EARLY Friday afternoon I got a text from my girlfriend saying we were going to a sex party that night. I’ve heard about these “Eyes Wide Shut” type parties before and have been dying to go to one, purely for an impending conversation piece and voyeuristic experience.

She told me to get a mask, which I didn’t want to do. Masks make me feel stupid. I wanted everyone at the party to know who I was. I wanted them all to know that I was perverse and watching them and wasn’t afraid to admit it.

I wore a black pleated miniskirt, a black long sleeved crop top and a pair of black Mary Jane high heels. All black everything. I was going for the dark schoolgirl look. Perhaps I was a high school babysitter who was going to be seen by one of the fathers of the kids I babysat, who once offered to sneak a cigarette with me behind his wives back when he drove me home one night after babysitting, which should have been an initial sign he was creepy thus leaving no surprise to see him at the party.

I imagined the party would be in a huge mansion with old rich producers and young naïve actresses. People would be having sex on velvet couches, next to aristocrats drinking champagne out of crystal flutes while agents delivered empty promises in exchange for blow-jobs from the young men of West Hollywood. Men in Venetian long nosed masks and capes would be sacrificing a girl from Minnesota who was new to town and waiting for her big break. Literally. I don’t even know what it means to sacrifice someone, but I was hoping to find out.

We rolled up to the house on Mulholland around 11pm and pulled into the Valet line, which was run by a team of quick working Mexicans, as if this job depended on them getting a Green Card. A golf cart was waiting to take us up the steep driveway to the house. It was lightly drizzling. We joined two young Indian girls and a redheaded man wearing a mask. An attractive married couple that ran the party was working the door and let my girlfriend and I in for free. I think everyone else paid a couple hundred dollars.

I eagerly walked in only to be disappointed less than a minute later. About 75% of the party wore masks and the 25% which wasn’t, should have been. We immediately made our way to the bar and got a drink, surveying the crowd and passing judgments. Only one dude was in a cape, which bummed me out. A few girls who were “hired slaves” walked around naked in Japanese bondage rope. The girls were later auctioned off for $200-1400, but I don’t know what people did with them. Later on, I did see one of them pouring candle wax on her client, unimpressed that it was the best activity he could come up with.

The party was fairly dark, except for a giant fish tank, which illuminated the hallway. The house was decorated with futuristic furniture: a lot of Lucite and tufted velvet chairs in interesting shapes. It was like the set of the Fifth Element meets Striptease. The men wore suits and the women wore cheap cocktail dresses from Charolette Russe. A lot of the guys had obviously hired their dates.

The party was weak. We walked upstairs and laid on a white fur rug that was spread across a pool table. I can’t resist fur. An eccentric artist wearing a bathrobe and no shoes came out of nowhere and began sketching us in a notebook like caricatures. We allowed it. It drew a crowd.

When we went back downstairs more people had showed up. A lot of the girls looked like gross drug addicts who worked in porn and the guys looked like clean-cut Hollywood losers who can’t get chicks because they’re working Valet all night at the Roosevelt.

I couldn’t stop staring at this one girl who had enormous implants, a blonde weave and a face of really pale foundation with no eye make up, probably because she didn’t want to look old, but we all knew she was.

Out of boredom I let some weird masked guy who’s breath smelled like bad artesian cheese (but didn’t see any at the party) tie me with bondage rope to a giant leather X in the center of the room and whip me in front of everyone there. SO WHAT? I FELT LIKE GETTING WHIPPED. I DIDN’T GET ENOUGH ATTENTION GROWING UP. The way he elaborately tied me up made me nervous because I didn’t know how hard he would beat me. But it wasn’t bad at all and it was basically just a stupid performance for the peanut gallery.

After I was beat, we walked over to the dining room, which had a sushi table set up. I hated how this party had sushi because they probably thought it was a luxurious concept, but it was tacky and I didn’t trust any of the raw fish at the party. A 19-year-old blond girl lay naked on the table talking too much and was obviously high on meth. She described herself as a girl from “Maine in the woods” and had a really nice and compact vagina. Just saying.

I heard screams coming from the other room and discovered a fat naked chick fanning herself in a Marie Antoinette wig and Venetian mask being fucked from behind by a girl in a horse mask with a strap on. She was very overly dramatic while she was being fucked, shouting things like, “Splendid!’ “Lovely!” “Harder!” I watched for 5 minutes with no expression, but internally plotted ways to murder them. I mean, plotted ways to get my friend ready to leave the party.

I made small talk with a group of annoying European men who managed DJ’s and drove a white Porsche. I watched a Dominican girl in a bra dance alone for hours on Molly. Later a French “celebrity” and his porn star girlfriend promised they could make me squirt in under 10 seconds, but I just didn’t feel up for the challenge.

An ON-DUTY Los Angeles County Sheriff joined the party. He put his handcuffs on me for a minute. He wanted friends so badly.

Then we all watched a drawn out sex show in the “Lions Den,” which was a red-lit secret bedroom. It was a lackluster show and over enthused by the girl. The sketch artist was in the corner of the room sketching the couple fucking, which was amusing.

I spoke to three older women in their 50’s who told me they frequent parties like this all the time. One said her forehead usually has “dirty whore” written across it, while everyone walks up to her and fingers her and she loves anal hooks. Nice to meet you.

We left around 2:30am and went to Jack in the Box. I got curly fries.

I woke up the next morning feeling hung over from Red Bull and lack of sleep and vomited.


Selfie from the next morning of me vomiting

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  1. Hahaha, I went to one of these in NYC and had a very similar experience. Definitely a lot more ewww’s than ooooh’s. Be glad you made it out with only a hangover.

  2. Robert Tredesco says:

    It seems to me you hate everything. I am guessing in a few years it will be you wearing pale make up and trying to look young. But everyone will know you spent your best years writing a cynical blog and not doing anything of value.

  3. Pingback: I Went To A Sex Party And It Wasn’t What I Imagined It To Be | Thought Catalog

  4. Beau says:

    Sex parties are for the 90’s and scared couples wanting a show – haha – would love to discuss taking some fotos of you – I have a project coming up and would love to see you as a part of it – please email me – beau@beauroulette.com

  5. Michael says:

    Hahaha, Please don’t stop writing these entertaining diatribes

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