Suburban swingers: Beyond the sex
One writer — husband in tow — scopes out the scene at a surreal social club
![]() | The 1970s are over, but some things seem to be making a comeback: lava lamps, wallpaper and ... swingers. |
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The 1970s are over, but some things seem to be making a comeback: lava lamps, wallpaper, Donna Summer's concert tour and … swingers. The fascination with "the lifestyle" (as swingers fondly call it) is seeping into suburban, upper-middle-class social scenes. Over drinks and dessert, discussions once focused on home renovations and restaurant openings are giving way to talk about wife-swapping and tales of key parties down the block.
Last month, I attended an end-of-the-elementary-school-year family barbecue in my woodsy suburban neighborhood outside of Washington, D.C. Sitting with four other couples as the kids played Wii downstairs, the parents' conversations turned from second grade teacher reputations and fourth quarter grades to the rumored "swingers" parties one community over. Those of us who had heard it before had a twinkle in their eyes. Those who hadn't heard it were shocked then extremely curious. I swear every mom and dad's ears perked up and hung on every word; even the most conservative-seeming mom of the bunch pepped up.
Fast forward to another dinner party one weekend later. A woman I'd just met went on and on about the new "Swingtown" television series (which airs on CBS). "You have to watch it. It isn't that good, but I am totally sucked in," she said. And the topic came up again on a recent "girls night out" sushi dinner after seeing "Sex in the City." Four married, attractive, successful women/moms, we analyzed the swinger house party scenarios to death. Someone heard the people who threw the parties now had "facilitators" in there, too. What in the world for, we wondered!
Is this curiosity a throwback to the free-feeling '70s or are thirty- and forty-something married people getting restless?
Determined to unravel the mystery, I got myself an invitation to a swingers club. For one night, I was told I would have access to the entire club and get introduced to women who could answer my overriding questions of "why do you do it?" and "how can you do it?" The mystery began to unravel at every turn, down every hallway, and in between the many stares and smiles of strangers.
The Tabu Social Club in Catonsville, Md., is tucked behind a nondescript building and a 7-11, but once you see the blue awning with a fancy "T" you know you're in the right place. I remember marveling at how their elaborate black iron gate gave the entryway an almost regal quality. A bit shaky as I climbed the steps of the building, I braced myself for what I might find. For all the talk and joking around I had done with friends about this subject, coming face to face with the lifestyle could be something else altogether.
My husband came with me. He was more scared than I was! I encouraged him to have a few extra margaritas at the restaurant beforehand so he would relax a bit — but that didn't help him much. I had offered to take a girlfriend instead of him but that was quickly rebuffed with a "no way!" So there he was, reluctantly.
A huge bowl of Dum-Dum lollipops set me straight. They sat at the check-in desk, a sight so familiar to me from my sons' pediatrician appointments and dry cleaner visits. How odd they were here, I thought. This gave me some strange level of comfort to continue on.
The outgoing owners, Vicki and Rick, looked like people I might run into at a health club or local take-out joint. They greeted me warmly and introduced me and first-time member couples to our "tour guides." A nice, friendly couple happily approached us and calmly began the tour as if we were checking out a model home or tourist attraction. When they suggested we start downstairs, the newbies and I followed them down a well-lit but long and narrow stairway full of fear. I imagined what sights I would see at the end. Some kind of orgy? Group sex rooms in full force? Whips and chains? Some scene out of a movie?
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