Guest blog by Lena Hulderic
Look for the restaurant on your right and make yourself known at the host stand: you are attending…
“Right this way, Madame” he gestured, and for a moment our eyes locked in knowing. I smiled. I couldn’t help a sudden arousal as I glided above a sea of drunken debauchery, my lace body caressing the skin beneath my coat. It was an ‘us and them’ moment, and I was on my way to my tribe.
People love to tell us who we are, when in fact it’s not who we are that matters, it’s who they wish we were; an unruly parade of perverts, committing acts only the depraved engage in. A ‘f*cking’ free-for-all. Well, I left the louts and their assumptions behind and proceeded to the library, where I was to meet my dates for the evening. Yes. All of them.
“Ha! Kids these days…” I thought, revelling in the irony that those attending the event shared nothing in temperament with the yobs outside. It was only in the queue for the toilets outside our private party that I was met with catcalls and undressing eyes. Because everyone within knows the rules. Swingers ain’t no f*ck boys. And any hole is not a goal. For us, making connections, establishing and honouring boundaries, and respecting the code (bro) is paramount. And that’s exactly what Sophie Mona Pagès had up her sleeve when she roused Risqué.
I’ve been to plenty of parties on the scene, but this was the first where my outfit remained both intact and on my physical self. Not that I was being prudish or anything – if you know me you’ll know that’s essentially the total antithesis of my character. While I’m sure attendees wouldn’t have been wholly opposed to me stripping down and laying my bottom bare, it just wasn’t that kind of thang.
The night was proposed to me as a ‘networking event for likeminded people’. I wondered, at first, if this was a playmate’s ruse for getting me to a sex party. I mean, who could blame him? But alas! I had not been lampooned. I’d never been to a mixer before, let alone one for swingers, so on all accounts this was a first for me. And what a first it was…
I’d already spoken at length with the lovely lady in question beforehand via video call – a vetting process she has in place to ensure not any old wang and bang turns up unannounced – so I didn’t clam up at the prospect of flying solo. I felt good about it, actually. Like a little butterfly in a florist permitted a gentle breeze to flit from one flower to the next.
In the words of the Sophie herself:
Risqué is a safe space and I must say that each event made me grateful to witness how guests connect with each other in a friendly and open way. My aim is to promote sex-positivity and connect open-minded people. It’s all about community and my events a place for players to meet playmates.
↑ Sophie Mona Pagès, Founder of Risqué, modelling her very own “We should all have ejaculations” T-Shirt on the bog – because if you can’t look hot on the bog then when can you? Photography by Patrick Gather.
Sophie came to greet me as soon as I slid into the room, all the while showcasing her ‘We should all have ejaculations’ T-shirt. “Atta girl”, I thought as I beheld the fine fellow feminist before me, guiding me to a chap who’d shown interested in my writing.
You see, our hostess with the mostest had not only taken pains to assemble a diverse crowd of all genders, sexualities and walks of life, but had shared details of different guests via email beforehand. Like a magician [insert magic wand innuendo here], she seamlessly orchestrated little meet and greets before, during and even after the event. And us mere mortals were none the wiser. Think ice breakers without seeing any ice. Think Millionaire Matchmaker, but like not pretentious or annoying and actually good.
In terms of how many digits I gave out and received (pun intended), I was quite conservative. Again, a first for me, but the expression ‘quality over quantity’ didn’t come from thin air. A meet should give no guarantees of any sexual activity to follow. That said, but a week after the event and I’d already met up with everyone I’d exchanged numbers with, with every intention of meeting up again. I’d class that as a win, wouldn’t you?
I couldn’t help but feel pleased with myself as I navigated myself about the room, sipping cocktails and exchanging naughty experiences, fantasies and mindsets. The thrill of straddling two parallel universes in the same evening, of playing indirectly with my clothes on, brought a smile to my face and a tingle to my loins. The racy/respectable ratio was spot on. It had to be – because nothing Risqué, nothing gained.