What did I do over the long weekend? It’s blazing hot, with the temperature dancing around the high end of 20 C or even over 30 C and nasty humidity. The pools are full of screaming children and all my friends were mewling on their social media feeds that they were too hot to fuck. Never-mind, a little AC and the right theme, and I was all set for a great play party.
I hold these parties once every couple of months, inviting an exclusive group of my trusted friends to romp and explore and be our kinky, sexy selves. This isn’t your mother’s play party, with all the fetish protocol and no sex attitude that entails. You won’t find some person in a motrocycle cap doing Florentine flogging to show they are a Serious Master. Everything is fun, casual and rests on an absolutely no creeps policy.
Picture an elegant 1930s apartment, done up in paper lanterns and blue crepe bunting in undulating waves…
The guests are dressed in trunks, swim suits and loose, airy cotton dresses. Some go pinup vintage, some go chic and modern. There are soft bodies; hard bodies; hairless, smooth bodies; and sensually furred bodies. Men, women and people who dance in the middle, all are welcome. They know it’s a safe place to explore what they love. The atmosphere is perky and joyful, vintage beach tunes and silly movies (Lilo and Stitch) setting the tone before we take things in a much more adult direction. I don’t think there was a bit of black leather in sight, unless, of course, you count the mountain of toys I’d put out to share.
I told the guests an 8:00 PM start time, and on the dot, the first handful of people start trickling in. Early birds ask if they can help out, and I hand off a beach ball and balloons to blow. I have three rooms open- the kitchen with its vague Arabian nights feeling; the long, pillared living room decked out to hold the majority of folks, and my bedroom made more intimate by a black light. There’s snacks and drinks: a whole watermelon in wedges; brightly coloured popsicles; jubejube fish; chips and salsa; beachy drinks. Nothing to excess, everything just right to indulge and to remind you that we’re here to play.
But how do you go from friends to frolic?
Everyone arrives around the start time, first Peppermint Kitten and her man (they’re early birds, and like to help set up) and then guests in ones and twos. Every party starts like this, with people bunching up on the couch, a little shy where it’s just a handful. Everyone is at least passingly familiar with everyone else, but there’s a note of care in everyone’s posture. Nobody wants to be rejected, and nobody wants to overstep and make anyone else uncomfortable. We might be inveterate perverts, but how to make sure we honour enthusiastic consent? The guests are almost all here, but we’re all having social time.
My friend, Peppermint goes on a little walk about the apartment, looking at all the decorations. I’m admiring my own handiwork in the bedroom, looking at the glow sticks hanging from the fan and the bright stars on the wall.
