Somewhere in Bondi, on a street leading to the ocean, a black lacquered door throbs with music and a golden doorknob beckons.
Navy silk fringing falls from my hips, skimming my thighs and falling to my knees. A band of navy Italian lace covers my hips exposing my midriff. I suck my belly button back to my spine, check my boobies are still bound inside the navy lace bandage top, shoulder roll my men’s pinstripe blazer and reach for the curve of the golden orb.
The golden knob slips from my grasp, as the door swings wide. My eyelashes tremble under the welcoming wink of an oiled navel and golden G-string.
The greeting is unexpected and magnificent.
I offer up my invitation in the sobering event that I am definitely not expected at this party. I have been invited by parents of a five-year-old friend of my daughters, our daughters new friends at a private co-ed school in Sydney. I don’t think golden knobs and G-strings are part of the mixing and mingling at that party.
On a smooth high gloss 9 by 20cm photographic card dance three naked woman, texture and movement supplied by their 70’s styled pubic hair fullness.
Dress code: Sexy cool
Theme: 007 meets Barry White
Champagne pops on a tray offered by the almost naked, black doorman.
As the bubbles prick my nose the unexpected magnificence just keeps giving.
My eyes widen at a Melbourne train carriage (life-size) embedded flush in the cavernous rooms right wall. The hosts parked dining room.
I pad over the candle-lit, wide beam Japanese black-oak floor, aware I really don’t want to puncture the floorboards with my heels. I am excited and nervous all at once and I shiver like Christmas Eve with silent promise for the night.
The World is Not Enough
Bond: “I was wrong about you.”
Christmas Jones: “Yeah, how so?”
Bond: “I thought Christmas only comes once a year.”
Beyond the room a sail clothed canopy hangs above an outdoor DJ, circling a tinkling bar with a throb of clustered bodies.
A dancing lunatic pulls me on to the dance floor.
I am completely ill at ease.
A handsome stranger rescues me.
I am completely at ease.
This shot of me at a North Bondi Beach photo shoot,taken a few days before ‘this’ party.
In fact the party is full of throbs of people really at ease. As I get up for breathing space from a group of strangers who are now intimate with the size of my facial pores, under the bench of my brow I watch the room. The room is full of clusters of people, really into getting to know people they have just met.
There are no leery eyed stares, just people enjoying a luxurious party with all the trimmings, fresh delectable canapés, chilled golden flutes of erupting French champagne and two-legged predators with smiles of inarticulate longing.
I look at the wad of business cards that have been pressed into my hand by all of my new friends and contacts at this party.
For some strange reason I feel like the main course.
As I walk upstairs to find a bathroom, bedroom doors open to scenes from Arabian nights, without bodies yet. Candle lit water bowls with floating frangipani dot paths to the King size beds.
A strange little man jumps from the shadows and pulls me towards a bed.
I break free and jig to the stairs – there has to be/there must be a toilet downstairs.
This party is for a select group of people who are aware the rules of the game are about swinging. Swapping loved ones and partners and sharing sexual pleasures with strangers with consent from your other half.
I’ve decided I am not playing and if I had a loved one, I wouldn’t be sharing. I watch the fringe of the dance floor and know I am not the only one feeling this way.
One woman I know is standing in the shadows watching her husband dirty dance with another. She does not look angry or excited, she looks sad.
Sex, is a game best played by choice.
Remember to choose what game you are playing, before the game you are playing chooses you.
Although I don’t think love was the game being played at this Swingers Party, I cant help but agree with this quote from Johnny Depp.