Ever since the wonderful play partners with whom I had my first ever threesome took me on an adventure to my first sex club, I’ve been meaning to write about it. However, it’s taken me so long to sit down and type out my adventures that the thing I remember most clearly from that night is no longer the sex. Instead this post become about something else: BDSM boundaries, consent in kink, and the fact I have the power to say no.
I’m not saying that the sex wasn’t memorable – our night at the sex club came in the middle of five days of truly brilliant fucking and left me with some especially delicious memories to wank over. Sex with the Doctor and Mr. N is always mind-blowing, and that night our play included being teased in a sex swing, and being part of a glorious, giggly attempt at DVP – that’s double-vaginal-penetration.
But none of those are the thing I remember when I look back on that adventure.
For me, it was a night of numerous first times. My first time at a sex club, of course, as well as my first time getting spanked on a spanking bench and my first time fucking someone’s mouth and then their cunt in an amazing spit-roast that included the mandatory over-middle-partner’s-back high five. It was my first time getting my butt punched while someone who I wasn’t having sex with watched – in fact it was my first time doing any kind of sex in public. It was my first time wearing a strap-on with a brief style harness and making a woman come by fucking her with a strap-on. It was all utterly incredible.
It was also the first time I’d worn a corset. Being laced into a corset is an incredibly erotic experience – for me at least, because I had to brace myself against the wall so Mr. N can pull it tight. The corset hugged me snugly, and with fishnet stockings, black knickers, and a tight, faux-leather skirt (with a cut out in the back that made my butt extra spankable), I was slightly enamoured by my own appearance. I both looked and felt incredibly hot.
Feeling sexy made it easier to push aside the little tickles of doubt aside. Mr. N and the Doctor were wonderful – they had checked in with me at least a dozen times before we went to the club, and made it clear that I could say no at any point. I’m glad they did, they wanted to make sure I felt safe. And I did feel safe, walking into the main room of the club with the Doctor’s arm around my waist. What I don’t think I told them was that I was pretty determined to throw myself into things, even though I wasn’t totally sure of myself. I wanted to have this experience with them, because I trusted them to look after me like they promised they would.
They did – they made my first adventure to a sex club a brilliant one. They let me set the pace of what we did, and it felt like my comfort was the main point of the evening. I’m so glad it was like that, because I’m sure I’ll eventually go to a sex club or kink night without my play partners to protect me, and when I do I know I won’t be as scared.
I was a little bit scared that night, but was something intoxicating about feeling eyes on us as we entered the main room of the club. It wasn’t a particularly busy night, and I was the youngest person in the room by several years. I felt a shift of attention that wasn’t necessarily creepy but might have unsettled me more if I wasn’t with two people I trusted so explicitly. In fact, being desired – which I think I was that night – was kinda fun.
There are a few other moments that night that stand out, but not dirty ones. Conversations with people who asked about the collar the Doctor was wearing and seemed fascinated by the kink dynamics between the three of us. The point when I realised that as comfortable as I feel with them I still don’t know if I should reach in to comfort and talk when a moment of conflict or upset arises, or if I should give them space to talk it through as a couple. I felt so many emotions that night, but sex is increasingly teaching me that things don’t have to be perfect to be good.
We were on a sofa in the main room, hydrating after the sex swing, when a woman came over to introduce herself. I can’t remember her name – or anything about her appearance save the fact she was definitely older than the Doctor and myself – but for the purpose of this story I’ll call her Karen. As much as I was trying to pretend I was totally at ease, I was maybe a little bit nervous, and so I’m glad Mr. N spoke to her first. When he introduced himself and they shook hands, Karen kissed him on the lips in greeting. She then turned to the Doctor, who also introduced herself and was briefly kissed.
While this was happening, I was freaking out. In a second, she was going to turn to me and I would have to kiss her – wait, no. I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to, my partners said that again and again. My mind was racing: I didn’t want to kiss Karen hello, but I wouldn’t mind doing so. And if I had no real objection to it, maybe I should just kiss her? Would it be weird if, in a sex club on a swingers’ night, I didn’t want to kiss a woman I didn’t know? Was it an overreaction to feel so uncomfortable about it? Even as Karen turned to me, I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to say. The words that left my mouth surprised me.
“Hey. I’m Quinn, and I’d rather not kiss you.”
They surprised Karen too. She recovered quickly, offering me a high-five instead, but she hadn’t been expecting me to say that, to say no. I’m glad I did though, that I set that boundary and didn’t let myself be pushed into doing something that I didn’t really want to because it was easier than saying no.
There were so many brilliant first times that night, and so much delicious kinky sex. But the thing I remember is saying no. I’ve taken that knowledge forward, into conversations about BDSM boundaries and kinky limits – the knowledge that I can not only communicate effectively about my needs but also say no when I’m uncomfortable. I think takes strength to say no, and I proved to myself that night that I’m a little braver than I thought I was.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.