“You ready?” I asked, adjusting my cleavage in my old costume corset before turning toward my husband. He peered at me through the black, lace mask (recently purchased as a two-pack from Amazon), the mixture of excitement and uncertainty I felt mirrored on his own face. We were about to attend our first virtual orgy, something I never even knew existed until coronavirus stripped us of our means of sexual expression. As an exhibitionist, a global pandemic made getting it on in ways that excited me quite literally impossible.
Maybe it was growing up doing competitive dancing, maybe it’s just something more deep-rooted and fundamental about my personality, the point is: An audience is what turns me on, and with zero human contact other than each other, I was getting desperate for some means, any means, of sexual stimulation. Which is why a few Saturdays ago, you could find me and my husband getting ready in our cramped single bathroom for our first “date” in months, him shaving his stubble and me poking myself with eyeliner. We were going to a virtual sex club, a first for us and many others, as a result of the pandemic making in-person clubs impossible.
So, after learning about NSFW’s virtual sex parties from a Google search along the lines of “I’m so f*cking bored at home and my vagina is developing cobwebs,” I immediately requested to join the member’s only club I found. The process of joining basically consisted of answering a few questions to prove I was a real, non-creepy person. Though there are other companies that have similar events, I opted for the one with the most press and reviews (and yes, solid social media presence). While it says it can take weeks to get approval, I was accepted within a few days (hair flip). Also, in case you’re thinking of taking the ~sexual plunge,~ you can get a Traveler’s Pass which gets you into one party to test things out. Anyway, when the weekend finally arrived for my first party, the old jolt of pre-event adrenaline was pulsing through my veins. My hair was curled, my makeup was perfect, and my tits looked phenomenal—I was ready for a show.
As soon as we “entered,” 12 different squares greeted us, some screens hidden like ours and others showing singles and couples in various stages of disguise and undress. The host, Lorrae, was in a black teddy negligee, her blonde hair down and her face unhidden. Her brand is sex-positive, and with close to 270k followers on her main Instagram account, showing her face is elementary.
Lying on our stomachs side-by-side on the bed like two kids at a sleepover, my husband and I casually clicked on each square, checking out who else was in the party. Single girls with perfect contours and sultry lighting, couples in dark rooms wearing elaborate masks, and everyday people in everyday people clothes yelling at their dogs to stop barking—all of us conspirators in sexy crime.
Lorrae greeted each person as they entered and asked hidden guests to reveal themselves—it was a safe space, after all. (How safe, I’m still unsure. Anyone could have easily recorded the event from their phone or computer.) With a glance at my husband who smiled and shrugged, I unmuted our mic, turned on our camera, and officially entered our first virtual sex party.
“Hi, Hungry,” Lorrae said as soon as our mask-clad faces appeared on the screen. We had selected my husband’s gamertag as our nickname because we were drunk and nervous and as he pointed out, people would think we were hungry for sex and not just junk food. “Where are you two coming from?” She asked.
“Orlando,” I said, after a quick glance at Jon. It was a lie, but not too off-base since that’s where we went to college. I’m not sure if it was the shock of being semi-naked on-screen or a fear of my identity being immediately broadcast, but something about saying my actual location felt risky. Looking back, I would have said the truth to better connect with guests and maybe even find like-minded friends in my area. Also, people started exchanging IG handles and ya girl never likes to miss out on potential followers.
As more and more guests arrived (a total of 40 at the time of the most attendees), the host greeted each one with her quiet, soothing voice, setting the stage for an intimate affair. 20 minutes and two drinks later, I was officially drunk and pulsating with a need for attention. So, when a casual game of truth or dare was suggested, it seemed like a no-brainer. It was an easy way to eliminate the awkwardness and say “I’m interested in you” without so many words.
Guests took turns daring each other to take off items of clothing, dance for the camera, and do body shots off of their partner’s torsos. One couple did naked jumping jacks. Another had to do a strip show. “Hungry,” a busty brunette said, after giving an artful blowjob to a banana. “I dare your partner to spank you 10 times for the camera.”
“Easy,” I flirted, bending over so my ass was in view of the webcam, my forearms on the bed, waiting for my husband to begin. The entire party counted as he hit me, alternating cheeks and waiting in between each one to build the suspense. With each hit I moaned, playing the eroticism up for the camera. I caught a glimpse of our bedroom highlighted as the main screen on the chat, the twinkle lights from the headboard glistening off of my hair.
“Whew,” Lorrae breathed as I strained up and grinned at the camera after the last spank, endorphins causing my cheeks to heat up. “I don’t think we can top that, so we’re going to move into our first show of the evening…”
The main focus shifted to a man holding a whip and standing over a woman wearing a leather bodysuit and a ball-gag. While the main screen showcased a BDSM tutorial, watching the rest of the guests watch the show was oddly erotic. Some were already making out with their partners while others were pouring drinks, milling about their homes, or leaving their screens momentarily to deal with life outside of the virtual event. The voyeuristic appeal was strong as we observed others from our king-sized bed in our make-believe Orlando, Florida.
After the tutorial (which was more or less footage of a couple striking each other with various whips), Lorrae came back to ease the party into the rest of the event, the reason we were all there: the virtual orgy.
“Now,” the breathy blonde said after thanking the performers and casually noting their Venmo handles, “it’s time to break into the play portion of the evening.”
Despite being spread out across the world, the sexual tension was palpable. The different couples excitedly glanced at each other, and singles tossed back their drinks and adjusted their hair. “I’ll be posting the links to different rooms you can attend,” the host told us. “I’m staying here in the singles room. Feel free to jump around, find a place you feel comfortable, or set up a private chat with a new friend you’ve connected with.”
I glanced at my husband in confusion before muting the mic and placing my hand over the webcam. “Private chat?” I hissed, forgetting immediately that the rest of the party couldn’t hear us. “Are people private chatting? Why didn’t anyone chat us?”
My husband, nonplussed, shrugged and poured another shot of bourbon, his face flushed and eyes glassy. “There has to be some mistake,” I slurred. “We were the best during truth or dare. People have to want to chat with us!” I frantically scanned the screen, my hand still covering the camera, as the host broke down the different rooms again. Horrified, I watched as different guests disappeared, off to their preferred new chats.
“There’s the boy’s club, for gay and curious men—or anyone looking for lots of guy action, and the ladies room for queer or curious women,” Lorrae said. “Then, of course, is the couples room, for any duos looking to make some special friends.”
“How do I talk to people?! How do I join these rooms?” I groaned, the shots we took to limber us up causing me to completely forget how Zoom worked. I glared at the host’s smiling face and frantically clicked the different icons on my screen.
“All of the different rooms are now available in the chat on the right, so feel free to explore, have fun, and find what feels good,” Lorrae said. My eyes immediately darted to the corner of my screen where a small number “48” was flashing above a hidden chat icon. Eagerly, I clicked. A flood of messages appeared from the group chat with callouts to us, links to the parties, and requests for private rooms.
“You and your partner are so hot.”
“Ouch, you’ve been bad! Do you need a hand?”
“Come chat with us. We dare you…”
“Oh my god,” I said, clicking to see each of the guests who had reached out. “People like us,” I murmured, not even caring how cliché the pickup lines were. “Jon, look!” I nudged my husband who was now lying back on the bed, scrolling through Reddit on his phone. “Cool, cool,” he said, without glancing away from the snowboarding video he was watching.
“Should we talk to someone?” I asked, noting that the singles room was filled mostly with men in various stages of masturbation and women dancing and undressing for the screen. After going back and forth on what we wanted to do (me, wanting to be the center of attention and him, wanting to order food and call it a night), I clicked on a young couple who had reached out and started a private chat. We went back and forth with pleasantries—yes, it’s our first time too. No, we didn’t know what to expect either. Sure, we’d love to take this to the next level.
The rest of the night‚ which ended around 2am, was a drunken PG-13 blur. We made out for the couple, showcased some of our famous spanking, and mostly, just watched other people feel themselves on-screen.
As a couple whose past Saturday nights usually involved takeout and falling asleep mid-movie, the concept of having sex on-screen turned the heat up on our relationship. Granted, asking my husband to attend the party with me was one of the most stressful moments of my life (it’s like proposing, but instead of asking for marriage, you’re asking them to show their genitals on camera), but after he said yes, it opened the door for communication in a way that’s been missing from our lives. It allowed us to chat about concepts we never considered before in a non-judgmental way, and having the aid of professionals, tutorials, and other people in the community there grappling with the same coronavirus-induced sex slump made it that much easier. Whether it’s isolation-induced insanity or the need for something to scratch that quarantine itch, virtual sex parties are here to stay, and I will always RSVP.
When we woke up the next morning, we tried to process what went down over coffee and bagels. It felt like a scene out of a movie. Shot glasses littered our sticky countertop and our thoughtfully selected costumes lay in a heap on the kitchen floor. We had passed out exhausted-yet-satiated sometime between the last chat and the pizza I forgot I ordered that was covered in ants on our doorstep. Granted, we didn’t even explore the other rooms and no, we didn’t do more than a steamy makeout for the viewers—that’s for next time. Even without an on-screen orgasm, though, it was a night like no other. The next time we join the party, we plan to up the rating to something a little more NSFW.
While going to a sex club on-screen is pretty different than one IRL, it scratched the “my libido needs a jump-start” itch that coronavirus caused. No, there wasn’t the option to hook up with a stranger or use new toys, but the feelings of sexual attention, soaking up flattery from strangers, and having an excuse to drink and flirt with randoms was there, even without the physical component. Even after the pandemic (knock on wood and still stay TF home, people), virtual sex parties would be an awesome way to dip your toe into the taboo.
Images: Artem Labunsky / Unsplash; Giphy (4)