By
Lisabet Sarai
[Note:
this is a repost from another blog. Furthermore, the experiences discussed date from more than a
decade ago. Apparently the club is now closed (https://www.yelp.com/biz/le-trapeze-new-york). Very sad. Still, it’s a perfect fit to the topic, so I thought readers might enjoy it anyway.]
Have
you visited a sex club?
Would
you like to?
I’m
no expert on swinging. However, I can share my personal experiences
at the famous New York sex club, Le Trapeze. My husband and I have
spent close to a dozen evenings there over the years, when we happen
to be in the city on a weekend.
Le
Trapeze does not exactly match the way such places are portrayed in
erotic romance. It's not particularly glamorous, and definitely not
dangerous. However, I don't think that you'll be disappointed either.
Le
Trapeze is less well known than Plato's Retreat, but I believe that
it dates from the same era, the swinging seventies. There's a
nondescript door on East 27th Street with a sign—the
name but nothing more. When you enter, there's a kiosk to your left.
You'll be asked for your membership card and the substantial entry
fee. Everything's on a first name only basis. Entrance is restricted
to couples or the occasional threesome; single males are prohibited.
There's
a buzz and you pull the door open, stepping into a world where you
just might be able to realize your fantasies.
The
light is pleasantly dim, with a flattering rosy tinge. Rock music
with a heavy bass thumps in the background. Ahead of you is a counter
with a coat check and a bowl of free condoms. A nude soft sculpture
angel swings on a trapeze over the head of the smiling clerk. To
your right you'll find a dance floor complete with a twirling disco
ball, surrounded by couches which are occupied by people in various
stages of undress. A TV on the wall displays adult movies, a
never-ending parade of penetrations to get you in the right mood. To
your left is the bar and buffet—no alcohol is served, although
you're welcome to bring a bottle, but the entry fee includes soft
drinks and all you can eat.
Of
course, you're not thinking much about food.
If
it's your first time, Len, the manager, will give you a tour. He's a
friendly bear, with a powerful body, curly gray hair, and a relaxed
manner. He leads you down a corridor lined with closed doors.
“Private rooms,” he says. “No one will disturb you if the door
is shut.” The area at the end of the corridor includes a kind of
mezzanine, a raised platform shielded by a wrought iron barrier, the
floor strewn with mattresses. Although it's early, you can make out a
few naked forms on those mattresses, limbs entwined or humping away
with frenetic energy. You try not to stare, much as you want to.
Later, you'll come to understand that it's perfectly okay to watch.
That's the whole point.
To
the far right, Len points out the entrance to the locker room. “Rick
will give you a number. Just ask him when you want to get in to your
locker. You've both got to be there, though. Any couple who comes
together has to leave together.” This is one of the few rules at Le
Trapeze. The other one, which everyone seems to know without being
told, is “no means no”.
Next
to the mezzanine, a spiral stairway leads to the second floor. At the
foot is the entrance to the spacious orgy room, which features
wall-to-wall mattresses and a mirrored ceiling. You blush. You've
never seen so many naked people playing, not even in the porn flicks
you and your husband sometimes enjoy together.
Len
points upward. “Upstairs are semi-private rooms. Some of them
have—equipment.” When you investigate later, you find odd chairs
of twisted metal tubes, with stirrups to support spread thighs,
vaguely reminiscent of a doctor's office but offering far better
access. The “semi-private rooms”, you discover, have no doors.
They tend to be occupied by triples or quartets. The narrow hallway
running between them is crowded with naked men and women, all craning
for a view. You feel a hand weighing your breast, a hardness
brushing your rump, casual, exploratory. Do you want this? You can
say yes. You can say no. Or you can simply be silent, allowing things
to happen.
After
the tour, you can return to the locker room and strip, wrapping up in
the towel Rick hands you. Or you can stay dressed for a while,
relaxing on one of the sofas, making out and getting turned on by the
people around you.
When
we visit, I like to wear something risqué and accessible. Think
plunging necklines, fishnet stockings, high-heeled boots. So I don't
necessarily want to get naked right away. We'll settle down near the
dance floor, on one of those plush couches. My husband will slip his
hand under my miniskirt and finger me through my split crotch; I'll
loose his erection from his pants and start to stroke. I might slip
to my knees and take him in my mouth, feeling my skirt ride up my
damp thighs, deliciously aware of the lustful eyes that might be
feasting on us as I feast on his cock.
There's
no pressure. You don't have do anything, if you're not comfortable.
But there's this wonderful sense of permissiveness. You're allowed to
ogle the men and women around you—you're expected to. You don't
need to feel guilty. You don't need to torture yourself wondering if
they might be interested in a sexual encounter—it's understood,
though of course any particular individual or couple might decline
your invitations. The social constraints are relaxed. You're not
going to offend or shock someone with your desires. Everyone here is
horny.
The
physical variety of people playing at Le Trapeze is remarkable. There
are taut, athletic twenty-somethings as well as well-worn couples ten
years older than we are. Given New York's multicultural population,
you'll see complexions of every hue, buzzcuts and dreadlocks, tattoos
and piercings. There are always a few pairs who are simply drop-dead
gorgeous. My husband and I know that we're unlikely to be of interest
to them, but they're a lot of fun to watch.
About
half the times we've visited Le Trapeze, we haven't gotten involved
with anyone else. The other times, we've started with conversation
and then adjourned to a private or semi-private room. I don't really
care to be intimate with someone based entirely on a physical
attraction. In fact it's difficult for me to separate physical from
emotional attraction. As I've shared in other blogs, my husband and
I have always been interested in polyamory. We come to Le Trapeze
hoping that a connection might turn into a more enduring
relationship. So far we haven't been successful in our quest.
However, we've had some good times during the search!
You
might wonder about jealousy. How does it feel to watch your husband
having sex with another woman? How does he react when a stranger goes
down on you or fingers you to orgasm?
I
can't speak for other couples, but somehow neither of us are
bothered. We know that we're going home (or back to our hotel)
together. I have no doubt at all that I turn my husband on. The fact
that he's aroused by other women as well does not reduce his
attraction to me. The fact that I'm bisexual makes things even
easier, since we tend to have similar tastes in women.
Do
I get nervous? Certainly—pretty much every time we visit. I feel
shy and embarrassed at first. However, it soon becomes difficult for
me to distinguish the trembling of anxiety from the buzz of
excitement. The atmosphere at Le Trapeze is ripe with sex. You can't
help but feel it and react.
We
tend to end up in the orgy room on nearly every visit. Usually we're
just concentrating on each other. He'll be on top of me. Our
reflection in the mirror above us amplifies every sensation. Perhaps
a finger will trace a circle around my nipple. Unfamiliar pubic hair
will rub against my thigh. A solid, foreign cock will brush my palm
in invitation. I can accept or decline.
Or
I'll be straddling my darling, hands braced against the wall,
grinding myself against his luscious hardness. I arch my back,
knowing that in some sense we are performing, and enjoying every
instant. Perhaps there will be hands cupping my ass or stroking my
cleft. My husband feels them, too, and groans.
The
one disappointing aspect of Le Trapeze, for me, is that it is close
to 100% vanilla. Also, there's no male-male sex. In that sense, it's
quite traditional. I know that fetish clubs exist, but my husband has
zero interest in BDSM, and I wouldn't feel comfortable going on my
own. (That is something that would make
him jealous, a sexual experience that we couldn't share.)
I
guess that in this case, I'll have to continue using my imagination.
