I remember when I first told my mother I was going to the erotic ball at my school. I'm not even sure I called it by name at first.
Safe space, body positive, put on by the queer resource center—oh, by the way, I'll be going in the only pair of lacy underwear I own.
The dress code for the QRC's erotic ball is as follows: Cover all erectile tissue (nipples and genitals, regardless of sex), and make sure you wear what makes you feel sexy. That means everything from pajamas to business suits to absolutely nothing but nipple tape and string panties.
Some readers may be going, "Wait, what? This is a school sponsored event? A condoned one?"
Well, not exactly, but it is allowed and supported by many. When I went as a freshman, there was a rumor flying around that the administration hated the event. They didn't want to condone unsafe sex. That's the thing about erotic ball, though. Everyone who comes is so ready to be comfortable and respectful in their underwear that nothing unsafe happens, and if it does, everyone can call it out because it's easy to see. Campus Public Safety was present throughout the event, but they weren't necessarily watching for the bad behavior of the attendees. They were there to protect the event inside from malicious behavior on the outside.
This past weekend, I attended my second erotic ball. Every shiver as I trudged down the street in my underwear and blazer was worth the remarkable atmosphere near-nudity created.
No one was mean. Everyone had fun. People with little bodies, big bodies, white bodies, colored bodies, intensely gendered bodies, ambiguous bodies, and every kind of body in between danced the night away. Everyone was supportive and encouraging. We danced hard and played hard. We smiled and waved and laughed. We got permission for everything. Even a shoulder touch. Some couples kissed and rubbed bodies, but they stopped if they were asked by anyone to do so. People who didn't know one another invited strangers into dancing circles and clapped regardless of their prowess in dancing.
There were also two contests: fake orgasm and lap dance. Everyone consented every time. A couple of folks asked if it was OK for them to use potentially triggering dirty talk in their performance. The event leader said, "Well, only if you both verbally consent to it." The audience cheered.
As someone who used to despise my own naked body (I still do, certain days) it's a very vulnerable place to be. I know I wasn't alone. Transfolk whose bodies didn't match their identity in quite the way they wanted had to feel nervous showing their figures to a big group of people. People put down by our country's unrealistic expectations for body size probably got nervous wondering if they'd be laughed at because of their shape.
I didn't stay for the entire event, but I can say with certainty that no one was made to feel bad while I was there. When everyone is vulnerable together and knows what to expect, awkwardness is realized as a shared emotion rather than isolated one. Suddenly, everyone is positive, because everyone is vulnerable together.
Erections? Well, I'm sure some were held back. Taped nipples? Takes only about five minutes to get over it, and stop staring. Bumping into people while naked? It's expected, and everyone is cool about it.
The erotic ball is awesome because it gives people a space to say, "My body is sexy!" and to feel good about that. When everyone does it together, magic happens, and the concept of "human" becomes more positive and beautiful than human in a certain type of outfit.
