Wanting to spice things up with my boyfriend, I signed us up to a ‘Play’ party.
‘Play’ is code for sex. ‘Play’ is also code for anything that could be perceived as a bit ‘out there’ to the Vanilla Gang, of which I was once an avid member.
‘Toilet Play’ is pooing and weeing on each other. ‘Blood Play’ is opening up skin and getting blood and doing stuff with it. I don’t know the specifics. It ain’t for the faint hearted.
But here we were, at a ‘Play’ party. The problem was, I had the giggles. Hard.
The boyfriend had taken a Viagra and I was dressed in leopard print. It was a jungle theme. And yes I know leopard print is a very obvious choice and maybe a little sex party basic bitch, but whatever (hair flick).
It was a narrow club, sort of like a terrace house and had a big open area up some stairs and then a rabbit warren of rooms up another set of stairs.
It was a secret party, you need to have a chat and send your pic before you’re given a code to buy tickets.
This is to keep the creeps out. One sniff of creepiness and you’re blacklisted for life. I was on my best behaviour.
Except for the giggles. And the little bit of wee that came out from from the giggles.
The pic was, I guess, to make sure you didn’t have six eyes or something. And the organiser was quite clear about an age limit, which was 40. I’m 41 but I guess I ‘passed’ as in my thirties. Aced it. Thank you Botox. And next time I may come clean because I’m all about age positivity.
I was a little disappointed there wasn’t a secret knock. But when we were let in, it was all rather mysterious – a red stairwell leading to God only knows.
There was a performance in the bar area when we got there and a huge crowd of half naked people were watching something and clapping appreciatively. I pushed to the front, expecting, I don’t know, a tap dancing troupe, but it was a FULL ON SEX SHOW.
Two people were fucking. That was the show. The giggles dialled up pretty hard at that point.
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