I Reclaimed My Body In A Sex Club

Going to swinger’s parties helped me embody my sexual self in a whole new way

One of the things that I most loved about when James and I used to go to a swinger’s club was getting to walk around in a semi-public space not wearing a lot of clothes and having that be safe. The club would shut its doors at 11 and you could leave, but no one could come in after that time. This was the magic hour when more street-legal clothing was shed or modified for “lifestyle” attire.

There were themes every weekend and once for a kink/vinyl night I wore a cupless bustier, a very short vinyl skirt, and black boots. I had on a bra with the bustier, but as soon as the doors were locked, I went into the bathroom to take it off. I’m tall anyhow, but in those sky-high boots, my chest was right at eye level for a young guy who was a first-timer to the club. He was heading into the restrooms while I was heading out and he came face to face with my bare breasts, which surprised him more than a little bit. His eyes nearly popped out of his head and I could almost hear the boing-yoi-yoing going on in his head. I just strode past, with a big smile on my face, leaving him in my wake.

James was waiting for me nearby and got to witness it all. We still laugh about that from time to time, even years later. But aside from the comedic aspect of giving a newbie a special welcome to the club, I could do that without worrying about being groped, stalked, leered at, or any untoward comments made about me — all things that had happened to me time and time again out in everyday life while wearing a lot less revealing clothing.

Street harassment starts for most girls around the age of 10, well before most of them are even into puberty. When I was 11 a strange man tried to get me to get into his car when I was walking home. Another man showed me pictures in a nudie mag, for what purpose, I’m not entirely sure, but it didn’t make me feel safe out in the world. A lifetime of this sort of entitlement to my body, not just to comment upon it, but to touch it, left me feeling that my body was not my own. Combine that with societal messaging that female sexuality exists for the pleasure and use of men, and I found myself being very disconnected from them both.

It was subtle, however. So subtle in fact, that I didn’t even realize what I’d been missing until I started to get it back at the club. Not every woman showed a lot of skin and some outfits I wore were more revealing than others, but it was just downright joyful to get to express my sexual self without anyone thinking that was meant for them. Did men look? Sure they did and so did a lot of women, but it wasn’t in that predatory way that so many women are well familiar with. They didn’t assume that I was dressing that way to attract or titillate them (pun intended) which meant that I could enjoy it too — without feeling judged or shamed or like I now had a target on my back. That was a revelation!

A club like that is a sex-positive and consent-oriented space, which means that people aren’t freaking out over nudity or sexuality, and they also aren’t expressing entitlement to any that they witness. Not everyone there has perfect bodies, and nobody really cares. Although there were often various types of sexual activity taking place, usually in discrete corners, but sometimes more out in the open, lots of people went there with no intention of getting sexual with anyone — not with the person they came with and not with anyone they met there. It was simply a relaxed and friendly atmosphere where people didn’t have to play by the rules of conventional society, and a lot of people went there just for that.

In that space, where healthy sexuality was normalized, I reclaimed a lot of what had been lost to me in the years prior living in the conventional world. I started to heal from the places where an intrinsic part of my humanity had been co-opted for the enjoyment of others since I was a child and I began to feel more whole. I’ve heard from other women who have had similar experiences in such clubs. In many ways, they too found missing parts of themselves and reclaimed ownership of their sexuality as well.

There are days when I miss the club — the dressing up for a theme, figuring out how I wanted to express myself that night, and enjoying the freedom to do that openly —but in many ways, I don’t need to do that anymore. Besides the fact that we moved away to another state, I have healed and reclaimed enough of myself that I just don’t need it in the same way that I did 5 years ago.

Writing openly about my life, my sexuality, and my relationships allows me another venue for being authentic in public that I don’t even have to leave home to experience, but I’ll always be grateful for those days when I could play with hidden aspects of my persona and figure out more about who I really am in the safety and security of a club meant for swingers.

© Copyright Elle Beau 2020 Elle Beau writes on Medium about sex, life, relationships, society, anthropology, spirituality, and love. If this story is appearing anywhere other than Medium.com, it appears without my consent and has been stolen.

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