Words by Sarah Robinson

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to go to a sex party. I figured if I did, it would go one of two ways.

One way was a chamber of smoking hot people smoldering in sex and fluid. The other was me trapped in a room of grunting middle-aged men.

My fear of number two stopped me from taking the risk. Until 2018.

That was the year I flew from the small surf town of Margaret River, Western Australia, to the strange and extroverted land of America.

The sex party itself was in Brooklyn. But you couldn’t just show up. Guests had to apply online, get accepted, then apply to get on the door list.

Yep, even sex parties love bureaucracy. In this case, to make sure creeps don’t ruin the fun. (‘Cause they always do.)

In the application I was asked about my attitudes to sex. I wrote that sex is great, so long as consent and respect get to cum too.

I also threw in words about being open to new experiences. Because that seemed like something you should say.

The paperwork seemed okay to me, because I’d been assured this sex party was the best sex party of all the sex parties.

This information came from James, an accountant I met on Tinder who liked sci-fi and board games and being in an open relationship.

I matched with James because I wanted to know how you logistically have an open relationship without stabbing the other people banging your partner.

Turns out, you need good communication, maturity and a commitment to not murdering people.

James said he and his girlfriend opened their relationship after attending the sex party in question.

The pair had originally decided to go, and just lurk around without participating.

But early on his girlfriend went down on him and another girl tapped in. The next day they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

When I arrived at the party, I wasn’t sure if I’d arrived at the party, because there was just a rusty door on a deserted street with a guy standing out front.

The guy asked me what I was doing at his rusty door.

“I’m here for the party,” I said. “What party?” he said.

I wracked my brain for the name, and he let me up some stairs, but not before making me sign a disclaimer I didn’t read.

James also said that, ‘the people at the party were hot but not too hot, and relatively normal and down to earth.’

This appealed to me, because when you’re fucking in public, these are qualities that matter.

Before I arrived at the sex party, I met my friend Dan who had flown in from San Francisco to eat all the bagels in Brooklyn.

He had packed a sexy pilot’s uniform just in case he could come to the party, but he couldn’t because he didn’t do the paperwork.

This meant I had to go on my own, which triggered all of my social anxieties, including some new ones like, ‘what if no one wants to fuck me?’.

It also didn’t help that I am shy and had, until now, no social code for behaving at a party custom designed for copulation.


Inside I gave my coat to a person whose only job is to take your coat. This doesn’t happen much in Australia, because the desert heat cooks you harder than a meth head.

Next to me, a gorgeous model-like woman stood tall in black lingerie. She was self-conscious, so I told her she looked banging.

The woman seemed stoked on my comment, and it felt good to make her feel good. It also reminded me that hot people need love too.

Inside, I weaved past a heap of humans, dressed to varying degrees, all dancing and mingling and glowing.

The positive vibes were strong. But so was my primitive anxious brain.

As I reached the edge of the crowd, I realized I had nowhere else to go. There were no creepy corners to hide in.

I felt trapped, amidst happy hormonal people, coming down off an acid trip I shouldn’t have said yes to the night before. Fuck.

That’s when I saw Alicia – awkward and alone – just like me. I made her my friend and she became my sex party flotation device.

Alicia said she had come to the party because she had just been through a break up. I thought that was strange and bad ass.

The wild confidence I gained from making a friend spurred me to collect more. This time, a couple in glow in the dark neon paint and not much else.

They seemed at home in the strangeness of the party, so I asked them what had been on my mind since the rusty door. ‘When does the fucking start?’

This couple certainly knew. They held our hands and led us towards a black draping curtain.

A woman whose job was to pull back the curtain nailed her job, and inside, a heaving room of fucking human mammals writhed before me.

I stood, sober and over clothed, taking in the orgy. In one corner, a woman lay on her back, moaning with pleasure, while an enthusiastic man ate her out.

In front of me, a woman in BDSM garb sucked a dick while being fucked from behind.

The muddled mess of sex acts created a strong, tangible sexual energy. It was hot, and I hadn’t expected that.

Our guides began making out and gestured for my new friend and I to join. I stumbled back onto a massage table and noted its well-built features.

Alicia agreed the table was indeed sturdy and nodded towards her glass. We exited the sex room for additional alcohol.

Upstairs on the roof, people huddled together in small tents to avoid the rain.  Alicia escaped to the toilet, so I babbled to a naked guy while he got a blow job.

A girl across from me asked if she could touch my boobs. I sat like a potato while she fondled the right one, which I do think is the best of the two.

When Alicia came back, her face drained of all blood. Given she is Irish, this made her concerningly pale.

The naked woman next to me explained Alicia was the blow job recipient’s boss, and since he got all his work from her, he was freaking the fuck out.

I didn’t see what the fuss was about, since their interests obviously aligned. When the guy left, Alicia told me she worked in TV.

She said the naked guy was an assistant she hired sometimes, but he was bad at his job and wanted to be a wrestler.

Besides this strange encounter, the positive energy at the party was overwhelming. People were kind, welcoming and full of heart.

I think the coolest thing was that sex was so openly on the table. It made me think about regular parties, where people want to fuck, but pretend they don’t.

The honesty of this was surprisingly refreshing. So were the bodies, which came in all shapes and sizes.

I noticed that the humans with confidence, who felt at home in their skin, were by far the sexiest – regardless of what Instagram might say.

Being around people at peace in their physical form made me feel more accepting of mine. That in itself was an unexpected gift.

At around 1am I bid farewell to Alicia and wandered into the rain feeling tired yet sated. It was fun, and my fondled boob felt validated.

I went back to Dan and slept for a million hours. He asked me if I’d do it again, I said yes, but not alone. Because fuck going to parties by yourself.