We threw our better judgement to the wind and went to our first on-premises, private party a few weeks ago. As Mr. Softy put it that night, “Yeah, this is my worst nightmare.”
We had heard great things about this “underground” group that hosts parties in our area. They don't advertise on the usual sites – news travels by word-of-mouth only. It all sounded very Eyes-Wide-Shutty sans the blindfolded pianist and cultish atmosphere.
I suggest they stay underground.
We got our confirmation e-mail and invited another couple, Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy to join us. Safety in numbers. Mrs. Kennedy and I slipped into sexy cocktail dresses and fishnets then the four of us had a few pre-orgy bottles of champagne. You know, to take the edge off.
We piled in the car – half excited, half nervous and wholly unaware of where we were going. In the pre-party excitement, none of us bothered to jot down the exact address. Misters Softy and Kennedy thought it was somewhere on the west-side between the chicken-processing plant and abandoned warehouses. Hot!
I returned to find her blindfolded and tied to a chair with a Soviet “missile” headed straight for her.
The boys parked the car as Mrs. Kennedy and I timidly lurked in the shadows, while two nearby smokers eyed us up and down with our matching, thigh-high fishnets.
“Is this the…uh…'private' event?” Mrs. Kennedy asked.
“Oh yeah, it is!” smiled the guy with the impressive Jew-fro. We must have found the right place.
The four or us climbed a massive flight of stairs and boldly opened the door with the “private party” sign above it. Bright lights. Small talk over wine. Not one sex swing in sight. Something didn't add up.
After a few minutes of chatting, we realized we had unwittingly crashed a wedding reception. The white dress and tuxedos really should have tipped us off a little sooner. Everyone was very nice and several guys chased us out the door begging us to stay. Their offer of free beer was enticing, but our prostitute-like outfits stood out a bit. Could have been fun, but I don't think it was that kind of wedding.
We would have been embarrassed had we not been laughing so hard. What do you say in that situation? “Oh, I'm sorry! You mean this isn't the sex party? I just assumed it was a wedding-themed orgy!”
After our giggles subsided, we tried door number two. We climbed another long staircase and peaked in…a little more timidly this time.
Dimmed lights. Complete silence over bowls of Cheetos. Still no sex swings in sight. Funeral, maybe?
No such luck. We found the party and I instantly wished we were back at the wedding.
The hosts welcomed us to the party and went over the rules. We reluctantly parted with our $80 entrance fee as we scanned the room. I certainly don't mean to be ageist or snobby, but we were not encouraged by the turnout. There were four to six couples in attendance and their average age was pushing 50.
“Oh, I'm sorry! You mean this isn't the sex party? I just assumed it was a wedding-themed orgy!”
Luckily, there were plenty of mixers so we poured some strong drinks and made our way to the rooftop patio. The sexy, masked people must be up there, right? Wrong. It was prom night at the convalescent home. If we thought downstairs was discouraging, the roof crowd was older still.
The obviously disappointed host was manning the DJ table, trying his hardest to get people dancing. We struck up a conversation with a couple that was 15 years our senior. When they found out our dates were under 25 and unmarried, they literally turned their backs to them and blocked them out of the conversation. They went on to say that they couldn't have sex with us because we were the same age as their kids, but they definitely wanted to watch. The four of us said our goodbyes, insulted and creeped out, in equal measure.
We mingled with a few more couples and tried our best to drink the pain away. We decided to check out the “hot tub,” which turned out to be more of a plastic kiddy pool filled with rainwater, leaves and algae. Not so hot. This is where we met Mr. and Mrs. Magoo – hangin' at the tub. They drove several hours from a neighboring state just for this party and had to be nearly 70. I'm sure they were even more disappointed! We talked about our experiences with various swingers' sites. They were particularly fond of Horny Bastards and Get It On. Next, please!
As people kept drinking, the action heated up a bit. We ended up meeting a very funny (and naked) Russian man who was trying his hardest to sleep with Mrs. Kennedy and me. I turned my back on Mrs. Kennedy to get another drink, and returned to find her blindfolded and tied to a chair with a Soviet “missile” headed straight for her. We kissed a bit to appease him. Mr. Kennedy gave our lady host a very sexy foot rub as we all chatted. After all, ask not what your host can do for you… We even got a peak at her not-so-grassy knoll.
Even after all this, I can't say the party was a failure. We had a memorable evening and we met some very nice couples. Yes, it was expensive. Yes, we felt a lot of pressure. Yes, it was ultra creepy at times. BUT, we also hit it off with the hosts and plan to try to get together with them in the future. In fact, we invited them to join the four of us back at our place, but they had to stay and clean up. Oh well. We ended up bringing the Kennedys back to our place and had an amazing night together.
We don't mean to sound ageist. This party was just not for us. We want to swing with people somewhat close to our age and we were disappointed to find such a large generation gap that night. I just “celebrated” my 29th birthday and I'm starting to realize that we'll be pushing 70 sooner than we think. Hopefully, we will still be having fun and finding fun, like-minded couples. We're not sex snobs, I promise!
We're attempting another party this evening. This one is more PG-13 and off-premises at a vanilla bar in the city. The Kennedys are busy so we are going it alone. I've chatted online with a few of the RSVP'd couples and I hope to have an even better story to share very soon!
