Sex party fatigue

About 2 months ago I went to my third sex party. I won’t say where or which party, but they’re pretty famous for organising exclusive sex parties in the UK and elsewhere, with a strong emphasis them being women-led.

The very first sex party I went to, I went with a gentleman who was a veteran of the scene and had been to a number of these parties. I thought he’d be the perfect person to show me the ropes. As it turns out, this wasn’t the case and his lack of curiosity and excitement dampened my first party. I spent most of the night by myself or talking to couples and enjoying the large jacuzzi. Needless to say, it wasn’t what I was expecting. 


The obligatory mask

However, I decided to give it another go and booked my second party, this time outside of London and with a man I knew well but had never been to a party before. The second was a slight improvement on the first. I felt far less nervous and was able to enjoy myself and have sex in front of other people in a play room for the first time. We never got involved with anyone else there, we simply played together and socialised, hardly the out and out orgy I was expecting.

I took a break from the parties for a while after that, left the scene and when I was ready, returned with a new attitude. I realised what I enjoyed most was socialising with equally naughty people, more than having sex at a party.

I was still curious to see if I’d be third time lucky and booked the same party as before, again with a guy who’d never been to a party before. What I quickly started to find was that, by attending these parties you’re not just carrying the weight of your own expectations on your shoulders, but also that of your date. They want to get the most out of the experience and it became clear that he was interested in us both joining other couples.

I took a far more relaxed view that if it happened, it happened and if not, the two of us playing together would be equally as fun. But he took the view that this was something we could do any time and that since we were at a party, we should join in with others.

We briefly played with another woman, but I began to realise, as a crowd started to gather, that I didn’t enjoy being watched. This may sound like a ridiculous thing to say when you’ve signed up to a sex party, but up until this point I didn’t quite realise how uncomfortable it made me feel to have a couple sitting opposite me on a sofa, watching me the whole time or a group of people 10-15 standing over me as I’m being tied up for rope bondage. I found I couldn’t really relax and get into it because I was conscious of their gaze. I felt like I had to perform, when all I wanted to do was get lost in the moment and enjoy myself.

After this party. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t go to any more sex parties. Clearly, I much preferred my sex in private and after 3 parties I’d succumb to sex party fatigue because the truth was, I just wasn’t enjoying it.

Then a friend of mine asked me if I’d like to try a party in London she attends regularly. They’re a well-known sex party organiser, famous for their dungeons. I kept saying no until finally I gave in. What sold it for me was that they had not only the infamous dungeon but also a dance floor and bring your own booze.

Knowing this, I felt the pressure and expectations of having to go to a sex party and have sex, lift. I know many of you might be thinking, well why not just go to a regular nightclub then? I’ve thought that myself and the difference is the attitude and the atmosphere. There’s nothing like being around like-minded people who all share similar interests and desires. The conversations I’ve had at sex parties range from anything from what they do for a living to the kinkiest kinds of sex imaginable and I love that.

So, next Saturday I’ll be hoping my sex party fatigue comes to an end and I find myself enjoying this new party. But I’ll be sure to tell you all about it either way!


When he tells you he’s…polyamorous

I was laying in bed with my primal Dom when he casually slips into the conversation that he’s polyamorous. We’d chatted a great deal before we finally met and slept together and this never came up. Now all I can think about is whether I’d have chosen to go ahead and sleep with this man if I’d known about it before. I’d then have had a choice as to whether it was something I wanted to be involved in.


The truth is, I know very little about polyandry. With the exception of a Louis Theroux documentary it’s not something I’ve had an experience with. But now that the issue has come up, I’m keen to learn more about it to decide whether I want to continue, even if it’s only us sleeping together at present. 

What I do know is that to be polyamorous you’re usually in a sexual or romantic relationship with someone who also has other sexual partners. This is different from an open relationship, although from what I’ve read so far, the two seem to blur a little.

The bigger question I have though, is how much of my time and energy do I commit to something that was essentially thrust upon me? I felt annoyed when he first told me and I’ve spent some time trying to decide whether that’s because he didn’t tell me earlier or the thought of having to share him.  He asked if I got jealous easily and I said yes. I’ve only ever been in long-term monogamous relationships and I’ve never had to share. I’m not sure I have the temperament to be in a polyamorous relationship as I’d imagine being possessive is frowned upon. Nor can I see myself sharing easily.

Having said that, I do like the idea of being able to love and enjoy sexual relations with multiple people at the same time. I’ve never been keen on the idea of marriage precisely because I felt that one person my entire life couldn’t possibly fulfil me.

I’m keen to hear and learn about other people’s experiences of polyandry. Are you in or have you ever been in a polyandrous relationship. What advice would you give to someone in the early stages like myself? Do feel free to leave comments below or contact me directly.

The Erotic Journal Challenge – My Sexual Realizations

Erotic Journal Challenge

I’ve been meaning to do this for some time, but with the Bank Holiday here, I’ve finally found the time to start the Erotic Journal Challenge hosted by Bridget Writes.
For those that don’t know about the challenge, Bridget posts a topic or question each week that encourages you to tap into your own sensuality and eroticism and answer the prompts however you see fit whether that’s with a story, poem etc. you get the idea. Once you’re done you post a link on her blog.

erotic journal challenge

#EroticJournalChallenge #eroticjournalchallenge

Week #14 Sexual Realization

For this week, my first week taking part, it seems fitting to start with ‘realization’ and the prompt to, “write about a time when you realized something about your sexuality.”

There have been a few stand out moments of realization when it comes to my sexuality, one of which led to the eventual creation of this blog, as well as smaller ones that you only appreciate looking back on.

But the one that came to mind first was actually a false realization, the mistaken belief that I might be asexual. This was around 2012 when I came across an article in the Guardian about a number of young people who described themselves as ‘asexual’. This was a word I’d only ever heard used to describe plants, so my curiosity was immediately aroused.


For those who don’t know already, ‘asexuality’ describes the absence of sexual desire, not, as some mistakenly think, the suppression of it, which is celibacy. 1% of the population describes themselves as asexual.

The article’s headline read, ‘in a society obsessed with sex, it’s hard if you have no sexual desire at all. Some are searching for a new form of intimacy’.

It was the word ‘intimacy’ that really stood out for me. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was craving intimacy, and not necessarily the sexual kind.

They spoke to Bryony a biology student from Manchester who felt unable to join in on the conversations involving sex and sexual attractiveness. But the overwhelming and recurrent theme was loneliness. There seemed to be a real desire to form meaningful relationships that didn’t involve sex and at that time, this was something I was deeply craving. I’d left University and my small but intimate friendship group where we were able to talk to each other about everything and I was missing that.

This coupled with the fact that I’d started a course of anti-depressants for panic attacks, meant that my libido was almost non-existent and I really began to wonder if I was asexual. My sexual desire seemed to have deserted me. I had lost all interest in sexual activity and I now realize I had confused this lack of interest with the fact that many asexuals don’t find anyone sexually attractive. At the time I had no idea that there was a link between a low libido and taking anti-depressants.

It took me a while but I soon realized two things; one, how closely my moods were linked to my sexual desires, something up until that point I’d never really considered. When I was feeling low my desires waned or disappeared. For a long time my low moods became the norm.

The Joys of Sexting

The second realization came when I reconnected with an old university flame who unexpectedly reignited my sexual desires through sexting, something I’d never done before. It wasn’t that I was asexual, it was that I had been deeply lonely and unhappy and lacked an outlet for expressing my sexual desires. The sexting gave me that.

Looking back now it seems almost laughable. Here I am writing about having once thought I was asexual on my very own sex blog. I’ve always loved words. Sexting, erotica and now this blog have helped me realize the power they have to excite and stimulate. Once I discovered that, there was no stopping me.

Of course there have been other realizations that came later, my bisexuality and my love of kink being just two of them. But the one I’ve just described has probably been the one that made me realize the most about myself.