Scenes from a Park Slope Sex Party

Full disclosure: I've never been to sex party. I've never had the desire to go to a sex party. Something about the combination of sticky floors and musty jockular smells literally makes me gag. Also, I have a completely unhealthy dose of shame. Not that I'm a never-nude, but I don't take off my shirt on a beach very easily. So when I read that L-Magazine contributer Lacy Warner went to a bunch of these love fests, I thought, "look at the balls on her." And, it turns out her first "assignment" was in right here in Park Slope. And now I get the opportunity to nervously reflect on it. So here it goes...

Park Slope is no stranger to sex parties. For years I had a friend who went to a gay one called "the fifth avenue sex party," coincidently it was located on a number street, actually right in the apartment below another good friend of mine which was technically around the corner from fifth avenue. I have a funny a story about going over to her place for a dinner party and the sex party guy answering the door instead and my friend running out nervously... BUT I DIGRESS!

This party is called "Submit" and it's open only to females and trangendereds. No men-by-birth. Ms. Warner says the location of the party is also on Fifth Avenue VERY close to the Food Coop, so rest assured it's organic and it's pretty much in the basement of the Brooklyn Industries (I'm making that up).

I'm just going to let her describe it for a while:

When you walk into Submit there's a hangout lounge with a DJ. I had been told by a friend who had been before that there was plenty to do and try at Submit but that most of the guests were kinda shy. On first impression, this was true. Next to the lounge is an intricate web of cubbies that people can go into and fuck. There are giant peep holes everywhere so you know that voyeurism is ok, and you also know that when you’re doing it, strangers will be watching all the time. There’s also a BDSM room with a strict “No chatting. This room is for play only” policy. However, most guests were lingering in the lounge, lining the walls and looking like they were waiting for someone to ask them to dance. I found out what they were actually waiting for, was someone to pick their number. 

So far this sounds kinda like a freshmen dorm at the University of Virginia. Also for those of you not in the know BDSM stands for bondage and discipline and sadomasochism. You can follow this link to read a very clinical description of that. Or you can just read a very shitty description of it here. 

According to Warner, this party has a lot of rules that go along with it. First, you have to take a number and then if you want to hook up with someone you have to put their number on a note with your number inside of it and pin it to a bulletin board. Then that person picks up the note and sees your number and if she/he thinks you're hot, you guys go find a cubbie and do the nasty. So, it's like picking teams in gym class but a million-trillion times worse if you're, ya know, not athletic. Other rules include no barebacking and no chatting in the BDSM rooms. 

Other stomach-turning details include but are not limited to: "dungeon aesthetic," "black walls," "black lights," "condom and lube dispensers on the wall" and lastly a quote from the author's friend who said "'I know what happens on those plastic sheets." 

She did wrap up her expose with with a description of a "face-play" demo which was "everything from sensual stroking to hitting someone with real force." Ok, but what else?  "Watching the instructor slap someone hard in the face was shocking and exhilarating. Her partner almost started to cry, and the instructor took her partner’s face and cradled it against her breasts." Only in Park Slope.  

My advice: go to a bar, get drunk, take someone home, screw awkwardly, take a shower and treat yourself to a bagel in the morning. But I tend to be a hopeless romantic.