’tis the season to enjoy and spend lots of money on presents for people you intensely dislike! So I thought I’d write about the one and only sex party I’ve ever been to. You’re welcome, Internet.
The theme of the party was Leather Gayme Of Thrones, if I recall correctly. There might have been some XXX and cocks in the title as well. Since one of Husby’s MANY talents is making things out of leather and metal, he was kindly requested to lend some of his creations, which he generously did. As a thank you we received free tickets and drink coins. Husby, who’s got more past than you would expect seeing his innocent pink cheeks, has been to numerous similar events. I’ve never been to one, which you would never believe looking at me. (I am a person that once got a message – INTRODUCTORY message, not even a “hi” first – “would you come over and beat me up please”.) So I got all pink, flustery, leathery and overexcited.
Husby was toning down my enthusiasm. “There will probably be nobody that attractive there,” he said. “I know your taste.” (This might or might not have been shade.) “Most people don’t talk much.” (This actually is a part of what turns me on, which is why I don’t get laid much.) “And darkrooms are literally dark.” Well. It’s my sex party and I’ll be hard if I want to. Also I have seen a lot of
porn educational movies so I didn’t need any explanations. I’ve never been more ready for decadence, debauchery and possibly failed attempts not to catch any STDs!
The theme meant we had to dress up, and the weather meant we had to take a tram, because we’re Dutch and don’t spend money on taxis. (In Amsterdam a taxi costs one kidney one way, and we’re down to collectively having 1 1/2 kidneys by now because of my Macbook Pro purchase.) So I was dressed in biker leather pants with matching boots, chainmaille vest, leather gauntlets and a gray sort of elf coat that wouldn’t stay closed. I was actually a bit cold but couldn’t quite get myself to put a sweater on top of the chainmaille vest, and if I put it underneath I would never split the two items again. But it didn’t matter. I WILL BE SEX PARTYING SOON – I thought. We went. We were let in. (I always have this feeling that the bouncer will look me up and go “too fat” or “too skinny” or “too weird” and send me back home.) We got rid of the coats, as much to my relief it was very warm inside, which I suppose makes sense. We got our coins and profuse thanks from the organisers. And so I got to see the club for the first time as it was intended. Because it’s a sex venue that has dance parties once a week and I went to those and had a good time. This time it was different.
First thing I noticed was how few people there even were. Husby quickly explained those parties don’t really begin until around 1am. This didn’t go well with me because I was kind of horny already and not in the mood to wait another 1 1/2 hours. Then I noticed nobody was even looking at each other. Nor were they speaking. Or doing anything else, in fact, but drinking. A bar full of lonely men dressed – mostly – terribly, drinking without looking at anybody else. I quickly realised that the more hideous and unattractive (TO ME) the person was, the less clothing they wore. I finally noticed a fully clad leather cop kind of guy, who noticed I looked at him and quickly turned his attention towards his beer.
This was going well.
“I want to see the darkrooms,” I said.
“They’re very small,” warned me Husby, who’s been here before.
“I’ve been here to dance and I didn’t even see them at all. Where even are they?”
We went behind the stairs and turned to the right. I saw a corridor lit with, um, can’t help it, pink christmas lights. “That’s it.”
I entered and started looking around only to discover there are two darkrooms. As in two rooms, in which it is dark. There was somebody in one, which I could tell because pink light reflected from (possibly) leather, giving the unsettling impression that the room is occupied by an alien. The other one had more light, was about four square meters and empty. I looked around for a curtain or a door leading me to the other darkrooms.
There was no curtain or a door.
“Is that all there is?” I asked, confused. Husby nodded.
We went back to the main room. Went up the stairs and interrupted two older gentlemen who were… NO NOT HAVING SEX. They were having a conversation. From what I overheard, they were talking about Cher. The singer actress comedian Cher. Not some sort of odd new lubricant called Cher, although that probably exists too and contains edible glitter. They politely let us take a look at the slings, a cage and, um, that was it. There were also some benches, where we sat for a while chatting. Then I demanded we go downstairs and off we went. I went to the bar and grabbed two cola lights. Men sitting next to where I stood politely moved away, making me feel as attractive as Donald Trump in the wind. I went back to Husby, half-expecting to see him playing Twister with three leathermen. He was still waiting by the stairs.
“You didn’t like the guy?” he asked.
“The one that followed you and tried to grab your butt?”
This was news to me. “Someone followed me and tried to grab my butt?” I was so surprised I was repeating all he said, like a not particularly inventive parrot.
“This guy there.” I looked and saw… well, not Donald Trump, but close enough. “When we were going down the stairs he almost fell trying to catch you, then he gave up when you went to the bar and ignored him.”
“I wasn’t aware there was anybody for me to ignore.”
At this point the Not Donald guy did something interesting. He pretty much grabbed the nearest other man, pulled off his pants, pushed him down on all fours on the stage, rolled on a condom and started fucking the man while still drinking his beer. I couldn’t resist feeling this wasn’t a completely impromptu encounter. And that I have never seen anything less sexy in my entire life. The only bit that kinda turned me on was that he was still holding his beer bottle without spilling a drop. That was impressive and douchey in the hot way. The entire fuck took about a minute, after which the Not Donald just pulled out, took off his condom, threw it on the stage and that was it.
I was repulsed, slightly desperate and almost as horny as before visiting my dentist.
We went upstairs again to find two men using the sling for what it is supposed to be used. They paid us no attention. On the plus side, none of them talked about Cher. We went back downstairs and I danced a bit, because the DJ was surprisingly good. Everybody else continued staring at their drinks. I looked at my watch and it was 12:15.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t think I am enjoying this quite yet. Maybe I would be if I had five dri– oh wait, I just realised why everybody is drinking so much. Um. Do we have to stay here till 1:30? What happens then?”
“Well,” said Husby, scratching his head, “generally when people get drunk enough, they start realising this party ends at 4 and they paid to get in. So they have to have sex, otherwise they wasted money. First they look for someone hot, then for someone passable, and then they just go for anybody with a penis, because they can’t…”
“…waste money,” I finished, “because they are Dutch. I understand.” I looked towards the leatherman but he disappeared. Possibly he was the shiny alien presence in the darkroom, I realised, but the fact that someone whom I found so borderline attractive from afar would feel the need to hide in one spot without any light suddenly made me doubt whether I wanted to see/smell/touch him up close and personal. And this club was so small there was seriously no place he could be hiding. Unless he was in the toilet. Or left.
Which is what we did, too, collecting our coats and telling the hosts we had an absolutely riotous time but unfortunately need to get up very early tomorrow.
“I told you,” explained Husby patiently, “not to get overexcited.”
“But, but you went to those parties,” I said, accusingly. “And you said you had sex! With other people!”
“Well. Sometimes it was after three AM.”
Oh. I understood.
We ended up going down the street, our coats, leathers and armour present (you wouldn’t believe how heavy a chainmaille vest gets when you’ve been wearing it for a few hours) to my favourite bar, where we got some drinks from a friendly and empathic lesbian up-and-coming DJ who moonlighted as bartender because food costs money. Then we went home (sans bartender) and I wish I could say that we were so turned on by the sex party that we fucked until dawn, but what actually happened was that I was extremely tired from dragging around a few tons of metalwear, suspected frostbite on my chest and decided not to attend any more sex parties. At least we got a lot of attention in the tram, although I wasn’t 100% sure if I enjoyed that. And/or if the people staring at us did either.
I hear this is not a typical experience and that there are a lot of people who regularly go to amazing sex parties filled with superhot humans of various genders who shag like shaguars doing shaggatons without need for multiple beers to lubricate first. (Dutch are stingy, so they will drink beers instead of real alcohol at a sex party meaning they will need to interrupt the sex every five minutes for a pee break. I suspect this is the reason why golden showers are popular. If they studied maths, like me, they’d be able to calculate that when you compare alcohol percentage of whiskey and beer vs prices and amounts, whiskey is a very good financial investment.) Possibly if I tried a few more times, ideally in larger venues, I’d find something enjoyable. But this is truly the case where you have a steak at home but you get bored of steak and go to have a hamburger. Except the good places are all closed so you land in one of those 24/7 joints, have a burger that is half-cold and half-burnt and then end up with food poisoning.
I’ll stick to ordering
one-on-one sex with home delivery pizza.
Oh yes. Merry XXXmas! May your orgies be fun, not everybody so drunk they’d vomit during sex and no condoms get thrown on the stage.
PS. We found the coins two years later. We wonder if they’re still good? Because, after all, we’re Dutch and free cola light is nothing to scoff at.
PS2. I’ve been told
porn educational adult movies do not in fact depict the truth. Why didn’t anybody teach me that at school?