Written by Becky Burgum

In 2021, Rachel* attended her first ever women-only sex party. Here, she shares how it revolutionised her long-term relationship and made space for her chronic conditions.     

It’s 9pm on a Tuesday evening and I’m in a Zoom orientation staring at 15 or so nervous, smiling faces. No, I haven’t started a new job; this is the protocol for Skirt Club, the all-female sex party members’ club that likes to do things differently. We go around the group and introduce ourselves; there are teachers in their 30s, marketing directors in their 50s, students in their 20s, bisexuals, lesbians, bicurious newbies and mothers. Most have partners, like me.

I’m bisexual and in a long-term ‘monogamish’ relationship with a male partner who’s into kink as much as I am. Kink means different things to different people but for us, it’s about sex positivity, sensuality, trust and, above all, fun. Effectively it’s exploring each other’s turn-ons and turn-offs in a safe and trusting environment. We enjoy having sex with women together and separately, and it was at one of our regular sex parties, which we’ve been going to almost every month for years, that someone recommended Skirt Club as a place to further explore my attraction to women. At 37, I’ve been to around 50 London play parties in the last 15 years, from Killing Kittens to Crossbreed, but none started as professionally and caringly as Skirt Club. 

A safe and caring community is particularly important to me because I live with a myriad of disabilities and chronic diseases. From severe arthritis to bowel issues, I’m in pain 24/7; it’s just a matter of how much. Some days, contact as light as a bedsheet can be indescribably excruciating, and on others, I can be relatively active. This makes my sex life difficult as I have to stop frequently and can’t get into positions I’d like. 

When planning my kink scene exploits, I need to think carefully about seating and being comfortable – I’ve had to cancel countless events due to flare-ups. But I refuse to let my conditions take away this part of me. I’ve tried what I call ‘vanilla relationships’, which to me means relationships without the kinky sex parties, BDSM and the like, and while I’ve had some beautiful, healthy experiences, it just wasn’t enough. I was never in my true power, and we never had the level of deep connection I find in what I call ‘sex-positive relationships’. For me, wilder sex builds a foundation of trust and intimacy that you just don’t get otherwise.

I arrive at my first Skirt Club party – held in an unassuming three-story club in east London – wearing a long sheer dress that reveals my netted bodysuit underneath. Vine leaves are twisted in my hair, around my neck and down my cleavage to fit the Into The Woods theme. I feel incredible. I’m also sick with nerves, as per usual. Arriving solo at any event is anxiety-inducing, let alone a sex party, and it’s harder knowing I have no friends waiting inside, but as soon as I enter the host puts me at ease. She’s friendly and welcoming, remembers me by name and makes it clear she’s going to take good care of me. Finding a seat is usually high on my stress list given my conditions, but she assures me she will always make space. I’m given a key necklace that signifies my first time to others and taken on a tour of the five rooms to get my bearings. 

There are women chatting all around in varying stages of undress; some standing fully clothed, some dancing, some draped on sofas in underwear and some entwined – naked – on large beds. In the BDSM dungeon, women are being flogged by professional doms and there’s a woman strapped tantalisingly to a St. Andrews Cross. Upstairs, there are cosier hideaways, including the mirrored-ceiling cubby-hole at the top of a winding spiral staircase. It was here I chose to engage in my first sexual encounter.

I clicked with a thirty-something nurse, and after much chatting, we moved to the bed and kissed greedily as we slid off each other’s underwear. Then, a twenty-something woman I’d kissed earlier asked if she could join. Then another. The twosome escalated into a foursome and our writhing bodies were reflected above us as we took turns pleasuring each other with our hands, bodies and mouths. It was quite possibly the most erotic moment of my life. I’ve been back to Skirt Club 11 times since.

There is something so uniquely liberating about being in a room of women putting female pleasure first for once. Removing the male gaze means removing the tendency to perform for the benefit of others. When I get home, the high I feel lasts for days. I enjoy sex more with my partner because these parties have made me more in tune with my own desire. I’m noticeably happier because of these parties too; they make me feel alive. And it’s not all about the sex.

I’m at an age when I have no interest in having sex with someone I don’t enjoy talking to, and at Skirt Club the conversation is just as riveting as the acts themselves. Plus, unlike almost every other play party, conversation happens before and after sexual deeds; people don’t scurry away once they’re through with you, never to be seen again. At Skirt Club, I have made friends for life, which is fortunate, because I keep this kinky side of me secret from most people. Obviously, I would never tell my colleagues at work and there are only a select few friends that wouldn’t be disturbed. Most of my friends would think there was something wrong with me or my relationship and would probably stop speaking to me. As for my brother, I worry that if he found out what I got up to, he might even stop me from seeing his kids.

I’m not married and I don’t have children, but I hope both of these things will be part of my future. Meeting the older women at Skirt Club has shown me that it’s possible to do all of this without compromising on your sexual identity. I can’t imagine a world without my current sex life and seeing how general perceptions have changed in the past 15 years alone, I have no doubt spaces like these are the future. I can’t wait to be a part of it. 

* Name has been changed

As told to Becky Burgum

Images: Getty

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