"Not only are non-binary people shunned at sex parties, but people who have sex with us are, too."

What It’s Like To Go To A Sex Party When You’re Gender Non-Binary

Here’s a confession I’m nervous to make as an enlightened queer in 2016: I’m uncomfortable at sex parties.

Now sex parties, like anything else, exist on a spectrum. There are gatherings that are just free and casual, where everyone feels so liberated that sex just kind of “happens.”

You’ll see queers of all colors, shapes, sizes and gender expressions fooling around on the dance floor, or really going for it on couches and bare mattresses, or pretty much any other flat surface.

HBO

At these kinds of gatherings, sex is incidental, a byproduct of the open, inclusive space being created.

Then there are spaces that are intentionally created for the purposes of having sex: The vibe is very much “THIS IS A SEX PARTY.” The flyer usually features some half=naked dude—or fully nude, let’s be real—in a suggestive pose, and advertises a clothes check and a back room.

Or maybe it’s at someone’s house and they just straight up tell you “this is a sex party.”

These kinds of parties are usually not very welcoming to non-binary people.

Leah James

Non-binary can mean a lot of things, but in this context I mean people who don’t present as cisgender. I identify as a transgender woman, and while I tend to frequent inclusive queer spaces, I’ve been to my fair share of sex parties dominated by cis gay men. But I’ve always been uncomfortable at them.

Not because I don’t like to fuck, or because I’m uncomfortable having sex in public. (I’m not.) But I always just felt like these events weren’t for me—a feeling both internalized and reinforced by the way people interacted with me.

GEAR UP for #BlackParty2016 with #looks from @chezpriape at @theleathermannyc 111 Christopher St. #submerged powered by @scruffapp sponsored by @chezpriape & @pjurusa Ticket link in bio! A post shared by The Saint At Large (@saintatlarge) on Mar 15, 2016 at 12:36pm PDT

Just last weekend I attended the Black Party, arguably New York’s largest fetish/sex party. And it’s most homogenous.

Walking through the darkly lit warehouse with another trans girl, both of us in dresses and full faces of makeup, we were subject to looks thrown that ranged from curiosity to incredulity.

We didn’t fit into the sea of muscled men in leather harnesses, so what were we doing there?

I’m not saying everyone in that warehouse was mortified that some trans girls were in their sacred temple. There were certainly other trans ladies, and even some cis women. But we stuck out in the sea of mainly white, leather-clad guys like sore thumbs.

Gay-male-dominated sex parties are rarely diverse. The organizer is probably just inviting people he wants to have sex with, and a lot of gay men want to have sex with other guys who look and act like them. (That’s where terms like “clonefucker” and “dopplebanger” come into play.)

Log on to Grindr or Scruff and you’ll see faceless torso after faceless torso, with profiles proclaiming their “masc4masc” desires and declarations of “no fats no femmes.”

When these men are curating sex parties, the crowd tends to be super-homogenous—and unwelcoming of people who literally don’t fit the profile. Goddess forbid you are a trans person at a sex party thrown by gay men.

I’m only recently out as a trans woman, but I’ve experienced years of hostile stares and barely concealed revulsion. Even when I presented as a gender-deviant “bear,” I was unwelcome.

Sometimes this exclusionary attitude is more felt than seen, but it’s still ever-present. I’ve been at parties that proclaim to be radical and queer, and yet the only people having sex are fit, cisgender white men.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BDPaRWyxNs8/?tagged=blackparty

Not only are non-binary people shunned at sex parties, but people who have sex with us are, too: A conventionally attractive cis male friend recounted recently how, at a party that advertised itself as being for all bodies, he had sex with a trans woman.

Afterward, men who had previously expressed interest in him—men he’d even had sex with before—wouldn’t give him the time of day. He’d done the unthinkable: had sex with a woman. And not just any woman, a woman who’d rejected her own masculinity by her very trans-ness.

The thing is, sex should be part of the party experience. If we’re living as enlightened queers seemingly unconcerned with societal norms and reimagining what love looks like, sex in a public space can be a radical act. (Or not—in 2016, getting your dick sucked on a dance floor isn’t that transgressive anymore, it’s just fun.)

So if you’re in a space where you feel free enough to have sex, and you’re not triggering anyone, I say go for it.

We can’t police desire, and no one has to have sex with someone they’re not genuinely attracted to. But the next time you find yourself in a sex-positive gathering, think about the messages you’re sending to the people around you. Your words, your body language, your stars.

If you’re creating a space that says “you’re not wanted” to anyone, you’re being a shitty queer. And soon enough, with the passage of time, you’ll be made to feel unwanted, too.

Dream Dommu is a New York-based writer and editor.