Swingathon - The UKs fun & spicy festival.

Have you heard about it ? ;)

Hey you,

Have you heard of Swingathon?
Swingathon is a festival for people who live or are curious about living outside the relationship escalator. It celebrates the swinging, open-relating, polyamorous, queer, kinky, and just-plain-curious ways of loving and connecting. In a world that constantly tells us our desires are wrong, dangerous, selfish, or shameful, this festival says: come as you are. Without apology.

And yes, it’s fun as hell..

But let’s get one thing clear: Swingathon is not an orgy in a field.

Yes, there’s nudity. Yes, people flirt. Yes, there are foam parties, UV parties, and tents dedicated to very specific kinds of pleasure. But no, it’s not a free-for-all. You don’t just show up, strip off, and start touching strangers. That’s not how it works.

In fact, Swingathon might be one of the safest, most thoughtful, emotionally intelligent events I’ve ever been to. And I’ve worked in some pretty intimate spaces.

First of all: you can’t just buy a ticket and rock up. You’ve got to be vetted. Every single attendee goes through an application process. They want to know your intentions, your experience, and how you show up in spaces that involve consent and play. And before you’re allowed in? You hand over proof of a clean STI test. No test, no wristband, no exceptions.

Because this isn’t just about sex. It’s about community care.

There are sweaty foam parties, where bodies slip and slide under pink skies, covered in bubbles and laughing their arses off. There are UV paint nights, where people wear glowing harnesses, neon lingerie, and more glitter than should be legally allowed. There are themed tents for almost every interest: spanking, rope, massage, roleplay, queer space, voyeur space, couples-only spaces, and even quiet cuddle areas for aftercare and rest.

But nothing happens unless it’s wanted. Everything is based on consent.

You don’t enter any of those spaces without a conversation first. There are trained consent crew wandering throughout the site, watching, checking in, and stepping in if needed. It’s one of the few places I’ve ever felt truly safe in my skin, my desire, and my boundaries, all at once.

And yeah, if you’re wondering whether things ever got really wild, they did. I heard whispers about a 40-person orgy that went down. And let me tell you, the stories the next morning were enough to make your jaw drop and your mouth water. The detail, the delight, the way people spoke about it with zero shame and full-body pride, it was hot. And not just because of what they did, but because of how they did it. With consent, with respect, and with so much intention. It was genuinely beautiful to see so many people walking around completely nude, fully in their bodies, not hiding anything. Admiring each other without creeping. Owning their curves, scars, stretch marks, erections, piercings, and power. No one flinched. No one gawked. Just humans being glorious, wild, and free.

There’s a Kink Village, for starters, its own zone packed with energy, creativity, and edge. You could watch rope suspension demos, hear the rhythmic thud of impact play, or witness a human trampling scene that left a crowd of onlookers wide-eyed and deeply intrigued. People were learning, playing, watching, asking questions. It’s not about performance, it’s about presence.

There were massage beds set up for sensual bodywork, a salon area where you could get your hair braided, curled, or glittered before the UV party, and market stalls selling beautiful, handcrafted toys, bondage gear, lingerie, and all the things you never knew you needed in your sex kit until you held them in your hands. It was a paradise for the curious and the kinky alike.

Annnnddd this year I was invited to give two talks, and they were some of the most honest conversations I’ve ever had with a crowd.

The first was about my work as a sex worker for disabled people. I spoke about access to touch. The politics of pleasure. What it means to be in a body that the world often ignores and still want to feel sexy, held, and in control. The room was full, and there were moments of quiet where you could feel just how much the message was landing.

The second talk? One I’ve been wanting to give for years. It was called: Shame: The Silent Killer in Our Relationships.

Because shame doesn’t just kill sex. It kills communication. It kills connection. It stops people from asking for what they need. From saying no. From saying yes. From enjoying their own bodies. I talked about how shame is internalised from culture, religion, families and how it sneaks into our bedrooms, our breakups, our silence.

The response floored me. People kept stopping me for days afterwards to say, “No one’s ever said that out loud before.” And I kept thinking, why the hell not? Why is something we all carry kept so quiet?

That’s what makes Swingathon so powerful. It’s not just about getting off. It’s about getting free.

Free from shame. Free from scripts. Free from monogamy, if that doesn’t fit. Free from the fear that wanting more makes you bad. It’s about stepping into a space where you can say: this is who I am, and I don’t need to apologise for it.

Of course, it’s not perfect. People fumble. Boundaries need restating. There’s conflict, messiness, vulnerability. But unlike in the outside world, people take accountability here. There’s space for repair. There’s room to be human.

So no, it’s not just a shagfest in a field. Please do not go expecting that.

It’s a carefully held, incredibly playful, deeply radical space for those of us who know that love, sex, and connection don’t always look like one man, one woman, one forever. And who are done being quiet about it.

And I’m one of those people ;)

Will I see you there next year?

Stay sassy, classy and always bad assy

Saurora x