It's hard to believe sex clubs exist, but they do. In nearly every major city, no less. Probably because of the taboo associated with them.
Am I even allowed to be writing this right now? Will I be shunned from society? Will I be at a cocktail party years from now, shmoozing over my most recent Pulitzer Prize, when somebody will recognize me and say, "Hey! It's that guy! He went to a sex club, I read his article!"
They take away my awards, I stop getting invited to Pictionary Night, people stop carpooling with my future hypothetical children...next thing you know, I'm telling bad stand-up comedy in exchange for free chicken tenders (you can either have a side of ranch or honey mustard, not both): "Hey what's the deal with baby carrots, did momma carrot and poppa carrot have a baby?"
Everything about the concept is hush-hush. The club itself is located in an unassuming back alley, more resembling where Bruce Wayne's parents got shot (spoiler!) than anything resembling an actual nightclub scene. We walked in, hearts racing, not fully sure what to expect... First, some background.
After a year of chewing on the idea, getting cold feet several times, we decided to take the next step: No, not going to a club. We decided to see a therapist as a couple. We kept the conversation mostly about what a "friends with benefits" scenario would look like as a couple, without getting too specific (yeah, like this is a time to get reserved). The therapist helped us realize something that we had already uncovered ourselves; that communication was the key to everything.
If you don't communicate well as a couple, this experience is not for you. It will go up in flames.
Our intention in going there was not to have sex, and certainly not to have sex with others. But for the past year or so, we have been intrigued by the idea of non-monogamy.
Who made these rules, that once you're in a serious relationship, that ends all physical connection with other people? Is there some sort of handbook somewhere? We have discussed scenarios that excite us both, only doing so when we were absolutely secure in each other, and more importantly, in our relationship. This was not a whim or a spur of the moment idea. It was simply the next step, as in, what does something like that look like? What kinds of other people are into this sort of lifestyle? It was more of a character study, a way of getting out from the shadows and confronting the reality of what this sort of commitment would entail.
We booked our night at the club, taking place on the weekend before Halloween. We did this methodically, as we would get to wear costumes and get to go as our people, preserving our true identities. Roleplaying, so to speak.
She dressed more risque than she typically would, although stopping short of full-out sorority girl gone wild: Black, form-fitting jeans complete with rips around her left knee, with tall black boots. Tight sleeveless black top, that hung low in the front and showed off the beginning of her cleavage. I wore a button-up long sleeve shirt, tucked into tight black dress pants. We put fake blood around our mouths and went as "vampires."
After doing several shots of vodka, we were ready. We Ubered over, getting out in the Bruce Wayne alley in front of an abandoned looking warehouse. I'm only half joking when I say I was expecting us to have to give the doorman a password to get in. But, after no password, we were identified as being new, which meant we were given a complimentary tour by a young-faced employee, where reality set in.
We weren't quite sure what to expect. Personally, I had an image of a dimly lit bar in my mind, with women wearing low cut black or red dresses and men in tuxedos. There would be quiet classical music, flowing glasses of whiskey, and seductive back rooms that resembled something out of “50 Shades of Grey." It was not like that. Not at all.
The music was blaring so loud that a monster truck rally would've sounded like a whisper in comparison. Women walked around leaving little mystery, often with less clothing than you would see at a swimming pool. The men were either old enough to be our fathers or had pot bellies that screamed “compensating for something missing" in their life. There was no mystery, no intrigue.
It was like expecting to be wined and dined; with the reality being cheap vodka and uninspiring sex.
In one room, a middle-aged bald man with a beer belly and uninspiring t-shirt whipped a woman lying naked face down on a leather massage table. In another, a couple had sex on a bed with the lights off while spectators watched from a doorway. You know how sex looks in porn? It doesn't look like that in real life. Were we approached by anybody? Did we approach anybody? No and no. To be honest, I was more relieved than I was disappointed.
I'm not sad to say the highlight of the night was the large supreme pizza that was brought in near closing time. At least that was sausage that we actually wanted to see.