I Went To A Nudist Swingers Resort Without My Girlfriend. Here’s What Happened.

When I got to the pool, I did have the “how do you sit in a lounge chair naked without looking or feeling like you’re at the gynecologist” conversation with myself. But I soon squared that away by stretching my legs out along the length of the chair and crossing one over the other. I felt strangely comfortable.

That feeling of not just calm but contentedness never left me while I was at the resort. It wasn’t just a matter of summoning up some sort of internal “you got this, girl” mantra (though those mini-pep talks certainly helped) ― it was the people around me.

The other guests and the staff at the resort were friendly and I was constantly asked my name and what brought me there. When I told people I was both a lesbian and in a monogamous relationship, they not only listened ― they heard me. One couple offered to take me under their wing, show me around and introduce me to their friends. I wondered briefly if that was just a sly way of seeing if I might be swayed from my monogamy but I was happy to learn it wasn’t. Not even a little.

They showed me the “playroom” and warned that if I went there alone, it would be easily misread as a willingness to play. They told me I might want to skip the Thursday night foam parties, too, because at 5 feet tall I would be almost entirely below the foam line and things get “interesting” down there. Those were two places at the resort where your presence, although not the equivalent of giving consent, does imply that you are likely interested in consenting to at least some sexual play. 

They also advised me to steer clear of the hot tub at night. It was another place where one’s presence, in and of itself, could be read as a statement of at least interest. Although the resort didn’t specifically mention consent or rules, they assured me that I would always feel safe and comfortable and that if at any point I didn’t, all I had to do was let someone know. 

But I never needed to. I never felt uncomfortable, even walking to my room naked and alone at night. It was as if no one wanted to ruin the good thing that we had going there. It was obvious that if consent weren’t the name of the game, there’d be no way for this game to exist. It was the opposite of nearly every straight club I’d ever been to. It wasn’t an “anything goes” atmosphere ― I think the guests actually liked the rules. We all knew where we stood and pushing someone after they told you no wasn’t tolerated. I have never been more acutely aware of “no” truly meaning “no” ― full stop ― and I loved it. 

In fact, the only time I witnessed any bad behavior was when I saw a man getting handsy with a woman who had already told him no. The other guests near them in the pool came to her aid and told the staff about his behavior, and he was sent packing. There was no room for bad apples in that bunch.

During my stay, I learned more about the swingers’ lifestyle. I discovered that couples have their own rules and share them with others interested in engaging sexually. Some couples stay together when they play. Other twosomes will split up, each partner playing alone with another person or couple. Some couples agree not to have penetrative sex with others but are up for everything else. For some, kissing is off-limits. The one rule that everyone seemed to follow, though, was communicate, communicate, communicate. You ask. You listen. You respect. That’s it. The through lines of the entire week were honesty and consent and it was a beautiful thing to witness, even if I wasn’t personally taking part in that kind of fun.

It made me wish the whole world worked that way. 

I quickly became known as “the funny lesbian” and often found myself surrounded by guests who wanted to be regaled with my stories of doing research about the female orgasm at a masturbation workshop and navigating airport security with a suitcase full of vibrators. I could not stop giggling the night we all left the dining room, where we were clothed, to drop off our clothes in our rooms so we could get pizza on the nude side of the property. In that moment, stripping down in front of strangers to grab a late-night slice was as natural as meeting at a bar for drinks.

Every night, the resort offered a different theme with different activities. For instance, Tuesday was the “bare as you dare glow” pool party with everyone decked out in all kinds of glowing, blinking and flashing accessories. Wednesday night was “fetish night” when everyone donned their most outrageous costumes of leather and lingerie and fetish gear. No manner of dress seemed to be off-limits.

The other guests came from many walks of life. I met CEOs and craftsmen. As far as sexuality goes, a number of the women identified as bisexual. I didn’t meet any men who identified as anything other than straight. Of course, as many people as I spoke to, I certainly didn’t talk to everyone ― so who knows? There were a lot of people in their 20s during my vacation because it was designated as “Young Swingers Week,” but I was told the crowd at the resort generally skews a bit older, and there were still plenty of 40- and 50-somethings there. I met people from Canada, Europe and plenty from the U.S.