If there’s one area of nightlife that’s booming post-pandemic, it’s the sex party. Veteran events like Torture Garden and Killing Kittens are more popular than ever, while queer favourites Adonis and the women-only One Night have come into their own. According to our GQ Modern Lovers reader survey, one in four men have attended a sex party alone – and the same number have as part of a couple. With dark rooms across the capital (and beyond) becoming so popular, it can feel like everyone’s at it.
So what’s it like for those who aren’t? With a new generation of hedonists demanding greater emphasis on inclusivity, accessibility and safety, running a sex party has never been more complicated. Here we talk to a founder, a hostess and a wellness advisor about their perspectives on the culture, the community and the clean-up operation of London’s sex party boom.
“We’re not anti-men; we’re anti-dickheads”
Natasha, community manager and Kamila, events manager, for high-end sex party Killing Kittens
Natasha: “It can be a scary thing, booking a ticket for a sex party. Everyone assumes it’s going to be six-foot-tall models with big boobs, but it’s normal people. It’s the teacher, the policeman. We get people from religious backgrounds searching for freedom; someone divorced and looking to find themselves; a married couple wanting to do something fun. We ask everyone to explain why they want to attend, and it must be more than ‘I want loads of sex’. We need to know you’ll be respectful, and that the event will add something to your life.”
Kamila: “Once people are checked in at the door, we do a quick reminder of the rules. Then there are social drinks so everyone can connect.”
Natasha: “There’s also pre-party chat online, which is moderated. People make connections in advance and share photos.”
Kamila: “Two hours in, we open the play areas and the dancefloor completely empties. That’s the most boring part for us: when everyone is having sex. At that point, they can take care of themselves. Everyone is so into it, there is no one for me to talk to. At the last event we had 600 people and I remember thinking afterward I don’t remember noticing anyone having sex. It just becomes white noise.”
Natasha: “At other parties, you get a lot of lone wankers: men wanking in corners. We don’t have that. We were founded to give women power when it came to sex. Men can’t buy tickets; someone must invite them. Men are not allowed to walk around play areas on their own freely; if they’re not the guest of a woman, they must be at the bar. When their person leaves, they leave too. If you’re a cis male, you are not in control.
"For many men, that’s quite nice. It’s a break from the norm, from having to do everything. We’re not anti-men; we’re anti-dickheads. Men are half our members. We are just aware of keeping the power with the woman. And it’s evolved; now we include non-binary and trans people.”
Kamila: “We try to avoid toxic masculinity. The change of [power] dynamics is refreshing for everyone. A man coming with his play or life partner has a feeling of safety, too. [Some] people come and don’t have sex. Women come to dance in lingerie, in heels and not be bothered.”
Natasha: “We typically finish at 2.30am. People don’t want to leave. At one party, I was trying for ages to get rid of this woman at the end of the night and she had something up her, a sex toy. As I asked her to leave she kept orgasming. She was saying: ‘I will, I will, I will’. You have to go into matron mode."
“There were only four rules: no phones, stay hydrated, always ask for consent, and don’t be a creep.”
Holly, a former hostess at the New York sex party New Society for Wellness
“I was the hostess at a private sex club in a penthouse apartment in New York. My role was to welcome people and inform them of the rules. There were only four: Always ask for consent, don’t be a creep, stay hydrated, no phones. There were games and a makeshift bar and then two further rooms with beds, toys, paddles. It was a 50/50, men/women split. Everyone had to wear black. Women would wear suspenders, a sexy outfit. Guys just wore their boxers.
I got the role by applying to an Instagram post. So much of it was just like a regular job. It wasn’t like I was super turned on the whole time I was there. I was still looking at the clock, thinking ‘two hours left’. I’d help set up before people would arrive, filling the little bowls with condoms, putting out tissues. Afterwards, I collected glasses and picked up discarded condoms. Someone else stripped the beds, thank god.
The venue was small, with a capacity of about 150, and some people came every week. I thought of it as a research exercise: I was curious to see what kind of people go to a sex party. I was surprised how much diversity there was. I thought it would be like an old boys’ club, but there were lots of people from different backgrounds. It was funny seeing people just hanging out right next to five people having sex. It felt like a safe space where people could express themselves. There was something so lovely about it.
I started going as a guest. Before, my fear was that there might be nobody I would want to have sex with at a party like this. But it was such a different experience as a straight woman. I felt so good about myself. So empowered. There weren’t the kind of experiences that you might get with a bad date or if someone ghosted you; there wasn’t any expectation around ‘is he going to call me’ or anything like that. It could be all about you, which isn’t typical for women when they date.
I’m trying not to use the word transactional. It feels like the wrong word, but at the same time it feels like the right word. I could turn everything off, have sex and go back to being a happy, single woman afterwards. I got the best of both worlds.
Working as a hostess changed my attitude to sex. It endeared me more to it. Not that I ever thought it was bad, I just realised I didn’t have to go on a date, or three dates, and maybe we’ll have sex afterwards – and maybe it’ll be OK, maybe it will be mind-blowing, or awful. It just expanded the pathways to having sex. It made me feel lighter.”
“We’re helping people have the sex they want to have”
Dani, co-founder of Safe Only Ltd, whose work includes on-the-ground support at sex parties
"At sex parties, our team is on the ground encouraging people to come and speak to them about anything that’s on their minds around health, consent, sex and drugs. It’s well-being in a way that isn’t just handing out leaflets.
The idea came about post-pandemic. My friend Yannis and I both love clubbing and partying, but we realised the level of care we wanted wasn’t always there. So we started a non-profit working primarily in queer nightlife spaces with a focus on welfare and harm reduction.
It’s important to respect the existing culture of the parties we work at. Issues might come up around non-consensual touching, a consensual sexual experience that has left someone feeling a way they hadn’t expected, or navigating withdrawing consent, and consent and intoxication. It's not a rushed conversation. It’s gentle and directed by the person, in a space away from the main hub of the party.
One common conversation is when someone asks me: this person is really hot, should I talk to them? We’d have a cute conversation about that, where I say: yeah definitely, but here’s how we can navigate that in a way that respects their boundaries.
We had someone crack on to one of our officers once, but in a very forward, touchy-feely way, potentially because of their intoxication or because they weren’t very boundary aware. So we talked to them and asked if they realised it was aggressive behaviour, and explained how it made that person feel.
We’re not interested in controlling behaviour. That’s not how we work. It’s not desirable or achievable, frankly. We’re not surveillance. People are going to do what they are going to do. When that happens, we’re a safety net, supporting everyone involved.”
See more from the Modern Lovers series here.
Illustration by LilyLK.
