The Social Organization of Group Sex
Tugging nervously on my cheap spandex dress, which got shorter with every step, I glanced back at my husband. He was clad more formally in a suit, following closely. He nodded.
Everything is okay. We’re on the same page.
We trotted behind a gorgeous Brazilian couple through the winding halls of a Connecticut mansion. Futuristic erotic paintings lined the walls—a naked woman outlined in electric blue; a man’s buttocks foregrounding two women on a bed; a prostitute reclining on a sofa, legs in the air, a red light above her head.
The music pumping so insistently outside grew fainter.
Though the property was used almost exclusively for sex-themed parties—swingers, BDSM groups, an all-women’s pagan retreat—it was quite a few steps above the seedy sex clubs we’d tentatively explored earlier that year. But no matter how clean the venue or opulent the décor, places where people have a lot of sex have a seediness about them.
For a moment, I longed to be back by the pool, sipping another cocktail under the night sky and watching the mermaids. The beautiful topless women in glittery fishtail skirts were strippers from New York City. Prevented by their costumes from diving into the water or moving their feet, the women lolled on the rocks while guests swam out with champagne or appetizers. Other strippers, male and female, gyrated on pedestals scattered across the property, while couples mingled near the bar, kissed on the chaises, or stripped naked and dove into the neon- green water. A foursome embraced underneath the waterfall. Scantily clad waiters and waitresses offered body shots and drinks.
The Brazilian man glanced back at me, looking slightly amused. Perhaps he thought we were going to back out.
We’re not exactly newbies. We know the ropes.
But we didn’t know much about the couple we were trailing: they lived in the city, had been to numerous parties here at the estate, and spoke very little English. Long-haired and almond-skinned, they might have been fugitives from a romance novel. She was wearing a silvery gown cut so low in the back I could see the top half of her butt cheeks. He was wearing the required black suit but had skipped the shirt underneath, exposing his rippled abdomen. He carried a bottle of Cabernet, and four plastic wineglasses were threaded through his fingers.
They knew even less about us. Not that they seemed to care—in fact, they were clearly interested in isolating us as quickly as possible.
The couple had approached us poolside—it had been obvious to the regulars that we didn’t know anyone. They asked a few questions about how we heard about the party, nothing more.
“Come on,” urged the girl, reaching for my hand. “Join us for some wine. We’ve already reserved the room we want. They know us here.”
Of course, we had all known what she was suggesting.
Although we’d been given a tour of the property when we arrived, along with four other sober and edgy new couples, I was now lost. The house was a dark labyrinth, featuring two group rooms with mattresses lining the walls and six smaller, themed playrooms stocked with sheets, soap, and condoms. Some of the doors to the rooms were open, allowing voyeurs to watch the action; other doors were shut. Though occasionally we heard a moan or slap as we passed, we were mostly enveloped by silence.
An attendant slunk toward us in the hallway, nodding and then diverting his eyes. Every staff member, we’d been assured, acted with the highest level of discretion. Guests were screened carefully and were expected to remain discreet as well. Our names were checked against a guest list, first at the wrought-iron gates framing the driveway and then at the front door. Our license plate number had been recorded. No cell phones, cameras, or video cameras were allowed outside the coat-check area—at least, not for guests. Several inconspicuous security cameras panned the pool deck and entryway.
Every time we lagged behind to peer inside an open room, the couple in front of us disappeared into the shadows. Low light, even in the nicest sex venues, is a gift, I reminded myself. We passed the “Cabaret” room, an exhibitionist’s paradise featuring a stripper pole and stage, a glass-enclosed shower, and theater seating alongside the bed. The next room, labeled “French Kiss,” was themed after the Marquis de Sade, with a dungeon wall—chains included—a whipping post, and a cage. It was notably empty—too kinky for the breed of swinger here tonight. A group of naked couples streamed into the hallway outside the “Taj Mahal” room, and the woman in front of me broke pace briefly to say hello to one of the couples. “Vanilla dinner next weekend in the city?” she asked softly.
We finally stopped at the end of the hall. “Rome.”
“We love this room,” the woman said.
The door clicked shut behind us. She locked it.
We stood in a Roman bathhouse, with a central hot tub and a rain shower. Towels were folded on the edge of the tub, and ceramic urns bordered the walls. The bed, nestled into the wall, was draped in layers of filmy fabric.
Here we are.
She stripped her husband of his tuxedo jacket. Wine was poured, but before I could take a sip, the woman led me toward the bed. She slipped off her dress and pushed me gently onto my back. We were partly hidden from the men by the gauzy drape, although I could hear them moving closer. I wondered whether this was a good time to go over our rules, to mention I was straight, not bisexual like so many of the women here, and to let them know we were still soft swappers, meaning we didn’t have intercourse with other partners. And perhaps it would be smart to make sure that no one had been here before us and forgotten to strip the linens—
But it actually wasn’t such a good time to get mired in details. I was already looking up at the writhing snakes painted on the ceiling. The alcohol was making me dizzy and peaceful, not interested in quibbling about my sexual preferences.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “No one else has been in here tonight.”
Oh well. We were miles from home.
When in Rome . . .
Inexperienced orgygoers, as we saw in the previous chapter, tend to imagine scenes of chaotic decadence and sexual abandon that have a destructive domino effect on the social fabric. This chapter explores the ways that orgies actually unfold—at least some of them, anyway—or what could be called the social organization of group sex.
Now, it is generally true that people are more open to experimentation, sexually and otherwise, when freed of everyday expectations, roles, and responsibilities. When traveling, for example, people tend to do things that they wouldn’t normally do—a reason many parents fear “spring break” even if they’ve never thought to call it carnivalesque. People may also be less inhibited during transitional periods or when the usual order of things breaks down—as during rituals, times of cultural change, certain types of play, or critical life stages such as puberty or the “midlife crisis.” These are sometimes referred to as “liminal” or “liminoid” states. Liminality is typically used to describe the middle stages of formal ritual, when participants have left behind their prior identities or statuses but have not yet transitioned into their new ones. Liminoid states are experientially similar but found in complex and often secular social settings; the activities that produce liminoid states tend to be voluntarily undertaken, individualized, and associated with play or leisure. During such times, identities are in flux. Distinctions that ordinarily structure social interactions, such as social class or race, may be ignored or seem meaningless. Roles, norms, and beliefs usually accepted dutifully may be questioned. Liminal states are emotionally intense—disorienting, uncomfortable, and exhausting as well as exciting; liminoid states, while possibly less intense and not explicitly related to rites of passage, are still characterized by an experimental ethos. These states are temporary, however; afterward, people are expected to either return to their everyday lives or take on new roles or identities. Reality television shows, Outward Bound courses, and spiritual retreats frequently make use of these social psychological dynamics. Because the college years mark a transition into adulthood in many societies, one’s identity is unstable during that time rather than fixed. The acronym “lug,” or “lesbian until graduation,” captures this temporary experimental ethos with regard to sexuality. At Burning Man, the harsh, unfamiliar environment coupled with an emphasis on radical self-expression and the stripping of everyday identities, roles, and expectations creates an experimental milieu. A woman who would never masturbate in front of her friends back home might be convinced to climb on the Orgasmatron while wandering the desert in a pink wig and leopard boots, especially if the onlookers are sporting tutus and using “playa names.”
Nevertheless, anthropologists have long pointed out that even during periods of sanctioned rule breaking or experimentation it isn’t the case that “anything goes”; some limits, taboos, and norms are upheld. Sometimes new rules and expectations are formed. Take drunkenness. Alcohol is consumed in societies around the world. Drunkenness impairs people’s sensorimotor capabilities and visibly changes their comportment; it also often constitutes a “time-out” from expected behavior. Yet beyond these generalizations, how people behave when intoxicated varies. Formosan aborigines, at least at one time, excused criminal behavior if drunkenness was involved. In Turkey, men act differently throughout the life cycle when drinking, even if the amounts consumed remain the same—young men “engage in brawls and other displays of bravado,” as they build their reputations, but later in life they abandon such overly aggressive behavior.[1] Americans believe alcohol lowers inhibitions, using drunkenness to excuse some forms of sexual behavior. College students often preface “hookups” by overindulging in alcohol, for example. Studies have also found that people who believe they are drinking alcohol (but aren’t) act differently from people who do not believe they are drinking alcohol (but are). Even during “time-outs,” periods of carnivalesque inversion, liminal or liminoid states, or altered states of consciousness, then, people act in culturally patterned ways, observing certain rules and taboos while breaking others.
People learn how to act when drunk.[2]
People also learn how to act at orgies.
After years of working in strip clubs and visiting sex clubs in over a dozen states and a handful of countries, I’ve become familiar with red-light districts. Many adult establishments are located away from residential or mainstream commercial areas due to regulations. I’ve been to parties in abandoned warehouses and clubs on the outskirts of town, located in industrial parks where the large parking lots somehow always seem deserted. Many have inconspicuous, shadowy entrances or unmarked doors. To gain entry, I’ve sometimes had to jump through hoops: apply for membership online, submit photos, call a cell phone number to meet someone in a parking lot, give a password to a security guard. Walking inside an unfamiliar club, waiting for your eyes to adjust to the dim light, is a bit like walking into a haunted house—you never know exactly what, or who, is around the corner. On the other hand, some features of public sex venues and parties are relatively pervasive. Play spaces of all types must prevent hostile or accidental intrusions as well as quell the anxieties and fulfill the needs of patrons. Group sex participants break some rules but respect others, demonstrating concern with who sees what and with having orderly interactions. Participants may also reject certain types of partners or activities; in fact, the quickest way to get your orgy pass revoked is to assume that everyone equally desires to experience your sexual charms. Experienced swingers, for example, can recognize “newbies” at a sex party or share stories about the mistakes they made when starting out. Something understandable in a “normal” sexual encounter, such as professing love to the person one is having sex with or waxing eloquently about their physical charms, can completely disrupt a scene where couples are having recreational sex with their spouses present. Even gang rapes involve ordered mayhem: some victims are chosen while others are rejected (wrong sex, different ethnicity, too young, too old, “dirty,” etc.); assailants take “turns” based on status within the group; and some types of violence are deployed while others are avoided. Organizing principles may be drawn from the broader cultural context or created within particular social enclaves—either way, the environment must make sense to participants.
“Outsiders” must be able to crack the code and become insiders.
Is group sex transgressive? Yes.
Random or senseless? No.
My partner and I started discussing swinging in 1993 and had our first experience in early 1994. We’ve now been playing for almost twenty years, since we were both twenty-two.
The past two decades have marked the swiftest evolution this scene has ever undergone, due to the Internet, and we’ve been there for it all. When we started swinging, people met at clubs (if you could find one), through ads in alternative weeklies like The Stranger in Seattle, or City Paper in DC, or through magazines like Swingers Advertiser. I still have the hard copy of the issue with our ad in it, along with an ad placed by former Nixon protégé Roger Stone, who was outed in the Washington Post and on Fox local in the late 1990s. People could join Usenet newsgroups, which were early online concepts working somewhat like Craigslist does today. In the mid-1990s, we also had BBS (bulletin board systems), small computer networks that you would call on your modem. A local BBS might have fifteen lines, and at times you couldn’t get on. It was all text based, and while you had profiles that were not too different from now, stats and text, there were very few photos. It was primitive, but connections were made.
In the 1990s, the barriers to entry were significant. You had to work at finding your way into the community. There were fewer clubs, and lots of doors closed in your face. People were keen on discretion because they were vulnerable to persecution and prosecution—possibly losing jobs, friends, and family. By entering the community, you could explore your desires among people who protected you and your privacy, even if you didn’t like each other. It was secret and special. We learned the ropes from older couples that had been around for years, basically apprenticing with them. We’ve done that for others since then, as we view passing on knowledge as key.
During those years, each city we explored had one main club. In Seattle it was New Horizons, a large on-premise[s] club with beautiful facilities that was open several days every week. In DC, it was Capitol Couples (later Starz, and then Crucible Lifestyle), which was only open one Saturday a month and hosted in a series of bar/restaurants. It eventually expanded to twice a month. Capitol Couples was supposed to be an off-premise[s] event, but a lot of sex transpired on the same tables where dinners were served the previous night. The owners of these clubs were older members of the community. Their businesses lacked competition, which meant little impetus for change. But the community had a central meeting point—if you went out, you knew where everyone would be. People came, met, and played. Some exchanged phone numbers or e-mails (still a fairly new thing). Since it was hard to find others, people were primed to play. Everyone was full swap. There was a lot of commonality—you didn’t need to worry about what people were into because you knew they were looking for others to have sex with, that night or in the future.
The growth of the Internet in the new millennium triggered massive changes. Suddenly, previously hard-to-find information was at one’s fingertips. Websites made searching for playmates easier; photos and eventually videos were added. You could literally see a couple having sex before you wrote to them. One could find the local swingers club in a few clicks and be there later that evening. As the barriers to entry dropped, the time from idea to action fell to almost zero. Newbies flooded the scene. Average ages fell, perhaps reflecting a more open mindset or simply the ease of finding information.
The swinging community grew more diverse. We started hearing about soft swap, a concept that made us laugh at first. Now, more people want to just look or talk, and much of what passes as swinging is about the atmosphere, the trappings rather than the sex. Different groups are pitted against each other, and the community feels more fragmented. A decade ago, you chose the people you played with—of course—but everyone who cleared the hurdles to get into the community was accepted, even welcomed. Age, size, and color didn’t matter; a person could still be part of the collective. That attitude seriously eroded with the drive for “exclusivity.” People became concerned about avoiding “less desirable” folks. I remember the first time I saw a roped-off VIP area at a swingers’ event. I found it sad: Was it now us versus them? Or had they inadvertently put themselves in a pen?
In a way, these changes were inevitable: the scene became trendy, and party promoters look for an “edge” to sell events. Promoters toned down the sex—an erotic environment appealed to the raver/dance crowd, who weren’t really swingers, but it couldn’t go too far. The new promoters and entrants had no allegiance to the community and were quick to attack and ridicule “old-school” swingers as “fat and ugly.” The new scene they wanted to sell was young, “hot,” and “off the hook.” Businesses began catering to niches instead of serving the broad community, slicing and dicing us for profit. Even websites adopted this “beautiful people only” mentality. Now we have a community without roots. Older businesses were swept away by the trendy new parties, but the trendy parties are just surface without depth. There is less respect for what came before or what will come after, only a focus on the individual. The embracing and tolerant community that we entered twenty years ago has changed radically.
The harsh reality, though, is that there is a finite swinger dollar. You can’t be at three “off the hook” events at the same time, even if you constantly rush from one shiny new thing to the next. Combine that with the economic downturn and the aging of the Internet wave, and there isn’t enough money to keep everything going.
Swinging mirrors patterns of broader society in other ways, too. Take porn. The lack of pubic hair in porn is now the norm in swinging also. In the mid 1990s, I had my first DP [double penetration], and it was a big deal. Now you see it everywhere. I’ll admit that a few weeks ago I was almost pulled into one—a DP can be fun even if the logistics are challenging. But I don’t like the arms race mentality on sex, the need to always look for the newest, hottest fad. Some people always played with kink, but now everyone seems to be heading that direction. It started with spanking, then hair pulling and choking (again emulating porn), and now people ask me about floggers and rope.
I’m still optimistic about the future, even if it requires regrouping. Yes, the swing scene has been invaded by a hoard of capitalists trying to sell us a certain vision of the lifestyle to make a buck. But in the end, the sex and the community—those like-minded people who enjoy pleasure with others—are still there.
This is at some level a hobby, sex for fun. As with any hobby, you will make friends, acquaintances and even enemies as you partake. Sex is easy—insert tab A into slot B—but friendship takes time to develop. I feel lucky that I can enjoy hedonistic fun with a couple we will never see again but can also develop deep friendships. We’ve been to three weddings and a funeral of friends in this scene. We have traveled with, loaned money to, and even cosigned loans with people we’ve met. I prefer to start with the sex and see if the friendship develops. If it doesn’t, at least we have the experience to enjoy. And just because I enjoy group sex sometimes doesn’t mean I can’t have an emotional connection with someone or have great sex one on one, too. Some nights I eat steak; some nights chicken. Some nights, maybe I want both.
Group sex allows for variety, the spice of life. That part isn’t going to change.
Accurate demographics are difficult to generate for alternative[3] sexual practices in most countries. Few nationally representative surveys address sexuality with much specificity, so researchers often settle for convenience samples, recruiting subjects who self-identify as participants in a particular scene or studying in a specific swingers’ club, gay community, or BDSM organization. But convenience samples don’t give us an accurate sense of how many people overall are having group sex, swinging, experimenting with BDSM, and so on and what their demographics are. Many people who swap partners, for example, do not call themselves “swingers”; some individuals who play with power wouldn’t join an organization or consider themselves “into BDSM.” Are people who take on an identity or consider themselves part of a community different from those who do not? And even if we could survey every single person in a given nation, how would we decide who counts as what? Is a woman who blindfolds and handcuffs her lover rightfully considered a BDSM practitioner? Is a man who has been to five sex parties counted as a “swinger”? What if those parties were all during the 1970s or all in the past month? What if he never got up the nerve to talk to anyone, much less have sex, but identifies as a “swinger” anyway? To produce demographics on group sex, would we include anyone who has ever had group sex, even once, or only those people for whom it is a regular or significant part of their current sexual experience?
Questions like these can be maddening. While they do not necessarily affect my overall inquiry as to the meanings of group sex for people who have it—a qualitative question—they impact the research available to me. Several communities[4] —such as swinging or the “lifestyle,” organized BDSM, and gay male bathhouse or “circuit party” cultures— have been regularly studied by social scientists and thus appear in almost every chapter of this book. In each of these enclaves, multiperson eroticism is prevalent, involving complex relationships of witnessing and being witnessed.[5] In a global, Internet age, communities are not necessarily bounded geographically. Still, if enough people identify as something, researchers can locate and study them; because these particular groups also use public space for sexual activity (such as sex clubs and bathhouses), they are relatively accessible through physical field sites as well. These communities are briefly introduced below, although my investigation also extends to individuals who practice group sex in less organized ways—teen sex partiers, individuals seeking partners on Craigslist, “doggers,” and people who go to gang bangs, bukkakes, or “mandingo” parties, for example—and to group erotic or sexual practices found in the anthropological literature.
In swinging, also called the “lifestyle,” participants engage in recreational sex with outside partners while remaining heterosexually coupled or married and emotionally monogamous.[6] Couples have swapped partners throughout history, but the contemporary lifestyle is often traced to the sexual revolution in the United States during the 1960s and 1970s, becoming meaningful in the context of companionate marriage, a critique of monogamy, and a belief that recreational sex is possible for both men and women. Although swinging is generally thought of as Western, it has spread across the globe. On www.adultfriendfinder.com, one of the larger adult websites used by swingers, members from 178 countries have placed ads. In Ireland, more than Mass is attended on weekends; one of Ireland’s swingers’ clubs now boasts more than seventy thousand members.[7] Nonmonogamous couples do not always refer to themselves as “swingers”; I have heard terms ranging from “open” to “partiers” to “modern.” Singles and dating couples may also be active in the “lifestyle”; single women, being relatively rare, are referred to as “unicorns.”
Group sex is never essential for lifestylers, but most swingers have some experience with multiperson eroticism. Sexual encounters may be “full swap,” involving couples in intercourse with another partner (or partners), or “soft swap,” where touching, oral sex, “girl-girl play,”[8] or other activities short of intercourse occur. Lifestyle encounters usually involve no sexualized male-male contact, while women classify their sexual orientations fluidly—for example, as straight, bisexual, bisensual, bicurious, bicomfortable, biplayful, or even “bi-when-drinking-tequila.” Most couples have rules and an understanding of the sexual and emotional boundaries that ideally govern their interactions with others (even if the rule is “no rules”).
Sexual exclusivity remains the norm for committed couples in the United States, despite social changes making it difficult for some individuals: longer periods of singlehood and increased premarital sex, changing gender roles, more opportunities for meeting extramarital partners, and greater expectations for the role of sexuality in one’s life and marriage. The lifestyle allows couples to negotiate conflicting discourses of sex and intimacy—for example, the belief that “casual” sex is possible before marriage but sex and love are inevitably linked afterward. Sex can thus be understood as an expression of love and commitment in the marriage but as “play” with other partners and in other contexts. Beliefs about sex, love, and marriage vary around the world and across social groups, however, which can impact the meaning of swinging. An Argentinean woman, for example, told me that “because all men cheat in South America,” the lifestyle offered an opportunity to keep an eye on her husband.
Swinging is based on ethical ideals such as honesty, open-mindedness, discretion, respect, equality, and consent. Even if these ideals are not always actualized, the basic tenets of “ethical hedonism”[9] are fairly consistent—that is, lifestylers may argue about how much disclosure is appropriate and under what conditions, but the general impetus is toward transparency in motivation, identity, and anything else deemed important to one’s sexual partners.
BDSM (or SM) is an acronym for “bondage domination sadism masochism” and an umbrella term for activities revolving around “kink,” fetish, or the exchange of power.[10] In addition to having developed specialized language, rituals, etiquette, and iconography, the global BDSM community includes networks of organizations throughout the world, festivals, conferences, and recognized leaders and experts. The majority of BDSM organizations are found in North America, with San Francisco and New York City forming important hubs, although organizations are found in other urban centers such as Amsterdam, Berlin, London, Rome, Sydney, and Moscow. Some organizations and events bridge sexual identities, while others cater primarily to either heterosexual or GLBTQ participants.
BDSM might not seem likely for inclusion in a book on group sex, as whether BDSM is “sex” is debated both within the community and outside of it. Some practitioners believe the sexualized image of BDSM in pornography and popular culture reduces the complexity of practices involved, which may or may not be organized around activities like oral sex or intercourse, and their overall aims. Sex may even be prohibited at some events. Still, BDSM involves many of the same boundaries as sex, such as between self and other or between the inside and the outside of the body. BDSM frequently focuses on the physicality and display of areas of the body deemed sexual—breasts, nipples, buttocks, genitals—and involves the cocreation of intense, arguably intimate, experience that many people interpret as sexual or erotic. BDSM practitioners have also written eloquently on the quest for transgression and transcendence through erotic activity, which is a central theme in this book. As one of my points is that all sex is about more than sex, especially when it involves witnesses and being witnessed, I hope the inclusion of BDSM here is seen as illuminating rather than offensive.
Although one might trace BDSM practices throughout history, my focus here is on present-day communities and on play occurring publicly enough that witnesses shape the meanings of interactions, such as at sex clubs, parties, and workshops. Not everyone who engages in BDSM plays in such a visible manner or identifies as part of a community. Professional “dominatrixes” who cater to paying clients engage in more private, dyadic scenes, for example. But for practitioners who do play publicly, watching each other in scenes is an important means of establishing hierarchy and reputation. An audience also lends authenticity to the scene for some participants.
Power exchanges can be enacted in numerous ways: for example, by controlling the body with bondage or restraints, by inflicting pain, or through domination, discipline, humiliation, or collaborative fantasy. Some BDSM “play” dramatizes inequalities embedded in roles or relationships: governess/child, doctor/patient, officer/prisoner, or horse/owner. Other scenarios draw on specific cultural and historical narratives of power and violence, such as Nazi/Jew or master/slave. BDSM can include fetishes or “kinks,” such as rubber, leather, latex, fisting, “water sports,” or manipulation of the breath or senses. While there is no standard length to scenes, there is preferably a buildup of intensity as players’ limits are approached and explored. The relationship between the “top” and “bottom,” whether long-term or transient, is ideally a source of arousal through the unfolding power exchange.
Consent is essential. The Marquis de Sade provides a wealth of ideas and fantasies for contemporary BDSM players, but given that the victims in his writing rarely consent, he was technically a “sadist” or a criminal rather than a “top.” The emphasis on consent may extend to the prohibition of drugs or alcohol during scenes. Many practitioners uphold the standard of “safe, sane, and consensual” (SSC), a phrase associated with the organized BDSM scene. Players are expected to communicate and negotiate limits before each scene and to artfully respect the boundaries of others.
Circuit parties are periodic dance events with a global presence, “revolving around music, drug use, and sexual pursuits.” The parties are often themed—The Black and Blue Ball, The White Party, Montreal’s Military Ball. While circuit parties appear similar to raves and other electronic dance cultures in music, style of improvised and individualized dancing, and substances used, there are important differences. Attendees of circuit parties are almost exclusively gay men; the DJs are often known personalities in the circuit party world. Circuit parties usually last more than one day, sometimes encompassing a long weekend with opening and closing parties. Many also have a historical importance in the gay community. The sheer size of the events, which could range from one thousand to ten thousand people, is important to many attendees. Attendees may also tend toward a preferred “look,” for example, a masculine “gym” body.[11]
Even though most attendees at circuit parties do not engage in sex on the dance floor and many do not even do drugs, the events are sexualized in particular ways. Sociologist Russell Westhaver argues that circuit parties are “intimately linked to pleasurable bodily experience: prolonged dancing, the use of recreational drugs, the centrality of touch, the pursuit of sexual encounters, and the pleasures associated with sociality.”[12] On occasion, sexual activity occurs on the dance floor or in designated areas of the venue; some attendees retire to “after-parties,” hotel rooms, or private homes for sexual activity. Researchers have primarily paid attention to circuit parties as sites of both unsafe sex and drug use; a few have explored the positive side of events. Circuit parties can be considered “gay celebrations,” for example, reactions against a “broader hostile or homophobic world” that allow gay men to take pride in their identity.[13]
More generally, bathhouses and sex clubs have also been of interest to both public health researchers and social scientists because of the possibility of unsafe sex and HIV transmission. Some sociologists and anthropologists have studied these venues as sites of socially deviant behavior or have explored the interactional patterns of patrons.
The following sections draw on the social science literature about the above enclaves, as well as my interviews and experience, to provide a general sense of both the way that people similarly organize group sex experiences and the specificity of different sites and practices. When people want to engage in transgressive behavior, they may purposely seek or create the kinds of temporary environments and interactions that make it more likely. The focus here is on contemporary, recreational settings, although some of the same strategies for distinguishing between everyday life and transgressive activity and transitioning between realms can also be observed in compulsory rituals.
My favorite bathhouse is in Osaka, Japan, where I sometimes travel for work. I go to that bathhouse as much as humanly possible. Compared to bathhouses in the United States and Canada, the one in Osaka is immaculately clean. Nothing is dirty or dingy. It has marble countertops and is decorated with antiques, ornate statues, and crystal bowls. There are oil paintings on the walls. That was a shock, just how palatial some of the furnishings were, and that there even were furnishings. There’s even nice carpet on the floor.
You don’t see that everywhere.
But just like in other countries, you could easily miss this place if you didn’t know where it was. It’s in a gay neighborhood, but the door is barely marked.
When you enter, you’re in an alcove with a giant Romanesque statue of a woman. She’s holding a lamp, very baroque. Then another sliding door opens, and you see a sunken area for your umbrella. You take your shoes off and step up to a carpeted reception area. There is a row of lockers, and you put your shoes in a locker, insert ten yen, and take the key.
Then you pay for your visit using a vending machine. You pay different amounts depending on how long you’re staying, whether it’s just for part of the day or overnight, and based on your age. If you’re over forty, you pay the most, though that’s only about twenty-four dollars. The machine spits out a little paper ticket that you take to the reception desk. A young Japanese man takes your key and gives you another key on a wristband for a different locker, where you’ll store your clothes. He also gives you a plastic bag with two towels in it, a facecloth-sized towel and a bigger one.
I figured out how all of this worked the first time, even though no one told me what to do. I guess I was motivated!
I remember heading down the hallway, past the antiques and oil paintings, and seeing a powder-room area with hair dryers, colognes, and a place to brush your teeth. I remember thinking, “This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen in North America.”
There is a kitchen area with tables. You can buy grapefruit juice, sodas, beer, or liquor from vending machines, and they serve light meals. At the end of the hall, you come to two relatively large rooms with lockers where you undress and put on your towel. People hang out on couches and watch a large television. From that point, if you are less than forty years old you are allowed to go downstairs through a door with a special code. But even when I was less than forty years old, I didn’t know enough Japanese to ask for the code! Occasionally a man I was with brought me down to that area, which I found a little boring. People seemed more inhibited. There were semiprivate areas to escape to, maybe because the younger guys were shy. It was very dark. There were showers and a big room with bunk beds. There were even three or four rooms where you could lock the door. I have no interest in that whatsoever. I prefer to see what’s happening. There was also a little theater showing anime or monster movies—not porn—and a reading area with couches and Tiffany lamps and comic books. You’d see guys reading the comics.
I’d think, “I didn’t come here to read comics!”
So I prefer other areas of the club. There are two staircases leading up to the next level, and one is narrow with a very low ceiling. I’m the big white guy who has to duck to get up the stairs. I’m often the only white guy in the club. Everyone else is Japanese. But standing out and appreciating their difference and my difference is part of my experience. Before I went to Japan, Asian guys weren’t on my erotic radar. But then I found myself in a sea of Asian faces, and all of a sudden, I started to see variation. I started to think, wow, there are some Japanese guys who are fucking hot. I’m into beefy guys, and here are these Japanese “bears” with hot bodies, goatees, and shaved heads. Very beautiful.
Anyway, upstairs you put your larger towel in another set of lockers—there are lots of lockers!—and keep the smaller “modesty towel.” You cover your genitals with this when you walk, out of “respect,” but lots of guys don’t, and so much the better, I say. There is a steam-room area with two types of wet saunas. One is the kind we’re used to in North America. The other is this strange sauna I’ve never seen anywhere else in the world. It pelts water at you forcefully, like you’re in a hailstorm. The tiny droplets of water are like pinpricks on your skin.
Maybe six people can fit inside—everything tends to be small in Japan.
You clean yourself before playing or going into the sauna. There’s an area where you wash Japanese-style, sitting down on a stool. You soap yourself up and rinse off with a handheld shower, or you can put water in a plastic pail and pour it on yourself. I prefer this ritual to the Western-style showers. When I get overheated in the saunas, I’ll come out here to the Japanese-style shower area and just pour cold water over myself, again and again and again. And I know I must be quite a sight, because I’m large in comparison to them, and my skin gets really pink when I’m hot. While I’m washing, I look in the mirror and see guys staring at me. Some men are erotically interested in me, the “potato queens,” but I’m sure many think I’m disgusting. “Sticky rice boys” are the Asian guys that only like other Asians.
I sit there in my own zone, pouring cold water over myself, not feeling any pressure to hurry. It’s about relaxation. Sometimes I realize I’ve been sitting there for a long time. Just being—but in a very corporeal way. There are so many sensations. On your skin, you have warm and cold, and pools of water, pelting drops of water, poured water. I’m usually there in the winter, and Japan is a humid cold. I never get warm except in the sauna. So I revel in the hot water on my body or the heat in the sauna—-it feels like the first time I’ve been warm in ages. And everything is beautiful. You’re just surrounded by the beauty of the setting and the bodies. The lighting is low, and when you lack visual information, corporeal sensations are heightened even more. The goal is ultimately to hook up, I guess—that’s my expectation. But sometimes it doesn’t happen, and then there’s still this whole other sensual aspect to it.
My favorite time to go to the bathhouse is on Sunday afternoon. Most people in Japan have that day off, so the bathhouse is busy and people aren’t drunk. I’m not a late-night person, and I don’t derive pleasure from staying up into the wee hours waiting for people to get uninhibited enough to have sex. Occasionally, I’ll go on a Saturday night after going to my favorite bar. Sometimes, instead of taking someone home to hook up, I take him to the bathhouse. Mostly, though, I prefer meeting guys in the bathhouse, not in the bars. There just seems to be so much less game playing in the bathhouse.
My favorite room has mattresses on the floor, with duvets and buckwheat pillows. Can you imagine? Duvets? Soft lighting. There are Kleenex and trash cans, and it’s very clean. For me, it’s a peak erotic experience in the sense that I can have group sex, be watched having group sex, and watch people around me having group sex. In some places, like in a Western bathhouse, you get a room and it’s one on one, or you can invite more guys and lock the door. They might have an orgy room, but it’s not filled with futons like in Osaka. You’re standing up in a group, not lying down. In Osaka, I can be having sex with three or four guys, but I’m always watching who walks through that door. There’s something about these random guys who wander through while I’m having sex—it turns me on. Sometimes they come over and look at me. Sometimes, I touch them and then they join us.
I also like bathhouses because knowing everyone is there for sex is a turn-on for me. The possibility of someone else walking in is not.
In Osaka, I recognize that even though everyone is there for sex, they don’t all want sex with me. Only a minority likes white guys. Because Japanese culture is so ordered and polite and rule bound, I’d rather not offend anyone. So I go into my favorite room, stand against a wall, and wait. Maybe that’s part of the appeal for me as well—I don’t have to do any work. All I do is stand there, and I stand out. I usually don’t have to wait very long. Often I am approached within minutes. People walk right up to me and touch me, usually, and then we start. If I tap their hand twice and turn away slightly to signal I’m not interested, that’s the end of things. If I’m already having sex, a guy might squat next to me. If I stroke his lower leg, then he’ll join in.
Part of what’s exciting is someone new, so after a while, if you want to move on, you do. In North America, I always say, “I need to take a break.” In Japan, I might just say, “Arrigato,” “Thank you,” and move on. There isn’t much conversation in the group sex room. If you want to talk, there are other areas to go to. In other areas of the club, you can share information, what you do for a living, what they do. I give my first name but not my last name. It just doesn’t seem necessary. I might give an e-mail.
People who are into group sex, I think, are very well behaved. I’ve been having group sex for many years. I can remember saying “no” when people, usually older guys, were groping me. They stopped—you usually don’t have to say “no” forcefully. Only once in a bathhouse I had to say, “If you don’t stop, I’m going to yell.” But that was exceptional. I’d never experienced anything like that before because 99.99 percent of people are very polite. My attitude is that if you’re in a space like that, you’re signaling that you’re open to being touched. I wouldn’t be offended if someone touched me, but I reserve the right to say no, thank you, and I respect it when someone says it to me.
Social scientists Martin Weinberg and Colin Williams compared five gay baths in cities across the United States and conducted informal interviews with patrons. They determined that there were ideal conditions for what they termed “impersonal sex”: (1) “a safe setting with low public visibility and with arrangements that inhibit intrusion and facilitate anonymity”; (2) access to numerous attractive potential partners; (3) clear and simple “road maps” for interaction to minimize conflict or stress; (4) bounded experiences so that relationships are primarily limited to sex; (5) a congenial atmosphere that masks rejection; and (6) convenient, relaxing settings.[14] Not everyone is seeking “impersonal sex” when they visit a public sex venue; some visitors come with friends or spouses or hope to make enduring connections. Still, Weinberg and Williams’s ideal conditions are useful for thinking about other places where group sex occurs than bathhouses and for other participants than gay men.
Dutch researcher Maurice van Lieshout studied “the Mollebos,” a rest area that became one of the most popular cruising spots in the Netherlands in the 1990s. On Monday nights, gay men interested in “leathersex” and S/M gathered at the Mollebos for “leather nights in the woods.” Many of these men preferred a style of masculine comportment and dress, such as tight leathers accentuating the penis and buttocks, borrowed from American imagery of cowboys or bikers. Leather nights provided an opportunity for men to meet others with similar interests in an outdoor location. One informant said: “It gives me a special thrill to see other guys with a similar image, to know I’m part of this group of horny leathermen.” Some men, Lieshout found, sought an audience for their scenes, such as the man who liked to walk his “slave” like a dog, leading him by a leash and collar, or the army officer and his younger “soldier.” Others wanted to cruise new partners for sexual activity and BDSM play.[15]
The Mollebos was naturally segmented into two zones, “an exploration or social zone and a sexual and orgy zone.” Leather night participants parked their cars close to the parking lot exit, which differentiated them from visitors actually using the rest stop. Before cruising and during breaks, men socialized in the parking lot. At a gap in the fence, men entered the woods using a path. After their eyes adjusted to the darkness, men could catch glimpses of potential partners as they walked up and down the path. Many men made this trek several times each night. Several groves could be reached from the path; these became sexual zones. Two sexual areas were also used for cruising; men who had already found partners could have sex in a third clearing. Another path led into a more heavily wooded area. This served as the “orgy room.” Lieshout writes: “At night it is very difficult to see anything there, and it was necessary to use other senses in order to track other people. In trying to manoeuvre in the darkness, often the best thing to do was to walk until you bumped into another guy. Hands grasping at you, sensual sounds, the smell of poppers, and a vague visual sense of moving figures made it clear you were not alone.” Patrons interested in anonymous sex with multiple partners used this space. Afterward, they exited out the other side, either returning to their cars or circling around to cruise again along the path.[16]
The Mollebos area, Lieshout argues, showed striking similarities in spatial organization and behavioral expectations to other leather bars in Amsterdam with backroom facilities, such as the Argos, the Eagle, the Web, and the Cuckoo’s Nest. “Generally speaking,” he writes, “the further one penetrates these leather bars, the less talking takes place, the less lighting is installed, and the more sexual activities can be expected.”[17] Similar patterns exist at other kinds of sex clubs, outdoor public sex locales, bathhouses, and parties.
Anthropologist William Leap suggests that “rather than assuming that interpretations of public or private space are locations, fixed within local terrain,” we might treat the terms as “attributes of landscape which are assigned to particular sites by particular social actors and for particular reasons.”[18] The same might be said of distinctions between social and sexual space. Zones, for example, serve several purposes. An exploration zone that precedes sexual zones protects against intruders, whether accidental or hostile. Entrances to sex clubs tend to be inconspicuous, and reception areas have a gatekeeping function. At the Club Baths in New York City during the 1970s, visitors entered through a number of locked doors, which “delayed possible intrusion by an unwanted guest”; they were then asked to sign a registration form before they were buzzed inside. This movement “from a more public space to a more private space, from outsider to participant,” writes sociologist Ira Tattleman, “established one of the clearest boundaries in the baths.”[19] At contemporary lifestyle clubs, patrons may similarly be asked to cross such physical thresholds, provide identification, and sign a waiver acknowledging that they are entering an environment where they might see sexual activity. Patrons may also be asked to become “members” or to commit to certain rules, making it more difficult for undercover police to argue that they were unwittingly exposed to lewd behavior. (Requiring membership may also be used as a legal shield, identifying the establishment as a private venue subject to different regulations.) People posing security risks can ideally be identified before penetrating too far into the space. Employees may deny entry to people who seem unfamiliar with the environment or who refuse to cooperate with regulations such as removing clothes before entering certain areas. Spatial segmentation is also a way participants can protect themselves by monitoring their visibility. One will rarely gain entry to a sex club and be immediately exposed to the most extreme behaviors or specialized environments offered (“dark rooms” for anonymous sex; dungeons for BDSM play; orgy rooms; etc.). If a venue is raided or an intruder does gain access, participants engaged in the most transgressive activities have more protection if they are situated farther from the entrance.
An exploration or social zone also provides a transition for patrons. Group sex participants eschew some norms of sexual privacy but may have an increased interest in anonymity, especially in relation to the broader community. As patrons change out of street clothes and don towels, costumes, or specialized attire such as fetish wear, they become less recognizable. Costumes and masks have long been used during rituals and celebrations to help participants break with the everyday. As people shed outside markers of identity and conform to the norms of the space, they become less inhibited and are implicated as participants. (If you run into a coworker, at least you both have some explaining to do if you’re each sporting togas.) Even private parties may require guests to change clothes once inside. Some venues offer showers, saunas, or hot tubs for relaxing and preparing the body. Patrons may socialize before progressing to sexual activity; some venues provide opportunities to eat, drink alcohol, listen to music, dance, compete in contests or games, and converse. Some venues display pornography or allow patrons to flaunt themselves on stages or stripper poles.
Conversation usually diminishes as one moves toward the sexual zones, as many participants find it distracting. As an interviewee stated, “It can be rough to maintain an erection while listening to folks across the room chatting about their kids.” Lighting often grows dimmer as well. Some venues require full nudity before entering designated play spaces, which serves as a further transition and boundary. Exploration zones thus also allow participants to evaluate potential partners before moving into areas offering more relative privacy and anonymity.
Patrons who use space inappropriately—having sex in socializing areas or socializing in sex areas—face censure. One couple, new to the lifestyle, told me of being chastised at a party for having sex under a blanket on a lawn chair. When they then moved to the pool, they were asked to leave the event. The hosts found their behavior rude and dirty, asking, “Are you going to cum in the pool?” This same couple had locked a bedroom door earlier in the evening during a threesome, also raising the ire of the other guests. Although sexual activity was supposed to be limited to the bedrooms, the doors were also expected to remain open so that everyone had access to play space. The couple had incorrectly assumed that being at a “sex party” meant that the other guests would not be offended by them having sex wherever they chose.
Darkness offers anonymity, and for some participants, the greatest loss of inhibitions. Weinberg and Williams write of a club with a dark corridor known as “Pig Alley,” where “the old and unattractive” could more easily find partners; sexual excitement was generated by the anonymity of exchanges rather than the physical attributes of participants.[20] It is not just participants who have difficulty finding partners who find such exchanges exciting, however. Many sex clubs and parties offer “dark rooms” and entry into such areas is rarely accidental. Held in San Francisco, “Darkness Falls” is a safe-sex party for couples and single women that takes place in complete blackness. Transsexuals are welcome, although pre-op trans women pay the rate for single women and trans men are charged as biological men. Both are required “to bring a biological female partner”; even in pansexual, sex-positive San Francisco, there seems to be a gender imbalance in the desire for group sex. (Working the door on those nights, I imagine, poses unique challenges.) Participants remain completely anonymous except to the organizers; the only time they risk seeing one another is upon arrival. Couples check in, undress as desired, and then are instructed to carefully crawl into the play area, as standing could be dangerous given the lack of visibility. When the party begins, organizers suggest that participants gently touch others and ask, “Would you like to play?” If one hears, “No, thank you,” or one’s hand is removed, this signals a lack of interest that should be respected. “Room monitors” reprimand “bad behavior” and are available to help participants with anything they need.[21] Even in a setting where encounters might be anonymous, then, group sex remains organized, monitored, and patterned.
Not every location where group sex occurs can be mapped neatly onto exploratory and sexual zones. Layouts vary. Facilities may offer different amenities, from baths and saunas to a dance floor. Borders between zones may blur, depending on the needs of participants and their familiarity with each other. Doggers, for example, arrive in cars and primarily remain in or around their vehicles; in this case, the inside of the car becomes an inner sexual zone, as some individuals are invited to watch more closely or participate and others are not. In some countries, even mixed-sex socializing is transgressive and may need to be shielded from hostile intruders; multiple inner zones may be necessary. Gay men had public sex before commercial venues were legal, in parks, public washrooms, and alleys, and they continue to do so today.[22] Climate, amount of police or security surveillance, and the lack of other sexual outlets in a given neighborhood can make some spaces attractive for group sex even if the layout is not ideal. In the 1960s, gay men frequented the ravine in David Balfour Park, Toronto, because it was quickly accessible after making an initial contact, but the steep slopes and dense underbrush provided enough coverage for sex acts. “Orgies easily start and continue with changing personnel,” one man recalled. “It is really quite civilized.” The ravine was comparable to an inner sexual zone: “nearly complete silence is observed—except for ‘thank you’ at the end. . . . The exchange medium is touching and sex. You don’t become raucous, wild, and wooly. The rule is to be well-behaved, the code is silence.”[23]
Experienced participants may be able to pinpoint locations used for sexual activity by paying attention to these characteristics. An interviewee explained: “I’ve had enough sex in public places that I can look at a place and think, ‘Guys have sex there.’ Once I was visiting a new city and there was a park across from my hotel. Just looking at how it was laid out, I knew guys would be having sex. The park had meandering roads and little parking lots that were completely surrounded by trees, so there was privacy. It was dark, far enough from the busy city streets so that the lights didn’t bother you. I watched a car drive into that park from my hotel room, and thought, ‘Those people are going to have sex.’ I don’t need to seek out information on the Internet about where to go now because I literally see space differently.”
When participants cannot manipulate the layout or control entry to a space, gatekeeping functions can be performed in other ways, such as through signals (foot tapping; gesturing; positioning), roles (“lookout”), or modifying behavior in the presence of suspicious individuals. If sexual intentions are concealed or activities cease, a sexual zone is temporally rather than spatially distinguished. An interviewee described his experiences in a “tearoom,” or public restroom that men used for sex: “You never knew who was going to come through the door, but nine times out of ten, it wasn’t a guy going in to pee. We would wait in the stalls. When someone new came in, we’d let a period of time go by and then give a signal, a foot tap, or people would start cracking the stall doors and looking out. Soon, you could have ten or twelve guys having oral sex or jerking off.” Some venues or parties use time limits as part of the structure—after midnight, for example, all participants may be required to remove their clothes or leave.
Despite variations, then, one usually finds a segmentation of space for social and sexual purposes, a progression through space or time toward increasingly explicit sexual activity, and norms that reflect a trade-off between privacy and anonymity.
My partner and I are very much in love, but neither of us is monogamous. At the beginning of our relationship we decided to try being open. When we are in the same country, we always play together, but he lives in South America and I live in the United States, so sometimes we go to sex clubs alone.
At some point, after we started bringing one person or a couple home together, we talked more deeply about what we each liked. He was surprised to hear that I enjoyed fisting someone. I explained to him that I had physiological reactions from fisting someone that were ten times more intense than fucking someone. There’s something about driving someone else crazy with pleasure that really turns me on. He hadn’t thought about that, and he was worried that it would cause damage and that a guy wouldn’t ever be tight again. I explained guys could be very flexible that way.
For our first experience with it together, we went to a bathhouse in South America where we’d played before. There was a room with a sling and a toilet that the bartenders would let you have for fifty minutes. They also provide gloves and lube. We found a hot guy and brought him and his partner into the room. We fisted him, played with him, sixty-nined him, and other things. My boyfriend never thought he would enjoy fisting, but now he does. One thing we’ve noticed is that men who are really hung, the guys who tend to be “tops” in the clubs or on sites like Man Hunt, flip nine out of ten times when they realize we will fist them. They get used to playing that same script—other guys see how big they are and just expect to be fucked. But we give them something different. I find it erotic to take them out of their comfort zone.
My partner is more of an exhibitionist than I am. In the bathhouses, he puts on a show. He finds a lot of power in that, and says it’s the best of both worlds: he’s in a committed relationship and also experiencing this freedom he’s never had. I’m over that part of it, but I have more experience in sex clubs. I understand he’s had boyfriends cheat on him in the past and is really thrilled about having this other milieu to experience things without guilt and secrecy.
Whenever I’m playing with him and another guy, I’m cautious. I don’t want someone just connecting with me so that he gets frustrated, or vice versa. We’ve had it happen where someone connects more with one of us. Sometimes those people function like ghosts—they remind us of the rules and force us to work things out. We have a range of what is acceptable. If the person is attracted to us 50-50 that’s ideal; if it’s 65-35, we’ve learned to manage it. If it’s not working, we decided I’d signal by biting his left ear. Or if we’re in a bathhouse, we just tap each on the shoulder twice and move on. It’s a simple code. You take your towel and keep walking. You learn how to communicate nonverbally to make sure you’re not hurting each other.
If a guy doesn’t understand what we need in terms of balance, we won’t play again. Once, we brought a young guy in, for example, but he was connecting more with me as a daddy figure. Afterward, I explained it had to be more balanced. He and my boyfriend started communicating online, and to me, that meant that he understood and was willing to explore. It’s not someone else’s fault if they just like one of our bodies more, but I need it to be balanced or I won’t even get hard. I also want my boyfriend to enjoy it—I love this guy. I don’t want him depressed or resentful. When men leave, we give them a score and decide whether we’d repeat the experience or not. There are plenty of other men out there to choose from. Of course, there are some moments during group sex when we aren’t all engaged together. Sometimes there’s a small pocket of time where I notice that he has a great connection with someone. If I get over my threshold of jealousy, I can pause and then watch them kiss and tell them, “That’s hot.” Or sometimes we’ve had guys who sit on my cock and he sits behind them to watch, saying, “Wow, that’s incredible.” Sometimes when you’re fisting, it is just two people who are intimate even if others are watching—that’s understandable.
Then, there are also times emotions get the best of me.
I’ve explained to my partner that when we bring people home, there are three sides to the bed. The headboard is against the wall. If I need to stand up and walk around the bed to join them, I am not included enough in the dynamic. He’s had experiences where another guy sort of pushed him out of the way to get to me. Those are things we have to negotiate. We have different styles because when that happens, I just stop the sex. Once, I even got out of the bed and said, “Dude, if you’re only playing with him, wait until I’m out of town. It’s not going to work tonight.” They were shocked at my directness. My partner would have tried to make it work without saying anything. But I was direct. I said, “I’m not having a good time.” And so the other guy said, “Let’s play together.” It actually ended up being a very open and pleasurable encounter. But we need to always communicate, and if we need to restructure, we should do it right away.
All members who attend our events, especially for the first time MUST follow all the guidelines listed below, to protect the comfort, well-being, and integrity of all our erotic guests.
The goal here is to feel safe, sexy and liberated!
We all know that we are RESPONSIBLE for our BEHAVIOUR . . . “NO” means “NO”! Club Bliss was created to allow like-minded people to meet in a safe, friendly and sexy environment.
If you arrive TOGETHER, play TOGETHER, exit the venue TOGETHER and NOT alone. We encourage a space for Ladies to tease, flirt and play! *** LADIES RULE MEN FOLLOW *** All members must be RESPECTFUL toward all parties. ASK before initiating. Remember: Some members are exploring certain areas for the first time and are at a voyeuristic stage.[24]
When it comes to behavior, a “road map,” or set of shared norms and expectations, exists in bathhouses and other sex venues.[25] Some groups are highly organized, with explicit, formal rules, as in lifestyle or BDSM communities; others are more informal. Some individuals or couples play at home, where they might design their own rules or import ideals from a broader social milieu. The purpose is similar, however: a road map helps participants avoid conflict or awkwardness when approaching potential partners, negotiating sexual activity (which acts will be engaged in, with whom, for how long, when it is acceptable to join in or watch, etc.), and disengaging when necessary or desirable. Some sex clubs post rules and give tours of the space during off-hours; some offer introductory lectures or classes for newcomers where expectations are discussed. Tales of sex club woe can often be traced back to confusion about the rules of engagement in a particular locale. Making the process additionally difficult is the lack of verbal communication in sexual zones. Many sex clubs or event organizers monitor substance use, as misunderstandings are more likely when participants are intoxicated. Sexologist Charles Moser wrote retrospectively about his visits to BDSM parties over twenty-five years, some of which were held in private homes and others in commercial spaces. The number of guests ranged from just a handful to over five hundred. Although he found the specifics of the etiquette to be variable, such as when and where other participants could talk to submissives, all of the events had rules and expectations that were usually made explicit. Sometimes participants were asked to sign an acknowledgment of the guidelines upon entry. Many newcomers did not play immediately but became accustomed to the group first.[26]
Norms arise around the types of conversations and sexual activities expected. In general, it is best to avoid asking intrusive questions at sex clubs, although definitions of intrusiveness vary—offense might be taken at questions about someone’s occupation but not at inquiries about their favorite sexual position. Full names are not routinely shared among new partners; swingers joke about showing up for a date and not knowing the last name of the other couple on the dinner reservation. “Um, have Sam and Gina arrived?” “Outing” someone by revealing an identity, occupation, or other information without consent would always be inappropriate. In lifestyle settings, it is rare to find people evaluating others’ ongoing sexual performances, although such commentary might occur in more discreet conversations or at a later time. At BDSM play parties, on the other hand, Moser and others have noted that practitioners tend to discuss others’ scenes, comparing skill and technique and evaluating their erotic appeal. Moser also found that even though most of the private BDSM parties he attended did not prohibit explicitly sexual activity, guests often limited themselves to fondling the genitals or oral sex, if anything. Guests considered themselves “sexually adventurous and open” and may have even had experience in other group sex settings, but the play parties were focused on nonorgasmic sensation (even if some continued the experience in private after leaving). At many lifestyle venues, one finds genital sex but very little (or light) BDSM play. While there may be no official prohibition against certain activities, whether anal sex or spanking, groups tacitly encourage some behaviors and discourage others.
Negotiating sexual activity is relatively straightforward in some settings—people just ask—but more complex in others. In lifestyle situations, for example, women often, but not always, verbally negotiate for the couple; negotiations may involve back-and-forth exchanges as consent is secured from multiple individuals. Lifestyle couples can set limits ahead of time by identifying as “full swap,” “soft swap,” or “girl-girl.” Negotiation also takes place through body language and behavior—sustained eye contact, repeat looks, smiles, and brief touches. Dancing, when possible, allows people to approach others in a noncommittal manner, although positioning or progressive movement into sexual zones may indicate preliminary consent. If a couple plops down on the main mattress in an “orgy room,” for example, they reserve the right to reject any particular individual but shouldn’t get too worked up if others continue to approach. People who want to join a scene may position themselves near the individuals they are interested in and wait for a signal rather than diving headfirst into the pile. Voyeurs may instead hug the walls, watching but avoiding eye contact. The way one dresses or undresses can also signal interest and even which acts are acceptable. Some lesbians and gay men have used “hanky codes”—colored handkerchiefs indicating interest in particular fetishes or activities depending on where they are worn. A black hanky denotes interest in S/M, for example, and wearing it on the left side of the body signals that one is a “top” rather than a “bottom.” Hankies aren’t a foolproof method, however. Colors vary across regions, and even if your hankies match, it doesn’t mean you’re destined for the back room unless other forces align. At swingers’ clubs and parties, leaving on one’s bra or underwear can mean that one does not wish to be touched in those areas. The guidelines for Darkness Falls suggest using clothing as a tactile guide to where one does or doesn’t want to be touched.
If an individual has decided to forgo selecting his or her own sex partners or activities, this deviates from the norm to such an extent that it often requires either a partner to support this intention—as when a “master” orders a “slave” to service patrons—or necessitates special positioning, such as when an individual requests to be tied to a table in a “gang bang” room.
Couples seeking sex together must also communicate with each other, occasionally nonverbally. One couple told me they decided to squeeze each other’s leg if they were uncomfortable with whatever was happening. Unfortunately, it took a few misunderstandings to realize that they inadvertently squeezed each other when feeling pleasure as well. A feeling of “having each other’s back” is important to many couples who play together, however they communicate their needs to each other and regardless of sexual identity.
Differences in communication styles can be found between gay or “straight” (heterosexual or couple-based) settings. Men in gay bathhouses, for example, might communicate sexual interest and availability by “simultaneously gazing at another while manipulating [their] genitals.”[27] In a heterosexual sex club, however, staring and masturbating often appears aggressive to both other men and women. (In fact, being hounded by strangers grasping their penises, even if rare, is one of the main reasons I’ve heard women give for disliking sex clubs). A lifestyle couple might instead use a more subtle approach, perhaps beginning oral sex with each other and then glancing at others they wish to join them. According to Weinberg and Williams, gay men can also signal interest through a form of touch where “one partner explores the other with his fingers, which the latter removes from those areas he does not want stimulated or penetrated”[28] —a move usually referred to as “groping” by nonacademics. This tactic is less welcome with heterosexual women, who tend to interpret it as aggressive and invasive rather than experimental. Similarly, one would not test whether someone was interested in BDSM by swatting him with a cat-o’-nine-tails as he walked by; in BDSM play, the roles (top/bottom), implements (crop, bondage, etc.), and limits of the scene would ideally be discussed ahead of time. Positioning also works differently in BDSM scenes, where observers may be welcome but expected to remain distant and silent.
Differences can also be found between gay men’s and lesbian’s expectations. In contrast to the silence of men’s sexual encounters, for example, women’s public group sex has been described as “celebratory” and even loud. Women at bathhouse events in Canada were encouraged by the organizers to negotiate verbally, laugh, and express pleasure audibly if they desired. And while touching in a male bathhouse usually signals sexual interest, touching at these women’s events indicated “flirtation, indulgence, and a way to take advantage of the carefree environment” rather than sexual availability. Rather than occurring between strangers, touch was often used by women who already knew each other or who had set up dates ahead of time to play at events.[29] This resonates with patterns I’ve observed at lifestyle events where women set the tone of interactions. At circuit parties where some sexual activity takes place on the dance floor, brief encounters may be acceptable, but more sustained interactions are expected to occur in areas designated for sex.[30] Men may also be expected to remain upright and mostly clothed. As one man suggested, there is a difference “between just sort of innocent sexual play—like checking out each other’s dicks and stuff like that on the dance floor—and having your pants around your ankles. You wouldn’t want to be naked on the dance floor having sex with somebody.”[31] Participants learn to scan a new environment for clues to how acceptable sexual interactions will unfold.
Cultural differences and ambiguities can cause interpretation problems: Does a smile indicate sexual interest, or is it simply a gesture of friendliness? When does watching become “creepy”? People who do not know or respect the codes of conduct of a setting draw attention to themselves—researchers included. Lieshout mentions noticing “suspect visitors” one evening at the Mollebos: “three boys about twenty years old who arrived together—a fact which is in itself reason for suspicion—talked too loud, and were not familiar with the layout of the area.”[32] Some breaches of behavioral codes are relatively benign, such as talking loudly while others are having sex. Participants in a group encounter may be expected to finish as a group, especially if couples are involved or if the space is small; it would be a breach of etiquette to continue having sex if others were saying goodbye or waiting on a spouse. Other breaches are considered more serious and can result in violators being asked to leave the venue, such as removing a condom without permission during intercourse or ignoring a safe word in an S/M scene. Occasionally, whether something constitutes a minor or serious breach varies by the setting. In some lifestyle settings, couples are expected to play only together and at the same level; that is, the woman can’t hide in the lounge while her husband lurks around the orgy room, and if she has indicated that she is only soft swap, he should not pursue intercourse unless everyone agrees on it ahead of time. This varies by gender and according to the law of scarcity, of course: if he were the one hiding in the lounge, her participation as a “single” woman would likely be encouraged rather than problematic.
Even outside of sex venues, individuals interested in alternative sexual practices are attuned to subtle cues that signal like-minded others. What is sometimes jokingly called “gaydar” or “playdar” is not ESP but a way of knowing based on subtle, occasionally unconscious, observations of verbal and nonverbal cues such as appearance, use of language (calling sex “play,” for example), or means of positioning or signaling.
Anthropologist William Jankowiac argues that spouse exchange around the globe is “seldom based on spontaneous choice but rather is organized around a ritualized code of conduct that highlights each spouse’s authority to approve or reject the transaction.” Among American lifestylers, the couple becomes more valued as a unit rather than as individuals to protect against jealousy and promote emotional fidelity. Spouses ideally “remain acutely conscious of one another’s needs, interests, and desires” as they move through three distinct action phases: preparation, participation, and rejuvenation of the pair-bond.[33] In each phase, couples verbally and nonverbally reassure each other of their commitment. The specifics of ritualized codes of conduct vary among group sex participants, but the existence of such ordered phases of involvement can be widely observed. While a roadmap helps individuals negotiate group sex activity, ritualization helps participants integrate transgressive activity with, or differentiate it from, their everyday lives.
This brief discussion in no way does justice to the complexities and variations in the spatial and social organization of group sex across venues and sexual identities. Generalizations such as the ones found here can be challenged by counterexamples, although my bet is that the counterexamples will point toward a different social order rather than a lack of order. Far from being a “free-for-all,” group sex is highly negotiated. When humans breach norms of sexual privacy—even as they aim for transgression—they do not do so in random or senseless ways. Thus, even if some of these particular organizing principles do not hold at, say, a nightclub in Nairobi, where being gay is illegal and LGBT individuals are banned from public places, other norms could be expected to arise in those back rooms. Because group sex is social and ordered, outsiders can eventually become participants.
One should be suspicious of accounts of group sex where participants are described as having completely thrown off the shackles of custom, “extinguished all power of moral judgment,” or lost all sense of discrimination between sexual acts or partners. In many cases, it is just as likely that the observer was so shocked by the things he thought were happening that he paid no attention to the multitude of things that were not happening. One should also be suspicious of theories produced by “armchair orgiasts” who posit a singular or ultimate effect of orgies on societies or individuals—whether the result is destruction or liberation. Most American swingers congregating on Saturday night for group sex in suburban hot tubs are back to work on Monday morning, perhaps saving for a trip to Hedonism in Jamaica but not plotting to overthrow the government or bring down capitalism. Some French teens drink themselves silly before group gropes, but it seems unlikely that Le Skins parties are destined to end in insanity, animalistic consumption of the family dog, or suicide. The very banality of group sex, in fact, may be somewhat disappointing. Even libertines who try to harness the power of the orgy, believing that participation is a route to social transformation or that it leads to experiences of the sublime, can find that a sudden stray foot to the face or accidentally falling off the bed are the most immediate sources of jeopardy to be faced.
Orgies do not bring about the end of civilization as we know it. Yet neither have they become mundane. Although some people in some places have experimented with the extremes of sexual behavior to an extent that a deep ennui saturates their adventures, I would wager that their ranks are small. In fact, it is because taboos still exist that participants attempt to regulate sexual encounters and conceal activities from accidental or hostile intruders. In part because of the sediment of meanings discussed in chapter 2, group sex is different from masturbation or dyadic sex. When people have sex in groups, they do not do so arbitrarily but instead to achieve personal and social ends, from enhancing arousal to creating community bonds. Before delving into what group sex does, however, examining the human emotions of disgust, shame, and guilt will take us deeper into our exploration of its symbolic and emotional potency.
1. M. Marshall, “‘Four Hundred Rabbits’: An Anthropological View of Ethanol as a Disinhibitor,” in Alcohol and Disinhibition: Nature and Meaning of the Link, ed. R. Room and G. Collins (research monograph no. 12; Rockville, MD: US Department of Health and Human Services, 1983), 200.
2. Craig MacAndrew and Robert B. Edgerton, Drunken Comportment: A Social Explanation (New York: Aldine, 1969).
3. Heterosexual swinging and BDSM are often referred to as “alternative sexual practices” or “alternative sexualities.” This phrase unfortunately reinforces the idea that there is a corresponding “normal” or standard sexuality—monogamous, married, “vanilla,” and so on. I retain the phrase on occasion here because it appears in both the academic and popular literature; “alternative sexualities” also signals that such practices are transgressive from a mainstream perspective (even if the ideal is unstable).
4. Here, “community” is defined as a group with shared means of communication (websites, online groups, national and local publications), leisure activities, beliefs, practices (including the development of skills, the production of knowledge, rituals, etc.), and ethics. Although debating the subtle distinctions between “communities” and “subcultures” could be done extensively, I generally use the same terminology as the authors I discuss.
5. Not all individuals who identify as part of these communities are involved in group sex or erotic activity.
6. The size of the US population involved in swinging is estimated at 1 to 2 percent of the overall total, although these figures are problematic. Studies have consistently found, however, that self-identified swingers tend to be white, middle and upper-middle class, above average in education and income, and in professional and managerial positions. Lifestylers may also be involved with other communities and/or sexual practices, such as polyamory or BDSM/kink. Whenever possible, I match the use of the term “swingers” or “lifestyle” to the texts or individuals being discussed. In my own work on the United States, I usually use swinging to refer to a practice and lifestyle as an identity.
7. Antoinette Kelly, “Swingers Groups in Ireland Are Growing at a Massive Rate,” Irish Central, September 14, 2010, http://www.irishcentral.com/news/Swinging-in-Ireland-is-a-growing-at-a-massive-rate-102882449.html?showAll=y.
8. The term “girl-girl” is used in heterosexual pornography to discuss female same-sex activity and is widely used in discussions about types of lifestyle play.
9. Terry Gould, The Lifestyle: A Look at the Erotic Rites of Swingers (Toronto: Vintage Canada, 1999), 107.
10. As the complexity of practices, meanings, and local variations cannot be conveyed here, my discussion is primarily focused on two ethnographies of BDSM in the United States, Playing on the Edge: Sadomasochism, Risk, and Intimacy (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2010) by Staci Newmahr, a sociologist who participated in a heterosexual BDSM community while conducting her research, and Techniques of Pleasure: BDSM and the Circuits of Sexuality (Durham: Duke University Press, 2010) by Margot Weiss, an anthropologist who studied pansexual BDSM in San Francisco.
11. Russell Westhaver, “Party Boys: Identity, Community, and the Circuit” (PhD diss., Simon Fraser University, 2003).
12. Russell Westhaver, “Flaunting and Empowerment: Thinking about Circuit Parties, the Body and Power,” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 35, no. 6 (2006): 621.
13. Ibid., 612.
14. Martin S. Weinberg and Colin J. Williams, “Gay Baths and the Social Organization of Impersonal Sex,” Social Problems 23 (1975): 124.
15. Maurice van Lieshout, “Leather Nights in the Woods: Locating Male Homosexuality and Sadomasochism in a Dutch Highway Rest Area,” in Queers in Space: Communities/Public Places/Sites of Resistance, ed. Gordon Brent Ingram, Anne-Marie Bouthillette, and Yolanda Retter (Seattle: Bay Press, 1997), 347.
16. Ibid., 352.
17. Ibid., 353.
18. William Leap, “Sex in ‘Private’ Places: Gender, Erotics, and Detachment in Two Urban Locales,” in Public Sex, Gay Space, ed. William L. Leap (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 136.
19. Ira Tattleman, “The Meaning at the Wall: Tracing the Gay Bathhouse,” in Queers in Space: Communities/Public Places/Sites of Resistance, ed. Gordon Brent Ingram, Anne-Marie Bouthillette, and Yolanda Retter (Seattle: Bay Press, 1997), 400.
20. Weinberg and Williams, “Gay Baths,” 130.
21. “What” explanation page, Darkness Falls Two, http://www.darknessfallstwo.org/.
22. Women have been less likely to utilize public places for sex, probably due at least in part to safety concerns.
23. John Grube, “‘No More Shit’: The Struggle for Democratic Gay Space in Toronto,” in Queers in Space: Communities/Public Places/Sites of Resistance, ed. John M. Ingham, Anne-Marie Bouthillette, and Yolanda Retter (Seattle: Bay Press, 1997), 132–33.
24. “Guidelines,” Club Bliss London, http://www.club-bliss-london.com/guide.htm.
25. Weinberg and Williams, “Gay Baths,” 130.
26. Charles Moser,“S/M (Sadomasochistic) Interactions in Semi-Public Settings,” Journal of Homosexuality 36, no. 2 (1998).
27. Richard Tewksbury, “Bathhouse Intercourse: Structural and Behavoral Aspects of an Erotic Oasis,” Deviant Behavior 23 (2002): 104.
28. Weinberg and Williams, “Gay Baths,” 130.
29. Corie Hammers, “An Examination of Lesbian/Queer Bathhouse Culture and the Social Organization of (Im)Personal Sex,” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 38, no. 3 (2009): 318.
30. Westhaver, “Flaunting and Empowerment,” 619.
31. Westhaver, “Party Boys,” 98.
32. Lieshout, “Leather Nights in the Woods,” 347.
33. William Jankowiak and Laura Mixson, “‘I Have His Heart, Swinging Is Just Sex’: The Ritualization of Sex and the Rejuvenation of the Love Bond in an American Spouse Exchange Community,” in Intimacies: Love and Sex across Cultures, ed. William R. Jankowiak (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), 254.