So I went to a sex club. And I cried a lot.
We left. I cried some more. We talked about it. We tracked down some cheese curds, and because cheese is my life, my mood did a complete 180. Then we decided to go back in a couple weeks.
WHY DO I HATE MYSELF SO MUCH? I don’t know, but I’m quite glad I made that decision, because what I experienced that night was NOT representative of sex clubs. Apparently. I don’t know. Two experiments does not equal a scientific study, y’all.
And honestly, the first time wasn’t traumatizing, or anything. I knew I might freak out, but I was okay with giving it a shot, because my BF is basically a Professional Freakout Calmer Downer. I think that’s on his business cards, even.
We also planned to go during an Event this time, so there would actually be People there, doing Stuff.
The event was just, like… People 18-35 and their partners? Or something? I don’t know, but it was enough to draw more people than, for instance, an average Tuesday night, where only 3 bearded dudes and The Dumbest Couple Ever decide to go to a sex club.
So the Big Night rolls around, and I felt way more prepared, because I’d already learned some things.
- Wear something other than sex clothes, so it’s not as goddamn awkward trying to leave in a tear-stained jacket that barely covers my Holeless Sexkini.
- Drink alcohol first. Ha ha.
- Remove any expectations of A Good Time. Expect literally nothing but a depressing story to tell your children one day, if you happen to accidentally conceive (at the sex club??), and also have a wildly inappropriate relationship with your kids.
This time, I wore my super normal, not-even-sexy black dress, over some regular, easy-to-remove undergarments.
IMMEDIATELY upon arrival, shit was super different.
There was music, for one. Driving electronica hit me before I was even in the door. I felt like I was rolling up to a rave–Did I mention it’s basically just a warehouse in the middle of a commercial area?–and, shit, I’ve done raves! I CAN WORK WITH THIS VIBE.
We headed inside, and…. wow.
I mean… I barely even have to describe it, because it is literally everything you already imagine a sex club to be. (Unless you’re imagining EVERYONE having sex. Very few people were actively boning.)
Everyone was in varying states of undress. BASICALLY everyone was wearing black, other than a couple dudes rocking their Calvin Klein white t-shirts. There was a DJ in the corner having a good-ass time, and it took everything inside of me not to go request some Journey. “Hey dawg, I can only climax during the bridge of ‘Don’t Stop Believin.’ What? You won’t play it? I’m sorry, I thought this was a safe space.”
I immediately felt comfortable enough to drop the dress like a… thing… you drop. Put it in the locker and rocked undies for the rest of the night. HASHTAG EMPOWERMENT. Or something? I don’t know. But if y’all ever tried to drag my self-conscious ass to a beach, you might know that this level of comfort is pretty fucking unusual for me.
It was more or less standing room only, aside from the occasional mattress on the ground. I genuinely enjoyed the music. There were a few people chained to walls being lightly whipped. (I went on a night when there was no blood play or, like… anything else that was likely to send me screaming for the door. Did I mention I’m a basic bitch?)
Someone else was creatively tied up in ropes, suspended from the ceiling. And not… in a way that sounds as terrifying as I just described it. I mean, it looked more like a playground game than dungeon bondage. It looked fun as fuck, honestly.
Most people were just standing around watching the Things, talking, etc. It was actually a pretty chill vibe. The rave comparison is not wrong, seeing as ravers are usually super polite and respectful of boundaries.
I was way, way, WAY more at ease than on 3 Bearded Guys Night. I didn’t feel even remotely out of place. People looked, but didn’t hardcore creep. I held onto BF, largely to make it clear I wasn’t looking for any propositions. I need to do some serious leveling up before I get in on the orgies. MAYBE NEXT TIME (AND BY TIME I MEAN YEAR AND BY YEAR I MEAN REINCARNATION).
Also, I would like to note: No one was being politely quiet.
THANK FUCKING GOD.
It’s strange that seeing a shitload of people exchange bodily fluids in front of me did not freak me out at all. I was 100% okay with it. Maybe because everyone seemed so comfortable and open. Peeps of all shapes and sizes getting their freak on and unabashedly enjoying themselves? I AM ALL FOR IT.
I mean, shit, we’ve all seen porn. It’s silly to pretend that we don’t know what sex looks like. Or naked bodies. And if they’re cool getting their bang on in front of me, why shouldn’t I be?
We decided to make our way to the slightly more private room. We couldn’t go the normal route, because apparently there was a “scene” happening near the door, and it would be rude to interrupt.
I imagined a dude in a gimp suit holding a clacker, trying to shout director’s notes through his zipped-up mouth hole.
That is probably not in any way what they meant by “scene.” But even if it was, I would have been like, this makes sense! Do your thing! I AM INCAPABLE OF BEING WEIRD ABOUT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW AND IT’S AMAZING.
So we went the back way, and all the beds were taken. We found an empty hammock. HA HA. I am 12, so of course I jumped in it and started swinging back and forth, while BF was like “Yeah, you do that while I go find us an actual sex location.”
He disappeared, and 10 seconds later, reappeared with a mattress. I have no idea where it came from. Do they… rent them out, like bowling shoes? “I’d like a twin, please. No, make that a double. Actually, make it one of those mattresses from ‘American Horror Story: Hotel’ with a person sewn into the middle.” Sorry, all of those are already rented out!
He also had sheets. So, we set this mattress down directly underneath the hammock, and put sheets on it. Presumably clean ones? WHO KNOWS. I really should have been asking more questions.
I mean, I would have banged in the hammock, personally. Because I want to die via accidentally strangling myself with a hammock in a sex club. This is what I want.
But, no, we went with a bed. And. THAT WAS BASICALLY IT. I was banging while I could hear, and vaguely see, other people banging. Someone was strapped to a wall getting whipped within my line of sight. And it was cool. Like, the whole thing was cool and I was totally cool with it. When we left, I was totally riding the high of… being cool? HA HA. I am so cool. I went to a sex club and only cried once. THIS IS NOW THE ONLY METRIC FOR COOLNESS.
I’m the kind of person who’s always wanted to try things like this. I just never knew how to get my foot in the door. So, maybe there will be more blog posts like this one!
That is, if this one doesn’t get me fired/ostracized from 100% of my social groups?
Posting this is absolutely scarier than going to a sex club, y’all.