Updated at p. ET on February 4, S hould you find yourself invited to a sex party, it might be helpful to know that you are not obliged to have sex. You can listen to music or watch performances, observe your fellow guests, and, with permission, touch them. But no one will consider it rude should you leave without having sex. Especially if you are the sixth person in the room, in which case your presence is technically crucial.
An orgy requires six to 20 people. Fewer than six, and the encounter is simply categorized by the number of participants: threesomes, foursomes, and so on. Among other things, I have an aversion to crowds , especially in the bedroom. The performative aspects of sex parties that participants seem to enjoy most are, to me, a turnoff, another way that social media—and the image-driven FOMO culture it spawned—has made life into content.
But I decided to do my journalistic due diligence on sex parties because I kept reading about them in the news. In the course of my research, I did not—I would like to be clear here—participate in any sex parties. I reached out to a number of prominent ones, wondering if the sex-club boom was real, and what actually goes on at them.
One of my major findings: People, especially rich people, come up with extremely elaborate justifications for getting laid. People who think differently.
Memberships are for life. Knowledge gained from expanding your sexual wisdom is one path to real happiness. This is not a key party with your schlubby neighbors. Particularly the women, who at many parties are eligible for reduced-price or free admission. Perhaps the illusion of anonymity is part of the fantasy. Putting on a show is essential. Guests arrive, mingle, and then take in performances—elaborate burlesque, shibari demos, flogging.
