Pajama parties are still fashionable, so I discovered last week while visiting a cousin who took me out on the town on a Saturday night. I'm not talking about cute footie pajamas or flannel nightgowns where young girls stay up too late poring over girlie mag romance quizzes, playing truth or dare and drooling over pictures of their favorite hotties. Nope. I'm talking adult pajama parties, PJ's optional. We arrived at a plain brick building with no signs indicating the name of the club. One of three beautifully muscled men held open a door and gave us approving winks as entered the dark foyer. Now, I didn't walk into that club without some knowledge as to what went on behind those doors, in fact my cousin had been very adamant that I know what to expect, in fact she gave me several opportunities to say no to the whole evening. But my natural curiosity and writer's brain wouldn't allow me to back down. Chances to go to such a place back in the tiny rural town I live in were zero to minus ten.
All her descriptions and details did not prepare me for Pajama Night at a downtown private swingers club.
The sexual revolution that blossomed in the 1970's at NYC's Studio 54 and other prime hotspots for disco dancing, drugs and rampant sex is very much alive in the club I went to. Alcohol was BYOB only, smoking not allowed. A small dance floor, DJ and a half dozen round top tables filled the front room. If not for a few topless women and a F/F couple making out on the dance floor, it could have been any general pop night club. Exit Room One, enter Room Two. The Mattress Room. Enormous circular mattress in the center, couples lounging on it in various stages of undress and sexual excitement. Thin canvas tents lined the walls, some flapped open inviting viewers, others closed against curious eyes.
The genesis of a biological cesspool.
As writers we're scavengers and collectors. Physical, physiological, psychological attributes of humans and animals intrigue us and spark possible story scenarios and characters to fill those pages. A swinger club may not be your idea of a good time, or even time well spent, but one hour there and my mental notebook was crammed full with luscious tidbits. Last year I took my first foray into writing erotic romance and continue to write in that genre so I sopped up the sights, sounds and scents of every pair, trio and four-and-more pile. So much better than a porn movie with a musical score of a lone bari sax playing boomchickaboom melodies.
Not much of what I saw could be labeled sensual. This club exists for sex and lust and satiation. Nowhere is the term, The More The Merrier, better suited. As strange as it may sound, although I didn't sense any emotion other than lust, there was an air of commaraderie, of connection and even protection amongst the members. This is basically a social club, like any other with members sharing common interests and bonds (friendship as well as leather and velvet), where smiles, hugs and handshakes are exchanged. The main difference between the other clubs and this one is that members tend to keep their clothes on, legs crossed and mouths shut except to speak.
So, am I the only one who didn't know clubs such as this existed beyond the movies and books? Any similar experiences?