A few years ago, I met a very powerful and rich man at the dog park while I was puppy sitting my best friend’s puggle. We went on a few dates and I thought it might lead to something more serious. What it led to was an email asking if I would be his date to a party. I thought it was going to be some amazing affair—full of celebrities and other influential people—that would help me become a star. I wrote back asking what I should wear: “Is the party themed?” He responded, “No theme, but it’s 100% a sex party. Are you down?” My heart sank. I politely declined, but he called me later in the day to explain that only someone as sex positive as me could be his date.
I was scared. I didn’t know what happened at a sex party, and I was worried something would freak me out and I’d end up embarrassing myself in front of this sexy businessman. Would everyone be better looking than me? Would I have to do it with a complete stranger? Would everyone have their pubes shaved, and I’d be the only one with a huge half-Irish/half-Mexican bush?
I took a deep breath and for the sake of experience said, “Yes.”
When he picked me up, he seemed concerned because the party’s location had changed, and it was no longer an open bar. We would have to BYOB. The party was above a Chinese restaurant in midtown. The furniture inside was cheap leather and covered in plastic. There was, in fact, a theme: “Back-to-School Night.” All the patrons were well over 40, and there were a lot of muffin tops hanging over pleated tartan mini skirts. It was awful. No one over 12 should ever wear pigtails or socks with lace around the edges. I went into the bathroom and saw a list of rules on the back of the door. The last one was a reminder to tip the girls generously. I realized we were not at a sex party. We were in a brothel with a back-to-school themed swingers’ night. We got the hell out of Dodge.
Later, I explained to the sexy businessman that I wouldn’t be seeing him again.
“I don’t think we’re actually sexually compatible,” I said. This was true. Not only did he take me to a brothel, but as it turned out, he wouldn’t even let me dry hump him in my underwear.
After that lackluster encounter, I jumped for joy when The L asked me to investigate the underground sex party scene in Brooklyn. I had a chance for a sex party do-over. I went to the 3 biggest parties I could find, and decided to chronicle my experiences as a 3-part guide. Here is the first installment of Lacy’s Guide to the Best and Worst of Brooklyn’s Sex Parties.