Two of our kinky friends got married last weekend, and they had a very informal, lovely wedding/party that included friends and family from all of their circles, including us kinky types. As the “vanilla” folks trickled out, we kinksters took over, and the party began to resemble one of our get-togethers. It didn’t get as wild as our private parties do, but there was some kissing, some clothing was discarded, some dancing and touching definitely happened.

I had arrived at the wedding wearing a little black dress and fishnet stockings with knee-high boots. I looked pretty hot, if I do say so myself. I was pleased with the look — totally street legal, but easy to turn sex-party-appropriate when the time came. The theme of the wedding was fur, glitter, flowers, and partial nudity, and my husband wore a big faux-fur coat.

Fishnets and boots

As we loosened up, I took off my dress and put on his coat. It was a particularly fetish look, the naked woman in a long fur coat, and the effect was pretty gratifying. Okay, so, I wasn’t naked, but I was topless under the coat, and still in those fishnets-and-garters. Who wouldn’t love that?

That fur coat tho’

If you’ve read my other posts, you know that I’m pretty comfortable showing skin at our kink parties, among friends I know and trust. And this party was mostly that same group, with a few people from other circles who had hung around to keep drinking and dancing.

So then this happened:

I went over to the bar to find something non-alcoholic to drink. I was perusing the mixers, and one of the guests who is not part of our usual circle (and who I didn’t know) came over to the bar to pour himself a drink. He asked if he could get me something, and I said I was looking for something non-alcoholic, and he laughed and said, “Does not compute.” I laughed, too, and poured myself some cranberry juice and 7-Up and wandered away.

I decided I wanted to sit down, so I went over to a pair of Adirondack chairs near a campfire and settled into one. The guy from the bar decided he was somehow invited to join me and sat down in the other chair. I really just wanted to sit there and rest for a minute and drink my juice, but I thought maybe he just wanted to sit down, too, so whatever. But then he moved the chair closer.

“You look really hot,” he said.

“Thanks,” I replied. I mean, I did after all.

“What are your plans tonight?”

I’m at a party … the same party as you … wtf do you mean, plans? “I don’t know, drinking, dancing, going home to sleep.”

He scooted closer and reached for my hand. I pulled my hand away. He put his hand palm side up on the arm of my chair. “Why don’t we hold hands and be chair buddies?”

“Is that a thing?” I don’t want to hold your hand. I don’t know you. I don’t even like to hold hands with people I do know.

“We can make it a thing.”

I did not put my hand in his.

“Your legs are talking to me,” he continued.

Fishnets and garters with knee-high boots, right? I forced a laugh. “I hate when they talk about me behind my back,” I joked. My husband was a few feet away but not looking in my direction. I shot him a few panicked glances and thought save me very strongly.

“Well, you have to know you’re going to attract attention, dressed like that.”

Oh, hell no, you did not just say that. Before I had to think of a response, one of my (male) friends came over and got between our chairs and leaned over me in an obvious “save.” He talked to me, kissed me (consensually), and murmured that my husband had sent him over for a rescue. Thank you. I let him lead me away and enjoyed the rest of my evening dancing with my husband and friends. I caught sight of the guy a few times throughout the rest of the night, and I have no idea if he was upset or if he wanted to try to come on to me again or whatever, but I did not leave the safety of my friend group after that.

I’m uncomfortable about the encounter for a few reasons. First of all, I’m a little annoyed with myself that I didn’t just say “no thank you” and walk away. But, see, it’s a classic case of a woman playing along with a drunk guy in order to protect herself. I didn’t want to make a scene or disrupt the party, and I really did want to sit in that chair by the fire. Why should I be the one to get up and move, when I’d sat down there first?

Here’s what I’d like to say to that guy, and all guys who don’t understand what he did wrong:

If you want to strike up a conversation with a woman, even at a sex party where she may be wearing very little, you start out by saying, “Hi, I’m [insert your name]. Having fun?” Then I can respond, “I’m Madison. Nice to meet you. Yeah, it’s a great party.” Then you say any number of things. For example:

“How do you know the bride and groom?”

“What did you decide to drink?”

“That elote was amazing. Did you have some?”

“What do you do when you’re not at a kinky party?”

Or, really, any number of things that are not about my appearance. You can even compliment my appearance! “Cool coat!” or “I like your collar!” or “Nice boots!” You know, a regular, human conversation. A conversation at a kinky party is pretty similar to a conversation at any social or professional event when you’re first introduced to someone. I talked with one friend about our kids, another about her new dog, a third about how I’m starting grad school soon. Pretty mundane stuff. We’re friends. We chat.

Anyway.

If you are trying to come on to me, you need to first establish trust. Do not touch me without asking first. And respect the no. When I pulled my hand away? That was a no. And if I don’t seem all that interested in having a conversation with you, that could be because, I don’t know, I’m not all that interested in having a conversation with you. Sit quietly with me, or say something nice or witty, or leave me the fuck alone.

And, finally, here’s what you have to understand: I didn’t dress sexy for you. I dressed sexy for me. It makes me feel confident and good about myself to know I look great. I like that people look at me. I even like when someone says, “You look great tonight!” None of that is bad. Really. But you crossed the line when you said I was asking for it by dressing like that.

Hell no.

It was minor as these things go, thankfully, and I was surrounded by people I trust, and the rescue was most appreciated, and if I had really felt threatened, I would have said something to someone and he would have most likely been talked to or asked to leave.

And yet, several days later, it’s still weighing on me. I’m doing it. I’m doing the “I shouldas”. I should have just walked away. I should have told him no straight out. I should have told him he was making me uncomfortable. I shoulda I shoulda I shoulda.

But I shouldn’t have had to do any of those things. I should have been able to sit quietly in the chair by the fire and drink my juice in peace.

Mainly, it scares me to know that as confident as I think I’ve become over the past couple of years, when it came down to it, I was just as vulnerable as ever, just as inclined to please and placate, to joke with him and deflect. How much more uncomfortable would I have allowed the situation to become if my friend hadn’t come over to intervene when he did? Why should I have had to rely on my husband and male friends to “save” me?

Why did I have to feel unsafe in an environment where I usually feel the safest?

Don’t get me wrong, this did not in any way taint my enjoyment of the wedding and party otherwise. I had a great time, and it was a wonderful group of people!

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Madison Barry writes erotic fiction focusing on themes of domination and submission. Find her on Amazon or Smashwords or your favorite ebook retailer.