Women's Wrestling League: Secret Underground Sex Clubs

Secret clubs are cool. That's just a fact of life.

Fucking and fighting are fun. That's another fact.

In the spring of 2010, I was more than a little girl-crazy. The summer Pride season was on the horizon and I knew there was a lot of trouble and girls in this city that I wanted to get into.

That's when I heard about Girl Pile, the Fight Club of sex parties. There's no leader, very few rules, and a strict invite-only policy. My new friend, a buxom queer femme named Castella, was my ticket in the front door. She was a veteran Piler and agreed to be my tour guide for the evening. She had shepherded other newbies to their first Pile before, so I was in good hands.

We stepped off the Muni bus and onto a quiet street in a residential neighborhood of the city. But I can't tell you where it is, who attends, or who started it, because the mystery is part of what makes it special. Girlpile.net will tell you everything you'd need to know about the party, except the crucial information of where it is and how to get invited. That part is up to you. But should you be lucky enough to snag an invite, here are a few do's and don'ts of Girl Pile:

• Do invite hot chicks who will put out. Don't invite couples who won't share.

• Do include trans women. Don't let anyone bitch about any penises around.

• Do bake cookies and let girls lick cookie dough off your fingers.

• Don't leave the cookies in the oven until they smoke so much you all asphyxiate.

Cookies are an important part of Girl Pile. The kitchen is a space to dip a finger into the sex party for girls who aren't quite ready to dive right in. At my first Pile, I was all about the cookie station, too nervous to initiate play with anyone. People emerged from the bedroom in various states of undress in search of a snack, as group sex works up quite an appetite. Before I knew it, there were cute girls licking cookie dough off my nipples, and I was being led down the hall surrounded by soft skin and the smell of chocolate chip cookies in the oven.

I initially thought Girl Pile would look like any other party with lots of booze and sexual tension, but with the option of pairing off with a cute person and getting naked. I was mistaken. I entered the play space — a luxurious bedroom with a California King-sized bed, a Hitachi Magic Wand plugged into every wall socket, a handcrafted fucking machine in the corner, and a big amorphous pile of bodies in the center of the room.

“Who wants to get fisted?” someone called out over the din of laughing, talking, spanking, and coming.

“Oh! I've never done that before! Can I try?” someone else replied.

An older woman was tied to the bed and a gaggle of people stood over her with floggers and canes. Her hair was in pigtails and she kicked her Mary Jane-clad feet and squealed with delight as an army of young queers turned her dimpled skin bright pink with their toys.

Girl Pile isn't a place, or a specific group of people. Girl Pile, started in 2007, is a philosophy. In this world of Internet interaction, the Pile exists as a relic of a simpler time of sex in this city: when people could just show up to a party and get it on without having to wear a silly costume or study a bunch of protocols to get in the front door. Girls of all shapes, sizes, and backgrounds, some best friends, some perfect strangers, come to a private home to fuck each other silly.

That's part of what makes this city great. Sex parties are as quintessential to San Francisco as foggy skies. In this city we use our fists for fucking instead of fighting. Instead of Fight Club, we have Girl Pile.

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