What do you wear to a swingers’ club?

No, not a ’40s-inspired dance club. My wardrobe is well set up for such an establishment. I mean a down-and-dirty, no-holds-barred (whatever that means) sex club.

I stand in my closet, a space rather devoid of PVC and latex. And other than an ill-advised pleather skirt, I possess very few clothing items made from oil by-products, with the exception of a few lycra workout tops. Which even I don’t think are de rigueur at swingers’ clubs.

I settle on a little black dress. A dress I last wore with pearls out to dinner with my in-laws. I decide to leave the pearl necklace at home, lest it send the wrong message for the evening. I do, however, pair it with my highest of high heels and a kicky little scarf. I look like I’m ready for a cocktail after the PTA meeting. Oh well.

Who knew that swingers are suddenly a big deal again? It’s a phenomenon I thought died with the ’70s — key parties and hairy-chested men and suburban dinner parties gone terribly wrong. But apparently swinging has been rebranded for new millennium — it’s called “The Lifestyle” now, and apparently everyone is living it. Or at least 50 million people in North America, according to a study by Dr. Curtis Bergstrand at Bellarmine University in Kentucky. AdultFriendFinder.com, one of the oldest sites for, well, adult friend finding, has over 30 million members, with an additional 20,000 people joining on a good day. And Edmonton is home to four — count ’em! four! — Lifestyle Clubs for meeting and greeting and whatever else you do at a Lifestyle Club.

Which I’m about to find out.

But first, I want to talk to some swingers, or Lifestylers, to find out what to expect. Which shouldn’t be hard to do, since I have 50 million people on the continent to choose from.

Except no one’s talking. Swinging seems to be the final taboo. In a sex-obsessed culture where everyone talks about everything — and on network television, no less — swingers are the last to kiss and tell. Discretion and anonymity are the watchwords, with real and severe consequences, including job loss and family disownment, should they be discovered. For that reason, everyone appearing in this article, even me (as I work with children in other aspects of my life, and I don’t want folks to draw false conclusions after a quick Google search) are here under false names.

So I’ve searched for weeks to find brave swingers willing to talk to me. I understand the unwillingness to air one’s clean and dirty laundry in the public arena of an alternative newspaper. But I also have to question why, especially if people know their identities will be protected, no one wants to talk.

Finally, through a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend, I find a couple who is willing to talk about their little secret. “We’ve been swinging for about two years,” says the woman I’ll call Katie. Katie is much like me. In her thirties, professional, well-educated, married. In fact, Katie rather fits the mould for female swingers, according to Bergstrand’s research. She was 31 when she and her husband started swinging, and had been married for almost 10 years before they joined the Lifestyle. They are also actively religious — also common, according to Bergstrand. And her reason for doing it is also the most common response: “It makes life just that much more exciting,” she says with a cheeky grin.

Katie’s husband — I’ll call him Charles — agrees. “Before we started swinging, we were caught in the nine-to-five grind. We had a mortgage, full-time jobs, a dog. We still have all those things, but now the grind is gone. We have a lot of fun.”

Just how much fun, I want to know. “We’ll go to the clubs a couple times a month,” says Katie. “Or we’ll meet people we’ve found online. We’re pretty active, but it’s not our whole lives,” she’s quick to reassure. She also belongs to a book club.

So now for what I really want to know. What happens at a Lifestyle club? “Not a whole lot,” says Charles.

Really? That’s disappointing. But I’m also kind of relieved.

“I mean, sure, stuff happens,” says Katie. “But most of the really juicy stuff happens off-site. It’s more of a place to meet people.”

And by “juicy stuff,” Katie means whatever your imagination can summon, all within the confines of adult consent. From straight, full swap (i.e., trading partners with another couple) to orgy-rific fun with one or two or as many more partners as you’d like to the more gentle of options — “play,” meaning heavy petting with any or all members of a group of whatever size you determine. BDSM activities are also popular, with gentle (or not so gentle, depending on your predilections) flogging and bondage all part of the fun. And by the way, says Katie, “the Lifestyle isn’t just about swinging; it’s about open-minded play and woman-centred sexuality.”

Open-minded play and woman-centred sexuality. It sounds like a brochure. I almost expect Katie to whip one out of her purse. But what does that really mean?

“It means that Lifestylers truly revere women,” says Charles as Katie nods enthusiastically. “Women control the activities, and it’s all about female satisfaction,” says Charles. Katie nods again, her grin even a little brighter.

Charles regales me for some time on the benefits of the Lifestyle for women. “It’s a chance for a woman to embrace her sexuality and to have a wide range of experiences with the safety of her partner,” he says. “It’s so much better than exploring these things outside of a relationship, because she always has her partner to look out for her.”

Katie continues to nod and grin. So I ask her. “Oh, yes,” she says. “I find it very fulfilling. I can pursue fantasies, but I always have my anchor in my husband.” She’s still nodding.

How did they get into it, I ask? “We were married for 10 years,” Charles says, “and frankly a little bored. With ourselves, our lives. We were having some trouble, and thought about splitting up.”
“But we didn’t,” says Katie, fervently. “The Lifestyle saved us.”

Perhaps my face reveals what my brain is thinking, that I have a hard time believing that sleeping with someone else is going to save your marriage, because Katie quickly jumps in with “I know it sounds strange but it really works for us.”

Hey, to each his own.

I have to admit that throughout our conversation, I’m struggling hard not to judge. I have an overwhelming urge to critically dissect each statement they make and view it with a psychologist’s eye. Which surprises me, because I like to think that I’m an accepting, open-minded, liberal person. I like Charles and Katie, but there’s something in their proselytizing air that I find, frankly, threatening.

Or maybe I’m just nervous about going to the swingers’ club.

My mother doesn’t help. “Don’t do it,” she says, when I tell her where I’m headed for the sake of research. “They’ll rape you at the door.”

My mother is not the only one picturing images of Caligula’s cave. Residents along Edmonton’s Stony Plain Road have been up in arms for months at the prospect of a new swingers’ club moving into part of the former Jasper Cinema, claiming that a sex club will lower property values and cause the neighbourhood to go to pot. And this is a neighbourhood of pawnshops and porn stores.

As the hours count down to our grand entrance at the club, I get more and more nervous. My husband tries to be reassuring. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I know kung fu. Well, at least, I’ve seen it on TV.”

Thanks, honey. Which leads me to question, what will we see at the club? What will the people be like? Sure, Katie and Charles seemed normal, nice, even. Is their normal act a cover for rash violence and drug use? Will we be raped at the door?

Finally the time has come. And, as it turns out, the only rape at the door is to our wallet. A steep club fee is charged to pay for the privilege of meeting and mingling with people who may or may not want to sleep with us. Which makes me wonder; it’s hard enough to meet one person’s criteria when dating as a single. Is dating as a couple even harder? How can anyone (or any two) meet two people’s ideals for sexual compatibility?

We walk into a large-ish room. Leather couches to our right, a bar to our left. A small dance floor. A few tables and chairs, a pool table at the far end. Seems pretty much like any neighbourhood karaoke bar. Except for the large screen overhead playing some truly bizarre fish porn. Yes, that’s right: a computer-generated woman is on the receiving end of a strange fish-man’s tongue. Talk about your fish-out-of-water stories.

But as my husband and I settle into our chairs and sip our water — it’s a dry club — I realize the room isn’t quite what I expected. No one is chained to the walls, moaning in terror — or ecstasy. There are no whips or sex toys. There isn’t even any nudity, except in the fish porn. And the women in the room are dressed much as I am — little black dresses abound. A few brave souls are wearing scanty lingerie, but I find out later it’s for a fashion show. Otherwise, people are generally sitting or standing in couples or small groups, looking vaguely bored. Kind of like any bar.

But one of the things that makes it different from Jasper or Whyte Avenue is the mix of people. It’s definitely an older crowd. I see one or two girls who might be in their twenties; otherwise everyone is on the other side of 30. Or 40. Which is admittedly kind of nice. It’s not the kind of bar where you have to worry about stepping on broken glass, or getting your nose broken in a fight.

And they’re such a mild-mannered crowd. Men in button-down shirts, most looking slightly geeky and uncomfortable. I suspect, from their general demeanour, many of them are accountants. The women are a little showier, but the atmosphere is not unlike a school dance after the popular crowd has gotten drunk and left early. There is a sense of quiet desperation in the room, a desire to fit in, to find a home.

Some have definitely found a home here. A few of the women walk proudly in their five-inch heels, strutting, enjoying the attention from both men and women. These women look like soccer moms in their other lives, but tonight, tonight they can be goddesses.

As for what goes on in a Lifestyle club? Katie and Charles were right. Not a whole lot. At least in the public room. A lot of standing or sitting, swaying to ’80s tunes. We try to make eye contact, to at least appear friendly, for the sake of research. But no one even looks at us, let alone comes over to talk.

Perhaps they can tell we’re not swingers. Maybe there’s a secret handshake or something.

A few couples and small groups do make their way to the private area, and my husband and I decide to check it out. The rules are simple. You can peek, or you can participate. But there will be no loitering.

So, we peek. The room is dark, with plenty of private corners. I get a fleshy impression of a naked couple on some leather chairs close by, and there’s something going on behind closed drapes on the other side of the room. The group we followed in have found a trio of leather chairs in the corner and are quietly chatting.

Our peek is in danger of turning into a loiter, so we leave. And then we leave the club, content with the fact that we are leaving with each other.

So swingers’ clubs as dens of iniquity? Not exactly. As chambers of purity and innocence? Not exactly that, either. As bastions of open-minded play and woman-centred sexuality? Okay, with reservations, I’ll go with that. The women certainly seem to rule the roost and many have found a place to be, ahem, revered, to use Charles’ word.

But I can’t help but feel that if I were setting up a fantasy sandbox to play in, there’d be a lot more hot guys. The absence of hot guys, my husband excluded, makes it feel like either a wonderland for the bi-curious and their beards, or a middle-aged male-driven fantasyland and its perception of female satisfaction. Not to paint myself as overly shallow, but my sense of the room made me question whether the slightly geeky accountant-type would be as thrilled if his wife were swapping up — instead of just swapping. Would swinging be as popular if the women could actually make all their fantasies come true? Where are Brad and Angelina when you need them?

So anyway, my one night as a swinger was pretty tame. Can’t say I felt like I fit in or found my people, but it also wasn’t a night dodging secondhand smoke, lame pickup lines and bar fights, like my night on Whyte Avenue a couple of weeks earlier.

I guess, really, to each his, or her, or their own.