I’ve never been to a sex party. I’ve been to parties on their way to becoming sex parties. But since I’ve never been to an actual sex party, I can’t speak on what scenario would make me more uncomfortable, however, I can say for certain, pseudo-sex parties are way up there.
Because instead of just being the party it’s trying to be, it’s costumed in certain elements that somewhere along the way got mixed up with representing ‘sex’.
These parties all seem to share similar Groupon-like activities and qualities: Secret location (duh), costumes of some sort (think bathrobes, Alice in Wonderland-type gear), drinks disguised as ‘elixirs’, a Himalayan salted crystal tip jar thingamajig, um, foliage on the dance floor that continues to get caught in your hair, oh and, how could I forget, a cacao ceremony. No pseudo-sex party is complete without a cacao ceremony!
The names of the parties always sound like resorts off of Highway 307 in Cancun - Dreams, Breathe, Secrets of the Moon or some shit - everything is ‘lush’ and your ticket price includes as much or as little ‘social wellness’ as you desire (Desire. Another great party name. Desires of the Desert, Secret Desires, Deepest Desires, you get it).
At the party I went to last week within 20 minutes I had participated in some sort of chakra breathing ceremony led by a dude and his synthesizer before sitting in a bathtub filled with rose petals and two strangers. Because of the sentence before this, I kept laughing, but the strangers in the tub with me were very seriously admiring their petal-covered skin as sweet little ‘this is normal’ moans left their mouths. The woman next to me (who claimed that this was her third petal bath of the month) showered me in petals over my head when I told her it was my first. Sure, it felt nice but I wasn’t sure if her baptism was some signal or ritual that meant ‘something else’.
That’s the problem with these pseudo-sex parties. Everything seems like it’s on the verge of being something else. I tiptoe carefully around each corner and conversation unsure of intentions. I know these are my own insecurities and hang-ups to work through but I would much prefer a pseudo-sex party for people like me, people who will always have some (if not all) of their guard up.
To stick with the theme of trippy party names, it could be called something like Guarded Hearts and Minds, Avoiding (Third) Eye Contact, or Just Because I Hate Costumes Doesn’t Mean I’m Not Down to Fuck. Instead of chakra breathing ceremonies, every 45 minutes all the lights would come up, the music would stop and everyone would yell “This is not normal!” before going back to their business. Massages would not be permitted on the dance floor unless three or more people and a conga line were involved. All the bartenders would be fully clothed, former diner waiters from South Jersey with absolutely no time for your CBD BS and at the end of the night instead of being sprayed by rose water there would be complimentary urine sample cups for you to immediately drop off for testing. Oh, and cacao ceremonies would be replaced by a roundtable discussion on the best Girl Scout Cookies.
Ok fine. A naked roundtable discussion on the best Girl Scout Cookies.