Beware the sex party bores

You know you’re getting old when your friends start going to sex parties. In our twenties, there were parties, and sometimes people would have sex at them. But they were never known as sex parties. Now we are firmly in our thirties, the phrase ‘sex party’ is creeping into everyday conversations alongside mortgage rates, nursery options and the cost of living.

At a country wedding recently, I caught up with an old acquaintance. While we ate our lemon possets, I bored on about mother-hood and she bored on about sex parties. I can’t repeat what she divulged, but the conversation felt strangely familiar. It concerned racy outfits and group sex. The surprising thing about this was that it wasn’t surprising at all. Home counties girls often talk about attending formal-sounding threesomes, foursomes or evenmoresomes by way of a hobby.

I should say I have never been to one of these parties, nor have I been invited to one, so I write from a position of relative ignorance. However, I do know that the guest lists are ‘exclusive’, and attendees are often vetted to make sure they are attractive enough. I’m up to speed on the ‘safeguarding measures’ and the consent forms, which sound like a real shag to fill out. These parties are meant to be a ‘safe space’ for extreme behaviour.

The names of the parties are lodged in my mind: Killing Kittens, Torture Garden, Klub Verboten, Crossbreed, Skirt Club. I’ve seen pals head off dressed in tight, black, squeaky outfits, trying not to complain about how uncomfortable they are. Some of the dress codes are stricter than Royal Ascot. The websites remind guests of the rules. No ‘sexy party dresses that could be worn to any nightclub’. No cotton underwear. No military insignia.