By Alexa Day
Not so long ago, my summers were filled with bachelorette parties. I loved the early ones. We drank to excess. We danced. We spent lovely hours in this one-horse town’s rare male revues and left with our ears ringing.
But the bachelorette party has changed. We are still drinking, thank heavens. The rest of the night’s proceedings — you know, the sexy part — seems to be disappearing. I’m not sure why that’s happening. Are we bearing witness to a Great Chastening that will ultimately be bad for my business as an erotic romance writer? Has our society finally slut-shamed the bachelorette party into a shadow of its former self? Is this just a regional thing that doesn’t affect parties outside America’s southern states?
I don’t know. I only know that this bothers me for two reasons.
First, although this has been a wedding-free summer for me, I don’t think I’ve been to my last bachelorette party, and while I love hanging out with my girls, I certainly prefer a touch of debauchery. And secondly, if what I hear so frequently is true, at some point in the distant future, I’ll be at my own bachelorette party. I have little desire for my own bachelorette party to be chaste, even if I’m holding it in the community area of the retirement home.
So here’s a short, purely self-indulgent wish list of things I’d love to start seeing at bachelorette parties in general and at my own bachelorette party in particular. (Unless robot sex is available at my bachelorette party. Then we can add robot sex to this list as #4.)
1. Nantaimori. It’s sushi served on the glorious naked male body. That’s two of my very favorite things, one on top of the other. Literally. I’ll need to start saving for that now, but I can deal with that.
2. Shirtless service staff. I know, I know. But what can I say? I’m a big fan of the shirtlessness, so the thought of watching the hot shirtless men carrying cocktails and canapes makes me absolutely alliterative. Which is a good thing. At least for me.
3. Erotic poetry. Right now, as I’m writing this, I’m thinking of Ovid. Modern translations of his Art of Love preserve all the ancient heat. From my personal copy of the Humphries translation, I found this gem at the end of a discussion of sexual positions: “Really, I pity the girl whose place, let us say, cannot give her/Pleasure it gives to the man, pleasure she ought to enjoy.” Sure, he goes on to suggest that we ladies fake it ’til we make it, as it were, but nobody’s perfect.
I believe the trend in bachelorette parties in general is swinging away from debauchery to something more sedate, like spa days. It’s a difficult transition for me; I’m a staunch defender of a woman’s right to debauchery. But if the point of the bachelorette party is the company of friends and family in a celebration anticipating a major life change, then I support the sedate party. You know, for other people.
I can always hit the strip club for my birthday.
Or Labor Day.
While I’m getting my paycheck cashed in singles, you should consider following Lady Smut. Plighting your troth has never been this much fun.