I can still recall the two questions that caught in my throat the night my partner, Jake, dropped the bombshell that we were headed to a rather unconventional Halloween gathering. The first was, “Are you serious?” and the second, “Can we just go to Denny’s instead?”
Jake revealed this surprise while we sped down the freeway in his trusty old Jeep, its paint chipped and faded. Just minutes away from completing a two-hour journey, I sensed his timing was calculated; I’d feel like a total killjoy if I objected, and he knew it.
Everyone’s Different
When Jake and I first started dating, we made it a point to openly discuss our differences in a “take me as I am” manner. In any relationship, whether romantic or otherwise, mutual respect is foundational. Without it, nothing else matters.
If you doubt this, just ask the relationship experts who make a living advocating respect as the cornerstone of happy partnerships. If respect is the foundation, then accepting each other’s differences is the penthouse—the utmost level of understanding.
Jake was into BDSM and open relationships, while I preferred cozy nights with my favorite video games. This is why we, along with about 20% of the American population, decided to enter an open relationship. We shared many interests but wanted the freedom to explore our differences.
As long as everyone is safe, what’s the harm? Jake usually agreed with this philosophy—except for that one night, when he attempted to push boundaries significantly.
Before we started dating, Jake had joked, “Just remind me never to take you to one of my parties.” Clearly, he had forgotten.
“Do This for Me”
When we arrived at a large house filled with party-goers, Jake flashed a pleading grin that practically screamed for my compliance. “Come on, it’s a small gathering. Some people from work are here,” he coaxed, holding my hand in that familiar, reassuring way. “You just might have some fun.”
But “fun” was the last word that crossed my mind as I stepped into the humid space, Halloween-themed balloons scattered across the wooden floors. Feeling out of place, I stuck close to Jake as he mingled, even giving a kiss to a striking blonde dressed as a scarecrow. She called him “Jakey,” while I looked around in disbelief.
Curiosity initially drew me out of Jake’s car. I had envisioned a potluck with homemade treats or perhaps an extravagant, Eyes Wide Shut-style gathering. But what greeted me was a seemingly ordinary party filled with chatting couples and dancing friends.
This was supposed to be a night of indulgence, yet I found myself thinking, where’s the excitement? I attempted to lighten the mood with a joke, but it fell flat.
“Do this for me,” Jake whispered, leaning in as if soothing a distressed child. He must’ve noticed my pursed lips. I should’ve protested more vigorously, but he didn’t require much convincing to get me inside. Perhaps I did need to loosen up a little. And, like any supportive partner, I wanted to be there for him.
Still, no one can transform into someone they’re not and be happy. Jake had to know this. Instead of expressing my discomfort like an adult, I said, “I’m going to step outside and see if I know anyone.”
Helter Skelter
For some reason, the backyard was the main hub for a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven—minus the closet, the time limit, and clothing. Maybe all the indoor spaces were taken, or perhaps the party-goers thought, “Once you’ve seen one person half-naked, you’ve seen them all.”
I found a spot on a worn pool lounge chair, one of the few places not occupied by couples, and observed a group starting a round of strip volleyball in the shallow end. In the shadowy part of the pool, a bikini top floated near the small waterfall.
I did my best to blend into the background, focusing on the most innocent sights I could find—the trees beyond the fence, a small dog greeting guests—like an adult version of “I Spy.” Nudity doesn’t faze me, so I tuned into the game until a warm body settled beside me, causing me to almost tumble into his lap.
“Hey,” the man said, brushing his dark hair back. “I know I’ve seen you with a chainsaw covered in blood somewhere.” Although I recognized many faces from the haunt we’d worked at, he was unfamiliar.
Maybe this lack of recognition is why I let myself relax, turning toward him instead of heading back inside. He was kind of attractive, in a “I might be a serial killer” sort of way.
My new acquaintance, whom I’ll call “Manson,” rested a fist on my exposed shoulder, stretching his fingers out like a cat. He interpreted my stillness as an invitation and ran his long, metallic blue nails down my arm. I closed my eyes; something was happening, but whether it was anxiety or arousal, I couldn’t tell.
“You might have fun,” Jake had said, echoing in my mind as I leaned into Manson’s touch. But then, he let out a low sound—was it a moan or a growl? I stifled laughter that screamed, “I can’t stay here any longer.” I pushed his hand away, shaking my head and standing up.
“Fuckin’ prude,” Manson muttered, now holding a cigarette with black lipstick staining the filter. “Why are you even here?”
Prude
I searched for Jake inside, weaving through the crowd. I found him surrounded by action on a purple-tinted couch near a bobbing-for-apples station. A young woman, Sky—a delightful go-go dancer from the haunt—sat beside him, her hand on his stomach, chatting away.
When I interrupted, she smiled at me, her eyes glazed. “Can we go, please?” I asked, apologizing to Sky. “I can get a ride home, and you can call me tomorrow.”
“The party ends at two. Chill, go enjoy yourself,” he replied.
Sky leaned in closer, “See that hot guy?” she whispered, pointing to a shirtless man dressed as “Slutty Thor.” “That’s my boyfriend, Nate. He’s great with first-timers if you want to try it out.” She nodded, suggesting swinging. “There’s a free room upstairs.”
A few hours later, I lay in bed, sending a text to a friend who had come to pick me up and bring me home. I closed my eyes, replaying the events of the night after Sky’s offer.
When I had turned her down and attempted to leave the house, Jake stopped me. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“Home,” I replied. “Please, just let me go.”
“Why are you being a prude?” His smirk made it clear he hoped to embarrass me, just as I had embarrassed him.
Stand Your Ground
If differing sexual interests make someone a prude, then that term applies to all of us. With over 7.8 billion people on the planet, it’s certain that no two individuals are alike.
I sensed Jake hoped I would deny being a prude and stay. I stood my ground. I didn’t mind Jake enjoying himself; I simply didn’t want to be there.
Establishing firm boundaries is just as vital as accepting others for who they are. So, I left without a second thought. If someone tries to pressure you into something you’re uncomfortable with, they never truly cared about you from the beginning.
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Summary:
This narrative explores the complexities of an open relationship through the lens of attending a sex party. The protagonist grapples with their discomfort and boundaries while supporting their partner’s desires. Ultimately, they choose to prioritize their own comfort and individuality over societal expectations, highlighting the importance of mutual respect and communication in relationships.
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