When I think of a sex party, I think of an X-rated “Gossip Girl” episode. A sensual masquerade of liberation and seduction, a complete offshoot of reality.
For most people, the invitation alone is an untouchable experience we see in the movies or read about in smut novels. To my surprise, they are very real and only 20 minutes from my Los Angeles home — happening deep inside a tangle of estate-lined winding roads in the privileged Hollywood Hills.
Founded in Beverly Hills in 2013 as an experiment for artists, entrepreneurs and visionaries, Snctm, pronounced “sanctum,” is a private members club — hosting a slew of black-tie erotic masquerades, luxury dinners and pool parties for the country’s most discreet, sexually curious elite.
“The first gathering was a single, tightly curated masquerade held in a private residence,” Robert Artes, the club’s managing director, told The Post. “It blended formal dress, masks, live performance” and came with “a strict code of discretion and consent.”
”The intent was not scale, but proof of concept,” he said. “Could eroticism be treated as theater, ritual and social art rather than spectacle?
I was about to find out.
I’m a writer — it’s my job to cover all kinds of topics, sex and relationships included. My inbox is constantly flooded with come-ons, but up until now, I’d never been invited to an orgy. Not until a email popped up that stopped me in my tracks: “INVITE: A Living Gallery of Desire: Snctm’s New LA Masquerade.”
Known today as the world’s most exclusive sex club, Snctm has since expanded to New York (where it’s now headquartered) and Miami, with pop-up events around the globe. After a few years on the road, the invitation explained, the party was back in LA — would I like to join?
To become a Snctm member, one must apply and go through a strict vetting process to be approved. There are different membership tiers to choose from, ranging from $15,000 to $125,000 in annual fees, each with different perks, like VIP tables and bottle service, access to a personal security agent and free guest tickets. (Hunter Biden was once a member — but allegedly got booted for bad behavior.)
In my case, I was invited just for one night. I can’t easily say attending a party like this was always something I wanted to do. A curiosity, of course, but a far-fetched idea. When the invitation came through my inbox, however, I didn’t hesitate. I needed an adventure.
My relationship with my partner, who asked not to be named in this story, is one of honesty and communication. He knows how important imagination is to me. For the past seven years, we’ve fostered a space where we are constantly changing and evolving, alongside one another.
We’d never had any desire to experiment sexually in this way before, but after accepting the invite, we spent two days — between tux and dress pickups, following of the party’s dress code — indulging in every scenario we could invent in our minds and considering contingencies of what might happen if we both got carried away. Driving up into the darkened hills, we were scared s–tless and exhilarated at the same time.
Upon arrival, phones were handed over at the door — no exceptions — ensuring the privacy of every attendee. My partner and I stepped over the threshold of the minimalistic pad and were immediately met with the smell of palo santo incense burning throughout.
Among the other early arrivals, there were whispers of some attendees being part of a big talent agency. I had assumptions of my own about who may or may not have held a high-level finance job. But anonymity underscored the party’s strongest tenet. This made it feel safe, too — a full opportunity for a complete escape.
Through floor-to-ceiling glass, we could see straight through the living room and out to the heated, steaming pool and firepit areas, where lesbian porn was being projected onto a screen. Below, a naked woman wearing a circus-style mask lounged on a chaise, caressing herself.
More guests began to pour in, ranging in age from 30s to early 60s, seeming as overwhelmed as we were — lurking in various corners, waiting for some kind of cue to be given.
To the rescue, shortly after my arrival and obvious awkward energy, came Rachel, the memberships director of Snctm. She encouraged us to explore the house — particularly the master bedroom, where she promised a “grand surprise” in 20 minutes. Plenty of time for me to find courage in an espresso martini from the open bar.
A security guard helped us up the marble stairs — the last thing I needed right now was to start slipping in my heels. The upstairs hallways were lined with erotic dancers in tasteful lingerie, holding sheer picture frames depicting themselves as live art.
Turning a corner, we came across the promised “surprise” — a couple having sex on not one but two California king-size beds in a large, vaulted-ceiling bedroom. Around them, an array of sex toys, paddles and floggers sat waiting for anyone to try them on for size.
I didn’t know who the couple was — but it was hard to take my eyes off their passionate performance.
And in this space, it was perfectly fine not to.
Initially, there were only a few of us. The couple had an undeniable chemistry, their performance an erotic blend of entertainment and education.
Slowly, the number of voyeurs grew. I wondered if I was imagining their beads of sweat breaking across their Botox-filled foreheads and freckled chests, or if we shared the anxiety and heat of the room equally.
What seemed to be more seasoned attendees began to join the skittish first timers — awkward couples were soon supplemented by groups of three to four, some confident enough to arrive in lingerie only. My Spanx began to feel even more suffocating than normal.
The explicit performance turned out to be the ultimate party icebreaker for the small crowd. With each minute, people began to seem more comfortable, harmonized in arousal.
Following party rules, no one so much as brushed another’s skin until there was a nod or spoken consent, but at this point, the nods seemed to be coming easily. Hesitations had been overcome, fears had been confronted and the true party had begun.
Fashionable clothing was swapped for lingerie. Tuxedo shirts went missing. Some went entirely naked. Excusing myself briefly to the bathroom, I swear that between the incense burning throughout the house and the pricey Aesop Rōzu fragrance I inevitably inhaled, I began feeling a natural high.
The soundtrack of rhythmic ethnotronica, a blend of folk and techno music, and the ambience became this unified euphoric experience, and I knew this was not just going to be a night of escapism — I felt a kind of arousal I had never experienced before. I left the bathroom in a state of acceptance and openness.
What at first seemed daunting was now exciting. The normalization of intimacy throughout the entire house was empowering. Throughout the night, my partner and I experienced unforgettable moments — and had conversations we’d never had in the nearly seven years we’ve been together.
Submitting to the feeling of escape and our love for each other, we allowed ourselves to lean into our newfound desire. Under what felt like a psychedelic kind of seduction, we headed out onto a balcony, slowly loosening our clothing before collapsing into one of the corners of the giant main bed, unfazed by the whir of moving bodies.
Over the course of the evening, we’d break to catch our collective breath, heading out to the pool area, now complete with opera singer and swimming dancers, tangled in each other’s bodies. The firepit became a favorite spot for stiff drinks and interesting chats with other attendees — learning about their own love lives and romantic leanings.
I never learned how the others that we talked to were invited. Most of our new friends seemed to have found out about the club by word of mouth — whispers among some secret society that only insiders would ever know about. And, in very not-LA fashion, tonight there was no exchanging of social media handles, no setting up coffee meetings for the following week, no names, even — just a group of like minds enjoying the moment.
Throughout the night, the magnetism that already existed between my partner and me felt amplified — we found ourselves on some new bed or lounge chair, enjoying each other, until the moment the party ended.
Even if we’d not felt this new kind of spark, this would have already been a night to remember. We laughed together at the one entitled guest who screamed and complained that she had “nowhere to change” into her $5,000 lingerie set, and were fascinated by the sight of the dozen or more couples that overtook the main bedroom, some half-clothed and some fully liberated. Representations of experiment and intimacy were intertwined. Downstairs, groups found more isolated spots for their intercourse — the house seemed built to serve all varying comfort levels.
When speaking to Laura Desirée, Snctm’s creative director — after the performers put on a grand finale in the living room — and trying to understand my own curiosity, I asked her about the very specific moment I walked into the bedroom for the first time and saw the couple’s performance — a moment that seemed to unlock an unexplored erotic force within me.
This was, I was told, a common experience for those who attend a Snctm event for the first time, seeking refinement and liberation.
“No matter how many advancements or revolutions we live through and see lives and conditions improving, there are still places that need immense tending to,” Desirée explained to me.
“The acceptance of ourselves as pleasure seekers is the biggest area of improvement when it comes to really gaining mental health and wellness,” she said.
“If we keep saying, ‘Why do I feel a little lackluster about my life? Why am I lacking in confidence? Why am I feeling unsatisfied? Where is this loneliness coming from?’ We learn that so much of that stems from our fear of accepting that we deserve pleasure.”
“I always like to think of your sexual expression as this wild horse that’s running alongside you your whole life,” Desirée added.
“There’s a moment where you saddle it, but can you ultimately steer it?” she said. “There are these years where we’re so new to finally getting on that horse, and it’s taking us for a ride, and we’re going faster and further and seeing more beautiful landscapes than we ever knew were available to us.”
“But you have to get it under your control. You have to be able to steer it. And that’s when life gets really good.”
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