Swing club...

So...

a while ago I went to a swinger club in Miami that shall remain nameless [but you know which one I'm talking about if you know Miami, or know swingers clubs] and it was only slightly interesting. But, I Tweeted about it, and apparently some of yall pay attention to my twitter. I said I'd be writing a blog post about it, and I didn't realize I'd be held to that. Here's my blog post about my night at a swingers club.

This was in December, and I did drink [not a lot, honestly, because I wanted my memory to be crisp of my first foray into swinger world] which are my excuses for why this post may be a bit... lacking in details?

My gentleman friend [not a client! I would not be writing about this if it was!] called me up and asked me to come with him, as it's hard for a man to get into a club of this sort alone, even though he is a former NFL player. He'd also never been in this situation before, and I think he needed me specifically because he knows I have a devil may care attitude about alternative lifestyles, and he was a bit nervous. I meet him at his hotel on South Beach, and after a few shots of Patron, and a few mojitos to chase the shots, we're feeling sufficiently Spanish inspired [as one must in Miami]. I get dolled up in one of my dresses I rarely wear outside of appointments [and even then only if they are asked for]. This dress is what I call Spice Girls short, as in it stops approximately half an inch below my butt cheeks and the only things I can do in this dress are stand, lean, or distract men from whatever they were thinking. I put on my heels, my favorite ones, eight inches of mean stiletto [these come in handy later, as the floor was a little...well, wet]

The cab arrives to take us on our way, and when the cabbie hears our destination, he turns, looks me up and down, and winks at my friend. Let's call him James. James says "I know, right..." I did look pretty hot. [this would prove a bit of a mistake]

The club looks pretty nondescript from the outside, maybe a little even... you know, crappy. But, as a former club worker, I know the outside of a place rarely gives you a good insight on how fun the inside will be. I mean, one of my favorite clubs in Atlanta is entered through a garage door into a really gnarly basement, and you're almost guaranteed a great time. So we walk in. The first time you go to this club you have to sign a long disclaimer [of course] and once I'd agreed to give them my first born child [and honestly probably signed something that says I shouldn't be writing this blog post right now, but hey, the ID they have from me on file is under a different name, and I'm not including the name of the club in this post] we were given a tour of the club. Our tour guide was a young guy with a slightly Spanish accent and braids. He was a little short. If you ever go, I hope he is your tour guide. He talks super fast, but he checks with you to make sure you get all the info he is pumping into your brain at lightspeed. He made us completely comfortable, and James, who has 10 years on me and NFL level sexual experience was such a wuss about the whole thing, I'm glad for our tour guide getting him to relax so we could enjoy the night.

The first room we walk into is the club room. The room was pretty empty, but this is the dance floor, and pretty much the only room in the club that is clothing optional [the rest is mandatory towels or nude]. There were two naked girls on one of the small stages alternating between pole dancing, making out, and playing with each other. I stared. James took sneaky glances. I squeezed his hand, trying to make him look. Our tour guide talked.

The next room we are shown to is a locker room where we can change. As I said, towels or nude is the standard of dress. This is also where you stash your phone. For obvious reason they are not allowed. Discretion is paramount.

I only have vague memories of the other rooms, honestly, because of time and alcohol for the evening, but it kind of doesn't matter. There are private rooms with and without windows where others will join you only if they are invited. There are rooms with no doors, both large and small. An orgy room. Maybe there was an outdoor area? A hot tub? Co-ed showers? I'm not certain.

So, we finish our tour and James takes his seat on a couch in the club room, and I dance a little. We only brought a six pack of beer with us, and my dress is too tight for beer so I'm not touching  it. I noticed the eyes on us as we walked through [I mean, I am 24 with GGs and an ass that is debatably great, and he is 6'6" and chocolatey and looks like he used to be a defensive lineman, because well, he did] and these eyes were attached to feet that followed us to the club room.

If it was my sex club, we wouldn't have a building, just a forest slightly lit and raked of pinecones and poison ivy. And maybe a Playboy Mansion style pool with a naughty grotto you have to swim to under a waterfall [that way everyone in the grotto is wet] But alas, this is not my sex club. We were there on perhaps a Tuesday, so as sex clubs go [in my mind], it was rather tame.

The couples that had checked us out approached James while I danced. I love to dance. If there is loud music, dim yet sparkly lighting, and a cheerful environment, I can hardly stop myself. They of course immediately begin to offer us drinks. Very sweet of them [the club is BYOB, a concept foreign to this ATLien] but I'm always hesitant to accept drinks from strangers in a club, especially when it's a fact they want to get me naked [I like to be clearheaded. I don't want to forget the fun stuff. How could I write about it?]
I was new to the idea of "please please fuck my wife" [well, not new to the idea, of course I've heard of cuckold, but I'd never been privy to it in person]. I'm not sure about the size of James's little James [we really are just friends] but considering his physical size, I'm sure this couple made a large assumption.
James is getting shoulder rubs by the lady in the couple and shoots me a look, one I know means he is uncomfortable, so I sit down next to him. I'm immediately flanked by the husband who, of course, can not remove his eyes from my cleavage. But poor James. He's grasping for my hand and I decide this isn't a good way to ease him out of his comfort zone, so I get up, pull him off the couch, say thank you, and walk outside.

Yeah so...rather uneventful. But! I have a membership and shall return. Perhaps next time will be more interesting. At least there will perhaps be more to observe.