‘I wished I’d brought knitting’: How I discovered that group sex is overrated

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There are quite a few overrated phenomena in this world. Water beds, destination weddings, oysters, tattoos and, most of all, orgies. I mean, how can you have a good time when you are desperately jealous that everyone else is having a better time than you? And, surely, all feelings of mutual sharing and caring must evaporate when you find yourself sleeping in a wet patch, then realising it’s not your doing.

Group gropes are a hot topic right now because of a recent film directed by Olivia Wilde called The Invite. Its premise is that Joe (Seth Rogen) and Angela (Wilde), a couple suffering from marital ennui, invite their new upstairs neighbours, Hawk (Edward Norton) and Piña (Penélope Cruz), down for a soufflé. The soufflé doesn’t rise but the topic of partner swapping does.

Will they or won’t they accept? Having seen the film, it’s a question many couples are now asking themselves. Would you? Could you let the g-string of restraint slip nonchalantly to the floor? It’s an exciting idea in theory, but imagine having to hold your stomach in for that long.

In the early ’80s, a girlfriend dragooned me into accompanying her to an orgy at an actor’s house in Sydney. I was terrified. Even though this was the pre-AIDS, wife-swapping, car-key-parties era, the thought of group sex made me suffer from a performance anxiety I hadn’t felt since those hedonistic hours of enforced folk dancing in primary school.

At least getting ready for an orgy would do away with “What to wear?” angst, right? Wrong. How could I melt into orgasmic bliss when constantly worried that someone might nick my new winter coat? As if having one eye permanently trained on my jacket wasn’t stressful enough, then there were the noises emanating from the bedroom.

Is there anything worse than listening to other people having sex? The gasping sounds reminded me of harpooned whales surfacing, simultaneously. And were those female Academy Award-winning orgasms for real? How could I compete? Would I be left on the sexual sidelines? I wished I’d brought along some knitting for the boring bits. Or a crossword. Maybe a manicure set. And what on earth would I write on the thank-you letter? “Thank you for coming.” Or not, as the case may be.

My gregarious girlfriend stripped off with alacrity, then launched herself like an erotic Exocet missile onto the fleshy mound of heaving, sweating bodies spilling off the king-size water bed onto the aptly named shag pile. A few of the fellas were showing off, contorting female partners into gravity-defying positions. I feared for their chiropractor bills. What if some athlete’s over-exuberant attempt to find my g-spot led to a totally humiliating trip to the emergency ward?

I made a half-hearted attempt to disrobe but having sex when you’re not in the mood is like dancing with no music. A fight-or-flight response rattled through me. I opted for social intercourse interruptus and fled.

But if the thought of getting naked in front of strangers intimidated me way back then, imagine doing it now with baby marks and middle-aged, baggy, saggy bits?

But a long marriage often takes on the weighty, soft-boned weariness of an aesthetic. An orgy could act as a relationship defibrillator. The medical term for a female paralysed from the waist down is “marriage”. It seems to me that women experience three types of sex: brand new, kitchen-table sex, followed by bedroom sex, and then hallway sex, as in when you encounter your hubby in the hallway and grumble, “Have you taken out the garbage?” And let’s agree that the garbage gets taken out more often than you do.

If all you’re getting between the sheets is an anti-climax, then perhaps a group grope would encourage you to see your hubby in a new light? And what about how he will see you? Watching another man desire you might kickstart a whole new era of marital passion; rekindling the urge to slip into something more comfortable – like each other.

But would you really find it “hot” to see your husband’s buttocks quivering like custard as he does the deed with Dianne from next door? I don’t think so. To my mind, what makes a man really hot is bringing you a nice cup of hot tea in the morning. What does a woman really want in bed? Breakfast. But I’m pretty certain that she’ll want to show her appreciation in a horizontal capacity.

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