In the spring of 2010, the recession, marching across the land like a zombie army, flushed me from the tenuous life I had cobbled together in LA. Suddenly jobless, and approaching homeless, I fled to an organic vegetable farm owned and operated by an old friend in Humboldt County, California, and became a farmhand. My colleagues included a group of 20-somethings known as “the Kids.” They were a horny bunch, pansexual and polyamorous, and after a few weeks of sexy, confessional one-upmanship and twerking to sissy bounce, they were coupling and tripling feverishly.
I kept above the sticky fray, but before decades of bad behavior, self sabotage, and poor relationship choices left me a monkish neurotic, I’d had my share. I came of age in the sex-positive 90s, right in the thick of it. I pushed a cum-mop at the famous Lusty Lady Theater in San Francisco while still in my teens. I shot B-roll on some greasy little pornos, dated strippers, tried my hands as an erotic masseur, checked out a swinger hotel with my girlfriend. As a cab driver in my mid-20s, I’d drive loops around the Tenderloin while tranny hookers sucked off their clients in the backseat. With a confident swagger, I entered the confessions game, but one of the Kids—skinny, Jewfro’d, with a thin mustache and bushy beard—had me beat. He told us how, onstage in front of a few hundred people, he’d fisted a woman while humming a tune and thumping a beat on a drum set consisting of her ass and the contact-mic’d bathtub they were sitting in. This was my introduction to the Impropriety Society, a group of local kinksters who throw elaborate and well-attended sex parties in Humboldt.
The Impropriety Society, Imps for short, rose from the ashes of an earlier group of sex partiers known as Club Risqué. The parties started as fund-raising events for a pirate radio station put on by a bunch of theater and circus geeks and were more like sexy parties featuring racy performances than actual sex parties. But as they evolved, actual fucking quickly came to the fore, and, being so far away from any urban center, they became a place for otherwise-underserved members of a variety of kinky persuasions to express themselves, replete with a separate dungeon area for the local BDSM community. From the start, an energetic, polyamorous couple was at the core of Club Risqué, and when their relationship ended a few years ago, so did the parties. A core group of Club Risqué veterans took it upon themselves to continue the scene, and they founded the Impropriety Society, drafting a mission statement and formulating a sex-positive ethos that stressed consent, self-awareness, responsibility, and inclusivity for all sexual orientations, gender identities, and all forms of personal expression.
Their first party was in May 2008. Every month or two since, they’ve put on small, low-key events that they call “socials,” for which they sell about 75 tickets. Taking place in one large room with only a few pieces of BDSM and dungeon gear, the emphasis is more on socializing, dancing, and, with the walls lined with mattresses, fucking. Twice a year, in spring and fall, they hold much larger events complete with a fully equipped dungeon and viewing gallery, several themed play spaces, a black-lit area full of mattresses called the cuddle room, a larger dance floor, finger food that strives toward gourmet, and a stage show. Selling up to 250 tickets, and with as many as 80 volunteers, they can be pretty big affairs, especially when you consider the ratio of trees to people in Humboldt.