In this exclusive extract from her book, Untrue,introduces us to the Skirt Club.
I HAD first heard about Skirt Club in a 2016 New York Post article by Mackenzie Dawson. The headline was “This Sex Club Gives Men Major FOMO”. The article chronicled the adventures of the founder of a roving, underground women’s “play party”.
She went by the pseudonym Geneviève LeJeune and told Dawson that she was married to a man. She had founded Skirt Club after being groped at grotty sex parties in London that left her thinking, I could do this better. It could be more luxurious. And for women only.
LeJeune explained that far too often she found herself in contexts where her attraction to and yearning for adventures with other women was “leveraged” or interfered with by men untrue who wanted in on it for their own gratification. What might a women-only gratification gathering for women like LeJeune — women who identify as “bi but in a committed straight relationship” or simply “curious”—look like?
She set about creating it. Today there are Skirt Club parties in Shanghai, Vienna, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Ibiza, Miami, London, Berlin, Sydney, Tokyo, Shanghai, and Washington, DC, with themes like “All Tied Up” (with a bondage tutorial), “Retro Pin-Up Girls” (with a burlesque performance by a comely Dita Von Teese type), and “Strict” (a BDSM-themed event). They are billed as exclusive, high-end, femme-y affairs, free of the yucky plastic mattresses and grabby guys that LeJeune sought to replace with well-dressed, well-groomed, successful women in chic, sexy lingerie and heels and little else.
But what really riveted me was the photo that accompanied Dawson’s piece. Two women with dark tousled hair that tumbled to their shoulders and obscured their faces sat close together; one was leaning in and clearly kissing the other on the neck. Her hand was on the bare thigh of the object of her desire, grasping, suggestive.
BOTH women wore black bustiers that showed off their toned arms and legs, and bunny ears on their heads, giving it all an ironic twist.
But the heat between them felt real, and I could not drag my eyes away, wondering what it would be like to be in the midst of a group of women this attractive and this uninhibited (of course the photo was staged, but it worked, on me and apparently not a few other men and women who became fascinated by Skirt Club).
A little Googling revealed that the parties were “members only” and that there was an application process.
This was after the Ashley Madison hack, and while I dreamed of attending as research for this book, I didn’t relish the possibility, however remote, that I might share information online that could someday, somehow, be used against me.
Plus the application process was intimidating. What if my request were rejected?