I’ve heard of SNCTM. You’ve heard of SNCTM. We’ve all heard of SNCTM. It’s the most exclusive sex party in the world. Performances are unlike anything you’ve ever seen. It’s only for A-list celebrities. Membership costs upwards of 10 million dollars yearly. Attendees must take a blood oath.
These are just a few of the rumors I’ve heard about SNCTM. Clearly, some are untrue. (It’s not just for A-list celebrities. I mean, I attended. Annual costs are $10,000 or $50,000 a year depending on the type of membership. I was not given a knife upon entry and asked to slit the inside of my palm.) But the lore of SNCTM is partly what makes the club so—I don’t know of a word that combines both mysterious and enticing—but that word.
So when SNCTM invited me to their new clubhouse in Manhattan, I said yes. I went in with zero expectations, mainly because I didn’t know what to expect. All I knew was my boyfriend and I were dressed to the nines, wearing black tuxedos, as are mandatory. (All SNCTM events are black tie.) If people wanted to fuck, we wanted to be their first picks.
We arrived right at 10:45. I don’t think it was a doors close at 11:00 thing, but I was told get there before 11:00, so I obliged. After we said our names to security outside, we headed up to the fourth floor of the SoHo loft. Our phones were taken at the front door. We looked around. Some attendees were wearing masks. (Later, when I spoke to an older gentleman smoking a Cuban, he told me that everyone used to wear masks at these events, but that was no longer the case. He, I’d come to learn, was a very, very wealthy man and anonymity was of the utmost importance.)
The space was indeed spacious—three stories culminating with a large rooftop terrace, which had an incredible view of the city. The first floor had a bar, the center lounge, and a bedroom, and on the second floor, there were two more master bedrooms and master bathrooms.
The crowd had slightly more women than men and was mixed age-wise. Seldom do I attend an invent where there are people in their 20s and people in their 60s all intermingling. But it didn’t feel weird. Everyone was friendly and down to talk, and it was actually nice hearing the stories of other guests—how they ended up there (they heard about it from friends or online!), and why they kept coming back (they like the performances, sex, and enjoy the people they’ve met there!).
Everyone working the event was stunning. The bartenders and servers were jaw-droppingly beautiful—overwhelmingly so. (Oh, and there was an open bar with top-shelf liquor, of course. The cost of tickets is between $500 and $8,000, and at that price, there better be a goddamn open bar.) But in addition to the staff—who I would not try to sleep with, and I doubt they’re even allowed to fuck attendees anyway—there were many attractive people, both men and women, that I wanted to sleep with that night. That was the plan, after all. It was a sex party.
After our initial lap through the clubhouse, my boyfriend and I were ushered into the main lounge to see the first performance. The music began, and it gave very Berlin, sex dungeon vibes. While the performance was vaguely satanic, much to my dismay, I did not see any blood-drinking. Instead, I saw a muscular man in a devilish ram’s mask and leather suit (think Spartan combat attire, only more revealing) led down the staircase on a chain leash by a dominatrix. The man was led slowly up to two naked muses waiting atop the furniture for his arrival. He walked over to one of the muses, grabbed her by the hand, and led her to the left side of the room. He then tossed his leather loincloth to the side and fucked her hard and rough in doggy style. He then went back, grabbed the second muse, led her to the right side of the room, and fucked her doggy style. No matter where you were sitting or standing, you got to see everything.
It was hot people having hot, occult-ish sex, so yes, I enjoyed it very much.
I missed the second performance because I was too busy talking to an attractive bi couple in their 30s, both of whom I really wanted to have sex with. My boyfriend was off I’m not sure where, but I if I had to guess, smoking on the rooftop and making friends of his own.
I liked that our conversations weren’t about what you did for work; they weren’t about who you were outside of SNCTM’s walls. That’s because SNCTM is more about who you are, or want to be, in that space. It’s about how you found yourself at one of the most exclusive sex parties in the world, your relationship to the person you came with, and your connection to all things sex.
Then I blinked, and it was 3 a.m.; the party was wrapping up. Lights were slowly coming on. It was a “you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here,” moment. Without my phone on me, I had lost track of time. It was actually very nice to not have my phone. I felt present. I felt anonymous. I felt no need to network.
My boyfriend had an early morning photoshoot the next day, so I sadly couldn’t go back with the bi couple. I wish I had fucked them there, but I guess I enjoyed our conversation too much.
To be honest, I was a little bummed, but that’s why there’s always a next time. And next time, I vow to actually fuck all the hotties, instead of chatting up a damn storm.
This content is created and maintained by a third party, and imported onto this page to help users provide their email addresses. You may be able to find more information about this and similar content at piano.io