When I received an invitation to Killing Kittens – a 'discreet party for upmarket, young, good-looking single women and couples' rather than some bizarre animal cruelty event – I was a little surprised. It's not often you get invited to an orgy, but I thought 'what the hell' – not least because I liked the implication that I was young, upmarket and good-looking.
As the event approached, I became genuinely nervous. In fact, terrified. Sure, through my current job I've been to porn school, foreplay classes and fetish parties and had my vagina cast in plaster of Paris, but something about a real orgy seemed scarier. I wasn't planning on having sex at the event, but I felt guilty about going along on that basis. It's one thing turning a bloke down when you're at a normal bar, but I couldn't help feeling that going to an orgy with the intention of staying clothed, strayed into prick-tease behaviour. Nonetheless, I wanted to show willingness so I got dressed up in a slinky dress slashed to the thigh, with stockings and suspenders underneath. Even if I didn't want anyone to touch, I didn't mind them looking. I completed the ensemble with a feather mask. A specification on the invite was that masks had to be worn until 11pm, allowing the attendees complete privacy until then. Other rules were: no means no, girls make the rules and only girls can break the rules. Bit sexist, but there you go.
Shaking with trepidation, I arrived at the venue and met the Killing Kittens hostesses, who were attractive and in their late twenties/early thirties. Due to the nature of the event we weren't allowed to take pictures once it started, but they willingly posed with me to enact orgy-esque scenes in the three main spaces: a reception area, a lounging area full of inflatable beds and a massive 30-person Jacuzzi. The central London venue certainly looked the part, with cushions and candles providing a decadent ambience. The girls made me feel incredibly comfortable and my nerves started to fade, helped in part by a generous slug of Champagne.
Then the party began. First to arrive were a couple of clearly wealthy blokes. No one was taking the rule about wearing masks seriously, so I could see they were reasonably good looking. OK, they weren't Brad Pitt and George Clooney (if we're talking films this was more 'Eyes Wide Shut' than 'Ocean's Eleven'), but they were fairly easy on the eye.
Men aren't allowed to approach women for sex at the event so they stood at the bar until one of the Kittens went and said hello. It quickly became apparent that they wanted 'play' to start and this particular Kitten didn't, so she returned to sit next to me with a plea to make it look like we were immersed in conversation.
Cocktails and counselling
Over the next half hour, I stayed in the relative safety of the reception area, making polite conversation. Most people were around my age, intelligent and good conversationalists. 'What do you do for a living?' and 'What made you decide to come to an orgy?' were the standard questions. We nibbled on sushi – something that I couldn't help but feel was a little inappropriate for an orgy, in the same way that, say, chipolatas on sticks would be.
In the main it seemed to be couples in attendance, trying to add some spice to their relationships. I've never been a big believer in couples taking part in group sex. As far as I'm concerned, it's usually asking for trouble. And the doubt on some women's faces made me suspect that they were trying it because their partners had pressured them into it. I actually said to some women that they really shouldn't feel obliged to do anything they didn't want to.
As the evening progressed, it began to feel a little male-heavy – and the women were definitely more attractive than the men. Talking to two of the women I'd befriended we agreed that, of the twenty or so men in the venue, there were only three that we fancied. By comparison, all the women were gorgeous.
Within a couple of hours clothes started coming off. Contrary to my fears, no one was pressuring me to try anything. But as more of the men left the reception to go to the 'liberated' areas like the Jacuzzi, I was left with their other halves, and I found myself slipping into relationship counsellor mode. In a number of cases, the women had come along ready for group action but hadn't expected their partners to just wander off and start fondling other women. I was then reminded of the importance of setting proper ground rules should you ever attend an event like this.
Passion and petting
I couldn't just sit making conversation all night, so eventually – under the guise of going to the loo – I went to gawk at the action. And that's when I began to feel uncomfortable. To start with, the toilets were unisex - walking past men at urinals isn't sexy (unless you're into watersports). And then there was the action itself.
Five or six couples were standing in the Jacuzzi making out. Thanks to the heavy stench of chlorine – which I hoped was strong enough to kill anything floating around in the water – it seemed more like several people breaking the 'no petting' rule at the local swimming baths than a bacchanalian delight. I looked around for condoms, which I'd expect to see all over the place at an event where sex is on the cards, and couldn't find any, which only added to my concerns.
As I was taking in the view, a man I'd been talking to earlier came up to me. 'My girlfriend wants to know if you'll come and join us.' 'No thanks,' I answered politely. 'I'm actually not here to play.' 'Will you watch us? And give her a kiss? She really wants you to join us.' I couldn't see any harm in his request, so I followed him into a discreetly candle-lit private room. He started to go down on her and I leaned forward and kissed her, but even though she was attractive, something about it felt wrong. I pulled away and she hissed at her partner, 'Is this what you wanted?' I suggested I leave them to it. She smiled apologetically, with a look of relief on her face.
By now I was tired and jaded. I'd had enough and started gathering my things to go. Then a woman came over to me and started making conversation. She was an attractive French sophisticate who'd come alone so I asked her what she'd thought of the event. Unlike the coupled-up women, she said that she felt liberated. She'd been approached by a few men who she didn't find attractive, but she'd felt utterly comfortable turning them down. In fact, she said she felt less pressured than at a normal nightclub.
I was glad that I'd found a woman who was having a good time. To me, the event had felt much more like a male fantasy than the glamorous debauchery I'd been hoping for. Though it was well organised and decadent, there seemed to be too many couples trying to experiment without communicating properly first. With some relief, I felt able to finally make my excuses and leave.
One week later
I bumped into the disgruntled couple whose row I'd been party to. Apparently, after I'd left the party, they'd somehow settled their differences and had ended up in a seven-way romp that they'd both thoroughly enjoyed. I was pleased for them, but I now know for sure that orgies aren't for me.
Killing Kittens costs £50 per single woman and £120 per couple including canapés and drinks all night. Apply at www.killingkittens.co.uk. The vetting procedure is strict and photos must be submitted.
From the March issue of Scarlet magazine
