The Oldest Lady at the Orgy

Representing at sex parties

We went to a sex party last night, one that we’ve been to before and have had a pretty good time at. It’s in a hotel room in midtown and, here’s the real draw for a couple of unemployed hussies, is free to single women and “adventurous couples”. That’s us. An adventurous couple.

We are also guaranteed to be the oldest people in the room. We certainly were last night.

This has proven to keep us on the sidelines at some parties but not this one! Within twenty minutes of our arrival last night, a young lady disengaged herself from one of the two very crowded beds and approached us. For the next two-plus hours, we never wanted for attention and fun. I’m looking forward to next month’s romp and am happy that we found this party.

Somewhere along the line

I came of age in that glorious riot of sexual permissiveness known as the ’70s and had the dubious luxury of being promiscuous before the virus made its way to northeast Ohio. We were always meeting up at each others’ apartments and piling into beds.

While I missed out on Plato’s Retreat here in New York, AleXander did not and having met him at a queer sex party, it was never in question where we’d be on many weekends.

I was 52 when I met AleXander at the Spam party in Brooklyn and over the years we’ve been to numerous sex parties, sex clubs, and orgies here in New York, in Reno, in Lisbon, and (of course) in Black Rock City.

Maybe it’s because I’ve always looked (a lot) younger than my age, but even well into my 50s, I wasn’t particularly aware of the age difference at these parties. Most of the parties I’ve gone to over the years, including women’s play parties, have attracted a range of ages.

We began to notice that we’d attained a certain invisibility at Le Trapeze, the successor to Plato’s Retreat, where we’d go when we had the $125 to spare (in other words, not often). Interestingly, while white suburban swingers in their 30s and 40s might not have found us worth checking out, many nights we wound up in delightful pile-ups with younger people of color.

I’m not sure if this happens to men, because it doesn’t seem to be impacting AleXander’s libido, but menopause has done a number on my jump-start anticipation of sex.

For example, getting ready for a night out at some play party used to include a rising sense of excitement and preparatory tingliness. Not last night. Not for some time. I no longer have that sharp anticipation and, for a while, it bothered me. I’m over that. Once I’m in action, I’m in action and I have a great time. If anything, my post-menopause orgasms are more intense if a bit trickier to coax along.

I’m older but I’m not dead

The day will come when I really am too old for this craziness, but clearly that day isn’t here yet. If we find ourselves sidelined at a party or in the Orgy Dome at Burning Man, as happens more often than not these days, we still enjoy the hot, wet, beautiful energy surrounding us. It’s reassuring to me that there are still numerous gatherings of people who come together to have sex.

I’ve watched the pendulum of public reaction to public sex swing to the other extreme of worrisome intolerance. I’m careful about who knows that this is something I still love doing (although writing about it here indicates that I’m not that worried).

Walking a little unsteadily out of a party in the wee hours of the morning alongside people I wouldn’t necessarily otherwise hang around with, there is such a great sense of camaraderie and togetherness. I get it that this is not everyone’s cup of ginseng tea, but for those of us who love having sex with other people, it’s important to know that there’s no expiration date. I’m 62, AleXander is 68, and while some people might see us as a couple of dirty, old perverts (which we are, btw), more than a few people are happy to see us show up at a hotel in midtown.

Have fun, play safe.

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