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In the back room, men in their 20s and 30s swim naked in the pool. All three hot tubs are occupied with people relaxing and talking. At the foremost region of the room is a bar, cabana beds, and a billiards table. I'm not all that impressed with the main room, although it's not skuzzy-looking, more like it reminds me of a South Florida Cuban restaurant with the addition of leather couches. But the hot tub area looks like a legit spa or New York City bathhouse.
After our tour, we all reconvene at the dining area, where we talk and trade life stories, no different than any regular bar. I sip my whiskey, wary of getting drunk because of the 30-minute drive back to the city. Women come up and touch my date as if he's a leashed pet at the dog park. Some ask if he wants to play. He politely passes. After nearly two hours of talking, our tour guide and his wife get in their limousine and head home. My date and I are left alone to our own perversions.
We talk for another 30 minutes or so when he points at one of the TV screens. A woman is deep-throating a man. "Do you want to be her?" he asks me. "Honestly," I respond, "I'm not turned on at all." He nods. "Honestly, neither am I," he says, "but I tried." We leave and head back to his house where he plays Sam Cooke on vinyl. I like his music selection. Certainly much sexier than Britney Spears. I drape my legs across his on the couch as we talk and reminisce about our evening before transferring to his bedroom. He seems entertained yet unsettled from our adventure. At night I dream I'm walking up the sloped driveway of a swingers club when I slip and fall. Every time I try and stand up, I slip and fall again.
I return to the club a few days later with a couple of friends who are dating. Her boyfriend assigns them their pseudonyms: Cherry and Damien. To be clear, she is Damien. He is Cherry. "Didn't think I'd flip that on you," she tells him with a laugh. Like myself, they were curious about swingers clubs for years. We sit in the dining area. To the left of me is a white, female sex slave in a leather studded corset that goes up to her rib cage, leaving her petite A-cup breasts exposed. She's eating breakfast with her male date. My friends head to the back. "Are you coming?" she asks. "Nah, I'm good," I tell her.
It's a Tuesday night and the club is mostly dead, just some light customer traffic. I head to the bar to talk to one of the good-looking bartenders. He's younger than me. He's cute. I like him immediately. He strikes me as sincerely sweet and nonjudgmental. Bartenders aside, I don't find the people at the club attractive. But then I am reminded how a person's personality and character can make or break them. Pro tip: If people think they're going to walk into a swingers club and encounter a sea of Stacey Dash and Michael Fassbender-caliber look-alikes, they're in for a surprise.
As I speak with the bartender, several people approach me. "Do you have a man?" asks one. I consider his approach lackluster. I lie. "Yes," I tell him. I forget it's a swingers club. Having a partner means nothing here. "Do you guys want to play?" he continues. I politely decline and he and his date walk away. A black woman puts her hand up my dress and squeezes my ass. I jump, startled. "Sorry," she says, noticing my discomfort.
I continue talking with the cute bartender. "The women here are attractive," he offers, "but they're much older than me — MILFs, which isn't really my thing." He's worked here long enough where nudity doesn't faze him anymore. "The girls I date get upset with me," he confesses, "because they'll get naked and I won't even look at their body, I just stare straight at their face."
What surprises him most about the environment is the level of intimacy. "Sometimes you'll see a woman having sex with a man while she and her husband stare deep into each others eyes as he caresses her face and tells her he loves her." I ask him if he is interested in the swinger lifestyle. "Not really," he says, "I'd be too jealous."
And easy come, easy goes......at least typically.
Neko has the best perspective. It's the old game of cat and mouse. The cat…