Else (31) went to an exclusive sex party

I never thought I would do this either. And certainly not that I would tell someone about it. I do it because I know there is a lot of curiosity about it. But I hope you forgive me for writing this under a pseudonym. Going to sex parties is not exactly something my mother or the greengrocer needs to know about.

Going to sex parties is an enormous trend among hip Amsterdammers. You can go solo, or with your partner, and you can also choose to just watch and observe. For me, it was a bit different. I was in New York for my work, I am a model, and was approached in a bar by a nice guy. We chatted a bit, he treated me to a margarita and, well, then another one. After that, he asked, through a roundabout way, where do you usually go out, etc., if I had ever been to sensual parties. I initially reacted a bit shocked, because my modeling agency has trained me well not to respond to sexual advances, but Zach, that was his name, brought it up in a really nice way. Normally, such a ticket would cost 1500 dollars, but because they wanted to have more women in, I could get in for free. It probably also helped, without bragging, that I am a model.

So off I went. After standing in front of my closet for an hour, because what do you wear to such a party? Too sexy would surely be weird and felt even more uncomfortable, but my standard attire of jeans and a white shirt was far underdressed, I understood that without ever having been there. I chose a long black slip dress, which is totally hot due to the Carolyn Bessette revival, and opted for black ballerinas for the taxi. In a bag, I had black Louboutins with me that I had recently been allowed to keep from a shoot.

The entrance was a bit hidden. I walked into a “normal” New York building with a not-so-glamorous staircase. After three flights of stairs, I arrived at a sort of reception where bodyguards were standing and a girl had the guest list in her hands. The bodyguards searched my bag and I was patted down by a woman. The hostess took me to a table where she asked me to hand in my phone and sign a quitclaim in triplicate. For privacy reasons, she added. I nodded and quickly signed, swapped my ballerinas for the Louboutins, handed all my belongings to her, and walked with her into the elevator. She pressed ‘Penthouse and Rooftop’ in the elevator and off we went.

When the elevator doors opened, she wished me a lot of fun and turned around, back down in the elevator. There I stood. In a strange room, at a sex party, in the middle of New York, without anyone I knew and also without a phone. Cautiously, I began to take in the space. It was an incredibly large penthouse. Beautifully decorated, with a very large balcony running the length of the room with a staircase to the rooftop. If you've seen The Morning Show: imagine Jennifer Aniston's apartment in that series and multiply it by ten. Bizarre.

There was a table with a champagne cooler where all kinds of champagne were lying. Ruinart, Krug, the best of the best. When I looked a bit awkward, because how was I supposed to pay without a phone or wallet, someone passing by said: “It’s all inclusive, darling.” Immediately, I felt like a total newcomer and had to think of the first time I was at the Soho House in the Meatpacking District and asked for the wifi password. Then you are not a regular and it immediately felt like I had failed in my attempt to be a super cool New Yorker.

Although I actually don't drink, I decided that a glass of champagne would help me through the beginning of this evening and with the glass in my hand, I walked further into the space. There were more bars, there was food, and I saw a table with drugs. There were mountains of cocaine and all sorts of other pills with descriptions. When I turned around and walked into a sort of conservatory, I saw a woman lying on a table being orally pleasured by a man while two women were kneading and kissing her breasts. She had a small mask over her eyes, but I thought I recognized a very famous American actress in her.

I saw a man crawling on hands and knees through the space with a band around his neck attached to a leash, being pulled by a woman clad in leather, but I also saw a nice, reasonably normal-looking couple standing at the bar. I decided to join them and, hooray, we had a normal conversation. They were from Cape Town, I was from Amsterdam, we talked about the things we liked about New York and everything that was difficult. My glass was refilled and after about fifteen minutes, they looked at me and said: “Shall we undress and go to the other room?”

My heart jumped fifteen centimeters up. Now it would happen. And why not? I knew where I was going, right? I was young and the world was waiting to be conquered. So I nodded and at that moment, the woman slid her hand over my butt. “You’re so fit,” she said.

I said I wanted to go to the bathroom first and would see them afterwards. And there, in the bathroom, I almost had a panic attack. What on earth had I signed up for? What if something happened to me that I didn't want? Did I have rights? I wouldn't be able to call anyone and would, even if something happened, legally have no leg to stand on.

I slammed the lid down on the toilet, rested my elbows on my knees, and decided to focus on my breathing. Then I knew: I’m not going to do this. I washed my wrists under the cold water and walked back to the couple. I saw disappointment in their eyes as I walked towards them, dressed while they were naked.

“I’m sorry, but I just got my period,” I mumbled before I walked away.

At home, I received a message from Zach. That he understood I hadn't stayed long, but that I got a free membership for the next two years from him and was always welcome.

So I consider this a cautious foreplay. And if I go again, I’ll let you know.