| |
swingers' clubs AN UNEXPECTED SEXUAL HARASSMENT FREE ZONE
by
CHRIS BARRY
________________________________________________________
Former
lead singer of the legendary 222s,
arguably Montreal's first punk rock band, Chris is now a freelance
writer based in Montreal. You can check out his writing at looselips.ca.
where he combines the sardonic humour of David Foster Wallace
and the deliciously contrived irreverence of Anthony Bourdain.
Nota
Bene: Since Arts & Opinion is not in the
business of promotion, we have decided to remove all names
and locations from fearless investigative journalist Chris
Barry’s reportage.
It’s 11
pm on a Wednesday night at Club X in downtown Montreal and
the joint is, well, swinging. Sixty or so sexual adventurers
of various ages, shapes and sizes have congregated to dance,
drink, and, um, let me try to put this gently . . . fuck
their brains out. Or so I’m hoping, at least. I’m
here to watch it all go down, and though I’m a little
self-conscious and arguably out of my element, I’m
happy. Consider me an easy sell when it comes to debauchery.
Sitting up
at the bar beside me on the main floor are a couple of
thirty-something mulatto chicks, a few good-looking college
age couples, and a disproportionate number of older, borderline
elderly dudes. Lounging around on the clubs sofa’s
are mostly middle-aged couples, some attractive, some
not so attractive, and the odd cluster of single men keenly
eyeing the door whenever any new meat walks in. With the
exception of the homemade porn tape screening on the club’s
television monitor, and the fully erect bronzed male statues
hanging everywhere off the walls, one could easily mistake
Club X for some generic suburban discotheque anywhere
in North America. But rest assured -- it is not.
Make no mistake, the Montreal swinger scene is booming.
According to the owners, thousands of people have passed
through the doors of Club X.
Not too long
ago, if Club X were even open on a Wednesday night, there
might have been 20 people lurking around the joint looking
to bump uglies. Tonight there are easily three times that
number, and on most weekends, it’s not unusual for
over 200 enthusiasts to stop by. And that’s only
Club X. Montreal is home to at least half a dozen swinging
establishments, and if the online ads are any indication,
there’s one hell of a lot of orgy activity going
down in private residences as well.
Many of these
swingers have been introduced to ‘the lifestyle’
by MB (not his real initials). A bona fide swinging ‘missionary,’
MB will tell everything you need to know about swinging
etiquette: all the local hotspots, what to expect the
first time you get naked in a room full of strangers,
and how to politely tell somebody you’re not interested
in to get their stinky ol’ appendage out of your
face without hurting their feelings.
Since
2005, when a landmark decision by the Quebec Superior Court
cleared up any legal ambiguities regarding swinging; by
ruling that “contemporary Canadian society tolerates
swingers' clubs if the sexual exchanges take place in private,"
swingers’ clubs have been thriving.
So
long as the sexual activity takes place in a members-only club,
where there’s no chance of grandma stumbling in and accidentally
drowning in a hail storm of semen, swingers have been able to
boink to their hearts content without fear of getting busted
by the morality squad. Even though Montreal used to be the only
city in Canada, and one of the few jurisdictions in North America,
where, historically, on-site sexual activities have not only
been tolerated but actually encouraged in sex clubs, on-site
coital action had always been a bit of a grey area legally –
but that was then, and since then the sexually curious have
been coming out to the clubs in droves. 
My
primary mission this evening, outside of collecting various
mental images for future private stroking sessions, is to locate
and interview the owner, MB, who, as it turns out, happens to
be hosting tonight’s event. So far I’ve been having
trouble pinning him down. MB has been running around organizing
a game of sexual musical chairs slated to go down later, working
the DJ booth, and giving tours of the club to the considerable
number of first-timers in attendance. With all the newcomers
here tonight, he has his hands full, and when I finally catch
up to him he politely informs me that he will only be able to
talk to me later on in the evening. He introduces me to two
very attractive young couples, letting them know I’m a
journalist of sorts, and suggests I get any 411 I need for the
time being from them. I hang with them for a few minutes, but
before I can send any relevant questions their way, it’s
announced over the PA system that the club’s doors are
now officially closed to the public and it’s time to let
the games begin. Veronique and Ginette, the two thoroughly delicious
chicks I’ve just been introduced to, abruptly excuse themselves
to go play musical sex chairs. I decide not to take it personally.
It
doesn’t take long for me to realize that sexual musical
chairs is possibly the greatest game ever invented. The way
it works is that six men (I was invited to participate but politely
declined) are lined up on couches that have been placed on the
dance floor. Six chicks then dance around them, circling the
couches until the music is stopped, at which point they have
one minute to give the dude who happens to be in front of them
a boner. They do this with their mouths, their breasts, whatever
arsenal they choose to work with, and once their minute is up,
the barmaid goes around squeezing each dude’s exposed
erection to determine who is the least hard. The couple producing
the softest hard-on gets ejected from the game, and they start
the process all over again until there is only one couple left,
ahem, standing. Later, the tables are turned and the men circle
the couches, trying to produce the hardest nipples on the women.
Neither Veronique nor Nathalie win the game officially, but
after witnessing their bone-inspiring talents, I decide they
are both winners in my book and tell them as much. They’re
sweet and polite, but clearly couldn’t care less what
I think about their considerable gifts.
Immediately
after the games come to a close, most people start making
their way downstairs to the orgy, or rather, ‘play’
rooms. Knowing full well that this is where I want to be,
I decide to give up pestering MB for awhile and waste no
time securing myself a spot right in the middle of the action.
One side of the room is full of beds reserved for couples
that just want to make out undisturbed, or rather, untouched,
by the several naked single males lurking around discreetly
tugging on their ding-dongs. On the other side of the room
is the ‘cum-one, cum-all’ area where those looking
for anonymous strangers to come give ‘em a poke can
hang out. For the moment there is just one slender woman
in her early 40s in this latter section, buck naked and
performing fellatio on one of the old dudes who was sitting
at the bar with me earlier. I notice that the old guy may
be boney but he’s hung like a horse. Bravo! A few
moments later a younger stud joins in and starts working
her from behind. It’s all good.
 The
volume of sexual activity starts to intensify and when I
glance across the room I’m thrilled to discover that
a stark naked and spread-eagled Veronique is knee-deep in
a scene with Nathalie and her boyfriend. Another young straight-looking
English-speaking couple, Concordia university students I
suspect, pull up on the bed beside them and also start doing
the nasty, occasionally looking over at Veronique’s
scene for inspiration, and less occasionally reaching over
to the bed on the other side of them to cop a feel of the
middle-aged triad going at it next door.
As more people
enter the room and take off their clothes, the place starts
to smell a little too much like a locker room for my liking,
but there ain’t no way I’m about to call it
a night and go home-even if the lady participating in the
threesome unfolding just a few feet in front of me looks
way too much like my Mom for comfort. I still haven’t
done any interviews of note and it’s certainly not
every day I get to hang out in to a scene straight out of
Fellini’s Satyricon.
A man my age
approaches me and tells me that his wife would like me to
come over and ‘play’ with her. I look over and
see an exotic looking chick giving me the eyeball, beckoning
me to come to her bed. I tell him I appreciate the offer
but am pretty sure my wife would hold it against me if I
came home smelling of exotic looking chick. “Sure,
no problem, I understand” he tells me, and I get the
impression that he honestly does. I'm not so sure his wife
does though, 'cuz 10 minutes later I notice she's left her
perch and has discreetly made her way over to my side of
the room, seemingly intent on wrapping her lips around my
joystick. I'm actually a little flattered. After all, there's
certainly no shortage of man meat in the joint, plenty of
other bones for an attractive gal like her to gnaw on. Sheesh,
it could almost make a feller feel kinda special.
 Despite
what many might choose to believe, there is remarkably little
pressure to get involved in the action, and I have no doubts
that an attractive single female hanging out in the orgy
room is far less likely to get harassed than she would at
most other clubs in town-or simply walking down the street
for that matter. Say what you will about swingers, but they
certainly understand the concept of respect, and there ain’t
nobody pressuring nobody to have sex here. It’s simply
considered uncool. In light of the recent uptick in reported
sexual assaults at McGill and other university campuses,
female students looking to let their guard down without
fear of being harassed might well consider slugging back
cocktails at a swinger’s club, where everybody appears
to understand that “no” actually means “no.”
Just
as I’m thinking about finally heading home a young blonde
girl I was drooling over earlier in the evening comes down to
the room with some guy, starts to disrobe and make her way over
to the shower area. I’d been hoping all night that this
delectable temptress would wind up in the orgy room and am eager,
along with all the other voyeurs in the room,  to
bear witness to her in all her glory. But just as she and her
boyfriend start getting down to business, I feel a tap on my
shoulder. It’s MB. He’s naked from the waist down.
“Okay, I’m ready to do my interview now” he
tells me, penis in hand. But I’m too distracted to talk
to him. I try and ask him a few questions, but I don’t
really hear his answers. The blond chick has her boyfriend in
her mouth and is masturbating wildly while another half-naked
girl is chomping down on her breasts. MB is no doubt an interesting
guy, and I need his quotes to do this story, but I just can’t
muster up the professionalism to interview him in the midst
of all this activity.
“How
are you making out?” he asks me. “You know, the
great thing about Montreal swingers is that people are very
kind and respectful to newcomers here.” “Oh, yes,
yes, I’m sure,” I mutter, vainly trying to focus
my attention on his words and not the sounds of the blond chick
bringing herself to orgasm. “And it’s not about
money yet either, you know” he continues, “Swinging
is still a sub-culture in Montreal, not an industry. Nobody
makes a living off of running a sex club here, it’s for
the love of it.”
I grunt
an acknowledgement but MB recognizes that my attentions are
focused elsewhere. “Would you rather we do this at another
time?” he finally asks me considerately. “Um, uh,
yeah, that’s probably a better idea,” I tell him,
“there’s too much, uh . . . noise, in here to concentrate.”
“Another day then?”
I answer
in the affirmative. Because damn right that’s something
I might want to do. Even if interviewing MB has absolutely nothing
to do with it anymore. It dawns on me that his may well have
been the greatest night of my entire life. Consider me an easy
sell when it comes to debauchery.
Also
by Chris Barry:
Bust
a Move
Trapeze
- Swinging Ad Extremis
Hells
in Paradise
The
Cannabis Cup
Colonic
Hydrotheraphy
READER FEEDBACK
COMMENT
angela
I always love it when a journalist goes into a swingers club
and “just watches”. There is no way I can believe
he said no to all the solicitations. You can say “no,
thanks” only so many times in the night!
Arts
& Opinion, a bi-monthly, is archived in the
Library and Archives Canada.
ISSN 1718-2034
|
|
|
