Thinking about putting yourself forward as a potential new member of the glamourous and rather mysterious world of Skirt Club? Is it as glam as their marketing suggests? She reveals how a 14 year partnership and marriage, a sexual awakening and a therapy confession played a part in leading her towards her first sex party experience.
Ah — but of course. All jokes aside, this was not intentional or an indication of what I presumed would happen that evening. As luck would have it though, I happened to pass an Ann Summers shop on the way to the venue — call it a stroke of luck or a cosmic sign. I hastily stuffed some lacy numbers in to my clutch bag and vowed to change them once I was at the secret venue — Skirters only find out about the location a day or two before the event, to protect the discretion and privacy of their members.
Past a mahogany antique staircase, draped with festive garlands and glowing lights, into an old s style lift with red snakeskin walls and through some underground tunnels to a bijous bar reminiscent of a candle-lit cabaret cavern.
I was shown the way by a smartly dressed gent, who said he was born in the West End but was Lithuanian, he had an angular face and broad shoulders — eye catching, in other words. I felt a bit of a thrill wondering if he knew why I was here and what he might think about that. The hostesses were delightful and greeted me as if I were an old friend. He was supportive of me attending to see if this is something I might like to get involved in later on.
So, champagne and gin aside — I was on my best behaviour. It was impulsive and she was hot, but the encounter was ultimately not very satisfying. I likened it to attempting to operate the starship enterprise without an instruction manual. My mind was a tangle of fantasies about illicit encounters, violent sex and general outrageousness. My husband was enviable in his enthusiasm to keep up with the increase in demand.
