and writer of horny and sad poetry, Demi is based in Islington, London and works for independent publisher VERVE Books as an editorial assistant and social media manager. In her spare time she attends spoken word poetry nights, drinks an unhealthy amount of fruit tea with honey and aggressively reposts her FYP on TikTok.
