I went to a swinger party last weekend. Sure, I’ve been to a sex party, a party with swingers in attendance, but never to an official “this is a swinger party and we’re all here to swap asap” kind of party.

Only couples and single women are allowed to attend. I was invited by a couple who thought I might like to tag along. And so I did.

After the RSVP was accepted, the hosts sent out the address and some basic party instructions. We were told to show up at a Mission Street address around 10 p.m., doors would close at 12 a.m. and party was to go until 4 a.m.

When we finally found the unmarked door, we came face to face with a guy in a dark suit staring back at us from behind the gated entry. When we told him we were on the list, he smiled, walked up the dark staircase and took us on a tour of the place.

Our first stop was in the front, mirrored, disco room where a lap-dancing class was already in progress. If there ever were a way to get the party started, I supposed this could be it.

Catherine Rose from Slinky Productions was the couples’ lap-dance instructor. She’d been on my show several months ago, but I’d never seen her moves. The couples sat raptly watching Catherine writhe on her happy male volunteer. The room was packed, so we continued on with our tour.

As we walked past several couples, I could see there was a kind of dress code. Women were all wearing similarly themed get-ups: black bustiers, fishnets with garters and those knee-high patent leather boots you see at shoe stores in The Haight. The ones you pick up and think, how the hell could anyone walk in these and where would they go? Well, they may go to Burning Man or to a swinger party.

Basically, they looked kind of like this:


courtesy of nightmarefactory.com

And the men? They were togged out in slacks and nice dress shirts.

We were allowed to bring our own alcohol, and so we gave it to the bartender to keep chilled. We chatted him up for a while and then decided it was time to check out the back room. The dimly lit room was filled with several large mattresses spread across the floor and covered in leopard-skin sheets. There were bowls of condoms and dental dams everywhere. The three of us sat on the bed and chatted about websites of all things. I found it funny that in this sex-charged atmosphere we were talking about Web stats and marketing, but that’s how it goes.



Couples slowly started pouring into the room, making out and climbing all over each other. Sure enough, I looked over and saw a woman bobbing her head up and down on a guy’s lap. I wondered if these were actual couples or if they'd already made the swap—it was hard to tell. There were no matching wedding rings or name tags to know who went with whom.

After we'd prattled on about Web business, music and how good our recent dinner at LuLu’s was, we got up and went to check on the poll-dancing room. Catherine had left, and several couples were looking around as they quietly groped each other. I sat in the room by myself until I saw a couple staring at me. Sizing me up.

I ducked out to sit on the front couch to watch the arrivals. The next hour flew by. Most couples had left the front room by now and moved back to the F#*king room, as my friend called it.

For better or worse, I developed a pretty bad headache and decided it was time to leave—right when these swinging San Franciscans were no doubt starting to really get it on.

Listen to Sex with Emily at www.sexwithemily.com