Up to that point in my life, I believed that I was grossly unattractive and felt a deep gratitude for anyone that would look me in the face and kiss me. I had a sense of indebtedness to anyone that could trick themselves into becoming aroused enough to have sex with me.
I’m still not exactly sure of the cause of my deeply-rooted self-loathing. Most likely it was a combination of my young, destructively competitive mother divorcing my father when I was 9-years-old, society’s unrealistic expectations about what makes a woman desirable and worthy of love, and too much time playing Barbies.
This attitude toward myself led to abusive, unloving relationships, and one-night stands with unsavory characters that paid me no more than one compliment at 1:30 a.m., but it also prompted me to attend a sex party. It was an event that unexpectedly spun my negative self-talk 180 degrees and turned me into a self-loving woman.
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My First Sex Party
That same night, we headed to the sex party and walked toward the apartment hand in hand. All I could think about was my small tits, soft belly, and round ass. I was sure that when we got to the party, they would let him in but ask me to wait outside. Or even worse, they would let us both in and I would spend the evening standing in the corner of the room naked, watching the men worship every other woman at the party.
I thought, “Did I pluck all my nipple hairs? How does my vagina smell? Will the other women all have bleached butts?” My imagination and insecurities ran wild as we approached the door. He knocked. No answer. He knocked again. We waited. My heart raced. They probably could not hear the knocking over the Baz Luhrmann-esque music and screaming orgasms. Or perhaps they did hear the knocking, but the floor was already covered in so many bodily fluids that it was too dangerous to walk to the front the door. Maybe they were entangled and all hands were occupied so there was no way for them to let us in?
He raised his hand to knock a third time and before he could make contact it opened. The woman that answered the door was in a dress and had a friendly smile. She was pretty, but plain. Surely we would stumble upon the glistening nude bodies of supermodels once we passed through the foyer.
My trepidation was eased by the comforting sounds of Rihanna bumping through the sound system. I felt my body relax into the rhythm of “Work” as we turned the corner into the main room of the party. But I immediately tensed up upon the sight of 11 naked people (three women, eight men) fully engaged in the evening’s festivities. The men were either having sex or intently watching the sexing. (Spice up your sex life with this organic lube from the Women’s Health Boutique!)
That’s when I met Daniel, the actual host of the sex party. “Welcome,” he said. “These are my girls. Let me know which one you’d like to play with and I’ll introduce you when they’re done. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. Open bar is behind you, smoking of any kind happens on the rooftop.”
My guy thanked him and casually walked to the bar. “My girls?!?” I whispered harshly, “Is this a prostitution ring?” The women definitely seemed happy to be there, but that could all be an act. “No, I think it’s just like, a dominant, submissive thing,” he reassured me. I did not want to contribute to the sexual slavery of women, so I approached Daniel directly. “What did you mean by ‘your women?’” He laughed. “I am the dominant, and these women are my submissives. But they are here of their own free will and their partners are usually here with them.” He sensed my hesitation. “Relax,” he said. “Have fun. Nobody has to do anything they don’t want to.”
My guy returned with our drinks and we turned to the party. Nobody there was strikingly attractive. I am ashamed to say that I was intently focused on the other women and actively comparing and computing our physical differences. I most definitely had the smallest tits, but I had the longest, most fit legs. My ego was so wrapped up in examining the three women that the rest of my brain completely overlooked the fact that all three of these beautiful creatures were being worshiped and pleasured by men. I started feeling pretty turned on.
Daniel abruptly but gently touched my shoulder and whispered into my ear, “One of my friends would like to play with you.” I set down my drink and slowly disrobed.
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We left the party just after 2 a.m. and the cab ride back was quiet. My guy wanted to go back to his place, but I did not want to jump back into our BDSM experimentation. I needed to be alone. I felt liberated in a completely new way. My body was lusted after by multiple men in a room of younger, more voluptuous women. In the past, I’d often been told that I become more attractive after I start talking to men because I’m “so interesting!” And that’s nice if you’re a lingerie model but straight-up patronizing if your personality is bigger than your bra size. So the sex party was one of the few times in my life when I felt wanted and appreciated without experiencing an aftertaste of embarrassment.
My Second Sex Party
I went to bed alone that night and never saw that guy again. Two weeks passed and I had not stopped thinking about the party. I hadn’t had sex since then, so I was ready to explode. One night, I texted Daniel to find out about the next party. I told him I wanted to attend as one of his girls. Four days later, I was back in the party apartment, but this time much earlier. Two of the same girls were there and we got ready together. We talked about our work weeks, did each other’s makeup, and shared a bowl of pre-party pasta.
We bonded. The women were running the show and we were in this together. The men arrived and for the first hour we just talked and laughed and danced. It was essentially a normal party except that the cute little dishes spread throughout the apartment were filled with condoms instead of ChexMix. And the attendants are having sex instead of mundane conversations about the weather.
That night, I stayed until 3 a.m. The guests had left and it was just me, Daniel, and one of the girls. We chatted, showered, and then went our separate ways. I have not attended a party since. To be honest, I just haven’t had the desire to go back. But I will forever treasure my brief time at Daniel’s apartment.
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Since attending those parties, my confidence has gone through the roof. Before, most of my intimate encounters began with me feeling borderline apologetic as I undressed in the dark, but now I prance around with the lights on.
Most importantly, I no longer competitively compare my body to other women. It is an unproductive, destructive pastime. Each human on the planet is worthy of love and pleasure, regardless of body fat percentage or symmetry of bone structure.
My subsequent relationships have also been much healthier without the consistent self-doubt and jealousy. If I’m out with a guy and he checks out other women, I no longer feel threatened. My brain has replaced insecurity with gratitude that he is able to appreciate beauty in all different types of people. Instead of seeing other women as the enemy, I see us as a team. One singular unit of complex beings with varyious strengths and unlimited potentials for success and love.
My path to self-acceptance may have been more extreme than most people’s, but I would not change it. I needed to be a firsthand witness to men displaying equal amounts of arousal and enthusiasm for women that were almost the exact physical opposites of each other. Here’s my advice to my fellow women feeling inadequate: Dance naked in your room. Turn the lights on the next time you have sex. You are the only you that will ever exist, so revel in your magnificence every second you are able.