Behind the Mask: Enter a World Where Women Make - and Break - the Rules. Emma Sayle
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tightened through her dress as she teased them both. This time, though, she wanted somewhere more private as she smiled and pointed to a luxury super-yacht in the distance. She giggled as the bride and groom chased her across the moonlit beach towards the huge pleasure boat.
It was pretty obvious what was going to unfold once the threesome climbed on board.
Miss D may not have found the rich husband she wanted, but I spotted her lying on the wet sand in a passionate embrace with a man, sharing in the amazing laissez-faire atmosphere.
The morning after, the guests sat outside in the sun, recovering and drinking Bloody Marys. People were idly discussing who had got with whom in a relaxed way that showed just how normal it was for this glamorous, hedonistic crowd to indulge in their pleasures.
‘I guess we killed a lot of kittens last night,’ said one man. When I asked what he meant, he told me that, according to a well-known US college joke, whenever someone masturbated, God killed a kitten. The joke had escalated so that any orgasm now had the same result. The table laughed, and so did I. Little did I know what a role those words would play in my life …
I was amazed and liberated by what I had seen in Ibiza. All the hidden furtiveness of sex, all the embarrassment and shame so many of us associated with what was supposed to be a pleasure – it didn’t have to be like that. It could be given and taken with joy. In an atmosphere of security and happiness, sex could be shared with one or with many, with true and exquisite abandonment, and without fear.
I had loved seeing women relish their sexuality and the pleasure they could both give and receive.
Then it hit me, catching me totally off-guard. My mind was made up: the minute I got back to London I was quitting my PR job and setting up my own business. I would bring this beautiful, joyous experience to others through elite parties where anything was allowed.
I had never been more sure of anything.
‘For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.’
Virginia Woolf
Back from Ibiza and that incredible wedding, I was fired up with enthusiasm for what I’d seen. I’d decided I would quit my job the moment I returned, but once I was actually back and facing the reality of my life in London, it didn’t seem as easy as I’d imagined. By Monday, I was back behind my desk, working away at my corporate PR job and wondering how I would go about setting up a sex-party business. I didn’t have a clue, and researching sex parties while at work didn’t seem a particularly wise move.
It might have ended there, but Fate took a hand.
A friend of a friend approached me to ask if I would do PR work for a company called Heat Bomb, which specialized in sex parties. This was the perfect opportunity to get some experience and I jumped at the chance. Now I would discover a little more about the mysterious world of free love that I was sure existed with far more prevalence than anyone suspected. The thing I had taken away from the wedding in Ibiza was how accepting everyone was, and how keen to take part, either as a monogamous couple or in a more adventurous, exploratory way. It wasn’t confined to just a few people. And that made me think that this phenomenon must be happening everywhere.
I didn’t know much about this particular company, but I had the feeling that very few parties were going to match the glamour and beauty of the Ibiza wedding. I had visions of bored, middle-aged couples swapping partners while dressed in comedy S&M gear, but while it wasn’t as utterly seductive as Ibiza, it wasn’t like that at all. The first sex party I attended was the reverse of the tacky, suburban scene I had anticipated. It was held in an apartment in London and 60 people attended, all aged between 25 and 50. They seemed like professional, sophisticated people, the men in suits and ties and the women in smart dresses and heels. You would never guess from looking at them that these people were about to break down all the normal barriers of social convention and start having sex with each other, but that was exactly what happened. Gradually the mood of the evening changed and became more highly charged, and then it kicked off. Soon, clothes were dropping to the floor, people were openly kissing and caressing each other and then more. The vibe was free and uninhibited, and I saw couples allowing each other to experiment and indulge themselves with others, or just letting the atmosphere charge them up to a peak where they wanted to have fierce sex with each other, turned on by what they were witnessing.
This was my first taste of what was on offer in the UK and I wanted to know more. I decided to go freelance so that I could be more in control of how I worked and concentrate on those areas of most interest to me. I helped promote quite a few of Heat Bomb’s parties, which were always held at the same venue, and I began to understand their appeal. I saw many couples evidently in strong relationships but wanting to spice up their erotic life. By dipping their toes into the swinging scene, they could do so with honesty and safety. Sex parties allowed couples to experiment and satisfy their desires without the deceit and underhandedness of an affair. If anything, as far as I could see, it kept them together. And if a couple made that decision and were happy with it, then who were we to judge them?
I soon discovered there are hundreds of clubs and hotels up and down the country that exist purely for sex parties. Most of the people who go to them look perfectly ordinary. You could be sitting next to someone on the bus and never suspect that the night before they’d had sex with six people or more at one of these private orgies. Obviously it’s not for everyone, but there are many ‘normal’ people who want to explore this side of life – and why shouldn’t they? We’ve all been given the amazing gift of sex and the pleasure and enjoyment it can bring, and life is short. There are plenty of people who tell us it’s bad and wrong, but as long as it’s between consenting adults and we don’t hurt anyone in the process, why shouldn’t we enjoy ourselves? People are complex and fascinating, capable of living and loving in many different ways, and I don’t think we should judge each other for making different choices.
Heat Bomb’s parties never replicated that incredible vibe I’d experienced at the Ibiza wedding. The truth was that men still dominated and I sometimes got the feeling that they were busy making sure their own private fantasies got enacted, as though they were directing and starring in their own personal porn films. There was also an element of fetish; at one foot party, the men paid to have women walk all over them and be allowed to suck their toes. Fine if that floats your boat, but not exactly fulfilling for the women (unless they got off on having their toes sucked), and I wasn’t keen on that kind of dynamic.
I couldn’t understand why no one was aiming these parties more at women and what they wanted. The Ibiza wedding had been about women pleasing themselves at least as much as men and had provided the kind of deliciously glamorous atmosphere that could stimulate female sexuality, but no one here seemed to be catering for that.
Then I was asked to do some work for a group of US women who’d formed a company called Cake that put on sex parties for women. They wanted to launch their business in London. At last, someone was doing the kind of thing I had in mind. I went out to New York to attend a party and enjoyed myself enormously. It was a brilliant and highly entertaining night, but it wasn’t at all what I’d envisaged for a female-friendly sex party. The founders of Cake had done women’s studies at university and their parties were a feminist statement, a riposte to the male-dominated porn world. Men could only attend with a woman and everyone was wearing all manner of hilarious and outlandish fancy dress. The pole dancers were men, and generally men were put in subservient roles. It was great fun and very amusing, but it was too aggressive for me, too interested in making a point to be successful as a really erotic experience for women. It was more like burlesque with a very hard edge to it. Working on the London launch of Cake was good fun, but still there was no one putting on the kind of parties I envisaged.
Meanwhile, my relationship with the organizers at Heat Bomb had run into trouble. The guys wanted to run a really huge party and get media attention for it. I told them I thought this was a bad idea; the papers were bound to try to reveal the identities of the attendees. They wouldn’t listen, though, and insisted that we went ahead