“I’ve never been more in love with you than I am right now,” my fiancé whispered subtly in my ear, as I straddled a woman lying on a bed in black lingerie. Perhaps an unlikely scenario for most couples, this moment felt extremely fitting for us. It was our first real sex party, but not our first time participating in unconventional, ‘taboo’—by societal standards—relationship styles, and we were excited to dig into something new.
As a lifestyle writer, I get invited to a lot of interesting, often-unconventional events. Most recently, SNCTM (pronounced “sanctum”), a members-only sex club with chapters in Los Angeles, New York City and Miami, invited me to join in on an exclusive erotic party with a plus one of my choosing. With memberships for men running from $12,500 to $50,000 per year, this was a chance we couldn’t pass by. Of course, I chose my fiancé to attend the evening’s escapades with me. Per their strict dress code, I wore a cocktail dress with black lingerie underneath, and my fiancé wore the required male garb: a tuxedo with a bow tie.
As we arrived at the secret location of the party in Los Angeles, we held hands in the elevator next to other couples. The penthouse doors opened, and we checked in, handing our coats and phones to the attendant. A small, elegant woman who had been in the elevator with us asked the attendant, “Have you ever worked at one of these events before? We’ll have our clothes off in no time.” My partner and I glanced at each other, not knowing what to expect from the night, but knowing it was already off to an interesting start.
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We flowed into the main hall together, where SNCTM performers were dancing in lingerie and tying each other to furniture with shibari rope. We wandered the room before getting two glasses of champagne at the bar—each of us filled with anticipation and wonder. Without our phones, we noticed ourselves trying to make conversation differently than we normally do. It felt like our first date, even though we’d been together for three years already—a mixture of giddiness, butterflies, and curiosity. Perhaps this feeling is what entices other couples to come to events like this: being able to break away from the familiar, together.
I’ve known for many years that I’m ethically non-monogamous, and from the very beginning of our partnership, my fiancé and I have always had a level of openness that allowed us to explore outside of our relationship, both together and separately. I’m bisexual and consider myself polyamorous, and my partner is also on his own sexual journey—one I deeply respect. But this level of fluidity, open communication, and love wasn’t always present in my past relationships.
I’m divorced, and I came out as bisexual while still married to my then-husband, who was initially open to the idea of opening our relationship. Within two years, I realized this lifestyle made me feel the most alive I’d ever felt, but for him, it was the opposite. Instead of supporting, accepting and nurturing our relationship, I was met with deep shame. He resented and blamed me for our demise and divorce, making me feel that my need for non-monogamy or sexuality was somehow immoral, or that I’d never find anyone who’d be willing to love me because of it. Thankfully, he was wrong.
My fiancé and I were friends before we engaged romantically, and he knew everything about me from the start of our relationship: my story, my sexuality, my relationship preferences and how I love and want to be loved. He and I have been put down in past relationships for our preferences and journeys, and it should be said: It’s okay for another person to not be okay with non-monogamy. But if that’s the case, they aren’t the person for us. It is safe to say that finding my fiancé has felt like a bright light—a soft place to land. And hand-in-hand at a sex party, this became even more apparent to both of us.
Throughout the evening, we got to meet couples who also live various types of open, accepting lives. Some were seasoned professionals at non-monogamy, some were newcomers looking to spice up their sex life, some self-identified as swingers, others said they were polyamorous, and some even described themselves as non-monogamish or, “It depends on the day.” One couple we met—who I ended up engaging with later—even had a rule: The woman could sleep with anyone she wanted, but the man couldn’t go as far. It was refreshing to experience others so freely talking about their unconventional relationships together. We felt accepted, seen, and we appreciated the level of open communication happening all around us. It was easy to feel comfortable, and eventually, we both found ourselves in sexual moments with others, side-by-side.
My dress was on the floor, showing off my pale skin under my see-through lingerie, and we were both surrounded by bodies in a small room on a bed. Everywhere you looked, there was nakedness, sex, and pleasure. My partner looked over at me as I engaged with another man, and I glanced at him surrounded by other women. I felt such compersion—the feeling of being wholeheartedly happy for my partner’s joy. I soon found myself straddling the woman from earlier, while her husband firmly grabbed my waist as my fiancé watched. Then he touched me, leaned in, and whispered in my ear, “I love you so much. I’ve never been more in love with you than I am right now.” Instantly, my eyes welled up with tears.
I was overcome with love. I didn’t feel like I was wrong for being sexual, or like an immoral misfit whom no one would ever want to share their life with—both things I felt in my previous marriage. My partner was seeing me as someone with a history and sexuality all my own. I felt like he was truly acknowledging my experience as mine. It was true acceptance from the person I love.
My feelings surprised me. I never thought I’d cry at a sex party, of all places, but it made me reflect on everything my fiancé and I went through to get here. Despite what anyone else has ever said about my lifestyle or how I choose to move in relationships, he sees me for who I am, and instead of meeting me with jealousy, judgment or ridicule, he affirms, admires, and respects every part of me, and joins me in celebrating those parts, not suppressing them.
So yes, my partner made me cry at a sex party in Los Angeles, but only in the best possible way. We found connection, rhythm, and places inside ourselves that made visible who we are and how we’re loved. I’ve never felt luckier.