Drinking, dancing, & full frontal nudity

An account of the time I ate pizza at an orgy

Supplied via Wikipedia

You can always expect a certain level of nudity on spa days. It’s not unreasonable for your masseuse to ask you to take off your clothes or a pedicurist to remove your shoes.

My experience at an adult-themed spa/lounge in Toronto was quite different.

It was my friend Tom* who initially proposed a day at the lounge, which caters to sexual satisfaction. When Tom explained that single men weren’t allowed in so he needed a friend to come with him, I initially shot him down.  When he offered to pay for all my drinks, I couldn’t refuse.

My curiousity got the best of me, and despite my apprehension I showed up and let him buy us a day membership.  

Having public sex with strangers isn’t really my idea of a good time and I generally hate clubs. There are too many strange dudes touching/sweating/grinding on you, and I figured that this place would be the same, but with the addition of nudity.

I’m sure you can imagine my trepidation.  

Browsing their website, I was impressed by the establishment’s policies on consent (ask once, and no means no) and trans* identified guests (all employees were trained to ask for guest’s pronouns and gender neutral bathrooms/change rooms were available).

When we arrived, it looked nothing like what I’d been imagining. It seemed surprisingly clean and upscale.

The first thing I noticed was that all the surfaces were red vinyl and easy to wipe down. I tried not to think about all the different body parts that had touched the couch I was sitting on as I filled out a liability form.

The second thing I noticed was that there wasn’t a buffet. I don’t know where I got the idea that there would be one, but for some reason I’d always pictured orgies to have mediocre buffets available. After all, orgy-ing is pretty hard work, I assume.

My disappointment over the lack of snacks available must have been palpable, because one of the attendants pointed out a stack of menus and told us that many restaurants in the area will deliver, and we could have food brought to us if we liked.

So, I spent the afternoon lounging by the pool eating pizza in various states of undress while Tom attempted to befriend the other visitors.

Somewhere between my fourth and ninth beer, I noticed him making idle small talk with a couple decked out in leather harnesses. They appeared to be in their early to mid twenties and the woman was explaining her theory on what really happened to Rob Ford.

Tom interjected that he thought Rob Ford died a while back, but the woman asserted that was just what “they” want us to think. Her male friend nodded vigorously, causing the dog tag on his leather collar to bang against his Adam’s apple. Upon closer inspection, I was able to make out that it had the word “SLUT” engraved on it.

We eventually ventured upstairs to check out the “playrooms,” where we sat half dressed on the red vinyl couches of the movie theatre. The selection of titles included Lesbian Vampire Babes 3, The XXX Files, and inexplicably, 2009 American biographical sports drama, The Blind Side.

We flagged down an attendant to ask where the remote was. The attendant, who was wearing a “him/he/his” pronoun sticker, told us they have to hide the remote, otherwise someone will try to shove it up their ass or something.

I laughed, but he assured me in a monotone voice that he wasn’t kidding, as he put on a porn parody of Gilligan’s Island. I wasn’t really into watching a Skipper look-alike get a blowjob so I wandered downstairs to hang out in the hot tub.

It was empty, save for one other woman. She struck up a conversation and told me about how she and her husband come here because it’s a safe space for kink-oriented couples. She told me that she felt unsafe meeting people on Craigslist, and without this club, they wouldn’t have a safe kink-positive environment to meet people.

She mentioned that sometimes she comes here just to hang around and swim. Apparently there aren’t many other places in Toronto you can skinny dip. She pointed out that there was nothing more comfortable than your own skin, and I had to agree with her.

Tom and I both had a pretty good time, even though neither of us ended up having anonymous sex with strangers. Not that we didn’t get our fair share of offers — I personally got approached a few times, but it was actually far more civilized than any interaction I’ve had at a non-adult-oriented club.

After accidently making eye contact with a middle aged man in a towel, he approached me at the bar and asked politely if I’d like to “join him upstairs”.

Usually when unwanted suitors approach me at bars, I feel compelled to come up with a fake excuse like, “I have a boyfriend.” For some reason, I felt safe enough to simply smile, and say “no thank you!” He nodded, wished me a pleasant evening and was quickly gone. 

In comparison to my recent experience of having a guy at a nightclub tell me to “get raped, stupid cunt” because I was not interested in the warm, pre-opened Budweiser he was offering me, the sex lounge was downright genteel.

Maybe it’s because of their LGBTQ inclusive and feminist values, or maybe it was because you didn’t have to wear pants, but I felt more comfortable where the pretense — and clothing — was stripped away.

*Names in this article have been changed.

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