Marie Claire Australia — December 2017

74 marieclaire.com.au

PHOTOGRAPHY BY SIERRA MALEVICH COURTESY OF THE FESTIVAL OF REALLY GOOD SEX.

It’s soon clear that Isla View’s insis-

tence that we “make it a performance!”

penetrates every part of the festival.

These people like to show off. From the

audible “cleansing” breaths and warm-

up downward dogs people do in each

class, to people in the

foot-worship seminar emit-

ting loud guttural moans at

the slightest toe-touch, to

what can only be described

as a flamboyant display of

orgasm by a woman demon-

strating a pulsing butt plug

in the Electric Sex session,

this is a show.

It is a considerable

relief, then, when I realise

my afternoon Saturday session is a dis-

cussion – a Q&A Skype seminar about

polyamory, or “Ethical Sluthood”, by

writer and sex educator Janet Hardy.

I’m genuinely curious about the politics

and pitfalls of polyamory, as I find it

difficult enough handling jealousy in

monogamous relationships as it is. I’m

looking forward to a bit of good,

old-fashioned, clothed sitting down. No

getting-to-know-you games, no bond-

age, no chance that the old guy wander-

ing around naked except for an open

bathrobe is going to offer me a massage.

I’m listening, fascinated, to a girl

explaining how polyamory freed her

from two consecutive co-dependent,

violent relationships, when someone

ruins the mood. Something bumps me

on the back of the head. With increasing

dread, I notice panting and jiggling be-

hind me. Clearly there’s too much

talking going on in this session for one

couple, who can’t last an hour without

mashing their soft parts into each other.

It’s the most uncomfortable moment of

the entire festival. When I’m bumped on

the head a second time, I shift awk-

wardly forward, the only comic relief

coming from the fact that, due to this

being a Skype lecture, the couple’s

actions are being projected in the corner

of the screen at the front of the room.

I feel like a prim little girl, being

shocked by a couple having sex during a

lecture, and it takes me a while to figure

out why. Why was I fine being centime-

tres from fellatio and having my boobs

strapped, but not with unethical slut-

hood in Ethical Sluthood?

Then I realise: it’s about consent. I

didn’t consent to being nudged by peo-

ple fucking in a lecture. Nudity and sex

are expected and encouraged in almost

every other workshop at FORGS, but

this one wasn’t meant to have accidental

bonk-jostling. It’s rude.

At FORGS, open

discussion about consent is

a part of every workshop,

game and exercise – some-

thing that may surprise

people whose only previous

exposure to kink is the very

questionable consent fea-

tured in 50 Shades of Grey.

The emphasis on pre-nego-

tiation, communication and

even post-sexual-activity

debriefing are as common as the exhibi-

tionistic moans, so being a non-

consenting, accidental participant in a

lecture bonk was not cool.

Once I’ve recovered from being

semi-sexed on, I spend a few moments

buried in my phone for research purpos-

es. I wasn’t aware just how expensive it

could be to have a vigorous kink life. I

check a number of online suppliers, and

bondage rope from a specialist store

costs roughly eight

times as much as a

very similar item at

Bunnings. One body

sliding workshop at

FORGS – a kind of

lubed-up, full-body

massage unwisely

undertaken without

Scotchgard or a tar-

paulin – is spon-

sored by a brand of

massage gel priced

at $134.99 a litre. At

the time of writing,

Coles has a special

on canola oil – four

litres for $9.

Later, in Tantra

For The Rest Of Us,

I learn about the green equals go,

orange equals maybe, red equals stop

safe-word system, and I find out how

comical a room full of people being

massaged and moaning “greeeeen” can

be. I learn that in a room of strangers in

loose clothing, getting my buttocks

massaged is green, breast-touching is

orange, and that I can and do give a

man an erection just by tickling the

palms of his hands a little. Mind you,

he doesn’t really look like the difficult-

to-give-a-stiffy type.

In Fantasy Role-Play I discover

that my acting skills are top notch, and

also that some people have fantasies

about trying to pass another person on a

rickety rope bridge suspended over

a ravine. The workshop facilitator tells a

story of how he brought one of his fanta-

sies to life by throwing a party for

friends dressed in turn-of-the-century

finery, bidding in an auction for a chance

to fist a human tethered to a frame.

Romance may be dead, but the How To

Host A Fisting Party industry lives on.

In The Art Of Fellatio, I learn that if

you wisecrack about nutrition to a girl

gagging on her boyfriend’s penis, she

can laugh at your joke using only her

eyes. Happily, I also learn that my seal

quality and suction level can pop the

pointy end off a carrot.

I learn that I definitely do not wish

to attend a session called The Conceptu-

al Orgy, as its description includes the

warning that “Those interested in par-

ticipating in this workshop should be

prepared for nudity and explicit body

contact”. The orgy

seems less and less

conceptual the more

I hear about it.

I’ve had enough.

I’m keen to try out

what I’ve learnt with

someone I know, but

I’m sick of touching

strangers.

Speaking to ex-

perts and participat-

ing in workshops

has really made me

understand that

regardless of what

kind of sex practices

are prevalent in so-

ciety, the more we

talk about them and

unpack them, the more accessible and

enjoyable they’ll be, and the safer we’ll

feel. It makes me more ready to say yes

to things I haven’t tried, and comfort-

able saying no to things I don’t want.

After a weekend of nothing but sex,

massages and carrots, though, all I’m

ready for is a glass of wine in the bath.

But I might just pop into Bunnings

on the way home.

Mistress Isla View

likes to “make it a

performance”.

“In a room

full of

strangers,

I give a man

an erection

just by

tickling his

hands”

SEX