How Do You Know You’re Safe at a Play Party?

After reading my article about coercion culture in the lifestyle, a fellow “unicorn” asked me - “So how DO you know you’re safe at a play party?”. As I reflected on the question, I came to realize that the answer to “How do I know I am safe?” has changed A LOT overtime. More specifically, the more I have been in non-monogamous and kink spaces, the more my definition of safety has been enhanced. So for context, it feels important to start at the beginning.

The “Vanilla” World Isn’t Safe for Women

Before I entered the lifestyle, I loved nothing more than going out dancing at clubs with my girlfriends. We had grown accustomed to the practice of being hyperaware in these environments - where men regularly groped us as they walked by, brushing up against us, trying to “dance” without our consent, and of course, our drinks NEVER left our hands due to prevalence of date rape drugs in bars and clubs. When we didn’t allow men access to our space and our bodies, it was commonplace to experience retaliation - they sincerely believed we owed them the access because of what we were wearing, or because they bought us a drink.

The first play party I ever attended was at a sex club with a former partner. It was one of our first experiences in what became an exhilarating journey - filled with exploration, growth and sexual liberation. Although we didn’t play with anyone but each other at our first event, it was an emancipatory experience - because I felt a sense of safety that I never had before.

The club had a dance floor where people of all shapes and sizes moved freely and joyfully, most of us wearing very little to no clothing. I realized it was the first time in my life I had been on a dance floor without someone invading my space without my consent. I felt a sense of freedom I had never had before, in awe at the fact that not one person invaded my personal space while I danced with less and less clothing as the night went on. Younger parts of me began to heal as my sexuality and bodily autonomy coexisted for the first time in my life. And all I wanted to do was recreate that feeling - as much and as often as I could.

As we continued our journey, discovering new parties and clubs, that sense of safety and freedom continued. A mandatory consent talk before play began was the norm, and the number of people who clearly had the “FRIES” of consent memorized added to my comfort. But what I didn’t realize at the time was that just because we comprehend something, doesn’t mean we’re able to integrate it.

If You Aren’t Male-Bodied, You’re Desensitized to Abuse

Fast forward many years later, I’m working as a gogo dancer for an organization that throws sex positive events for the bi/pan communities. These parties are centered around consent and safety, and we’ve built an amazing community in Chicago that we were thrilled to bring to New York City. But in this new venue, our culture of consent didn’t translate. We had the MOST consent violations ever at the party.

Throughout the night I was followed around by a single man between my dance sets who asked me to dance at least 5 times, even though my answer was “no” each time. I had become so accustomed to this behavior throughout my life that it never occurred to me that it was a consent violation. It took my good friend, a cis-male organizer of the party, telling me that this was a consent violation in order for me to register it as one. He reminded me that if you tell someone “no”, it’s a complete sentence. If they ask you repeatedly, the intent is to wear you down. And many of us (especially those that aren’t male bodied) are so accustomed to our “No’s” being disregarded that we’ve done things we never wanted to because we’ve learned that “giving in” is the only way to get a man off our backs.

Present day, the focus on consent in my community is the reason why I rarely frequent spaces that aren’t queer, kink, or “lifestyle” centered. I have become so accustomed to consent-centered environments that I have no tolerance for “vanilla” spaces, where this isn’t the norm. Thanks to my community, my former 20-something-year old self who was conditioned to normalize and even “put up with” coercion and assault, has grown into a woman who knows that NOBODY is owed access to me or my body.

Enter : The Life of a Unicorn

For the last few years, I’ve been navigating the lifestyle as a solo poly queer woman. I’ve happily adopted the term “unicorn” to describe myself. Although some people view it as derogatory, I’ve reclaimed the term because when I act as a “unicorn” it’s purely through my own choice. But the reason this can be seen as derogatory is because unicorns are often treated like objects in the lifestyle - couples see them as play things that they can discard once they’re done using them. And although I have no desire to date a couple, at the bare minimum, I want to know they see me as human and genuinely care about me before we engage in any play.

That said, I’ve become fully aware that a simple consent talk does NOT grant me safety. Over time, I’ve developed a sensitivity to subtle cues - ones that most people would ignore or invalidate. And this is because my sense of safety at play parties is directly connected to my internal sense of knowing and my own experience - NOT the opinions of others.

It starts with the way someone looks at me. Do they look at me like I’m a shiny new toy, or do they SEE me? Do they seem genuinely interested in my humanity, or just my sexuality?

How do they interact with other people? Do I see them communicating clearly and respectfully with their other partners, or are they using indirect communication, like passive-aggressiveness, guilt-tripping, and manipulation?

What do they lead with when they speak to me? Do they lead with how experienced they are or how many people they know, or are they able to have a genuine, down to earth conversation? Are they only able to talk about sex, or are they capable of having conversations with more substance?

Am I having to repeat my “No” more than once? Are people being pushy or trying to “set me up” with others, instead of allowing me to make my own connections?

And most importantly - what do I feel in my body? Am I feeling my fawn response activate - like I’m frozen or can’t say no? Do I feel myself laughing awkwardly at comments I don’t really like, or agreeing with things I don’t actually agree with? When I notice this “people pleasing” start to kick in - that’s a clue to me that I am definitely not safe.

What does safety feel like?

The last time I met with my therapist, she said “So now you know how to detect when you can’t trust others - but how do you know you’re safe?”. It’s actually ironic that I am writing this now because I realized at that moment that I am not quite sure what safety feels like. And I am sure that it’s the same for so many people reading this, because we live in an unsafe world. So unfortunately, the answer to my fellow unicorn’s question isn’t that simple.

Safety is something we can only determine when we are present in our bodies. You can get more in touch with what safety feels like to you by bringing up times where you’ve felt safe and focusing on the emotions and sensations that accompany the memory. Although I‘m still figuring out what safety means for me specifically, my training as a trauma therapist informs what I know it is supposed to feel like. Safety usually feels like our muscles relaxing, our jaw unclenching, warmth in our bellies, our breath getting slower and deeper, and the feeling that nothing is urgent - we can relax and take our time. Ultimately, nobody can feel these cues except you. So unfortunately, I can’t tell you how to know if you are safe - because only YOU have the ability to make that call.

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