Do what you want, but here's an observation.
Casual sex is a misnomer. Many people who engage in it (and I speak from experience, in my more jejune days) find the endeavour to be a central driver of many other decisions and parameters of life (wearing lenses not glasses, hairstyle, dress, exercise, diet, schedule generally); it can be pursued doggedly and at eyewatering cost; it assumes a totemic significance in terms of identity, value, and purpose; and it is used as a magic talisman to ward off worry, preoccupation, depression, and the relentlessly rising awareness of one's own mortality: what better antidote for thoughts of death, la petite mort, than the primal parody of procreation?
Ask such a person to carry out the thought experiment: What would happen if I were to never (be permitted to) have casual sex again, and they would likely shudder or scratch your eyes out.
In other words, such sex, in many cases, is anything but casual.
Casual, rather, denotes the treatment of the others involved: vessel, instrument, commodity, mirror, means, cipher, combination, device. Not a person. In fact, their personhood (along with one's own) must not be allowed to intrude. Why the dress code? Why the performance? Why do you think such activities often take place in dark and stylised venues? Why do you think many people have to be drugged to engage in it? To block awareness: So you don't see the drying socks, the tawdry books on the shelf, the childhood teddies, the lines around the eyes, the tension, in fact anything that tips you off this is an ordinary human being, just like you.
But, as I say, do what you want.