It sounds like the opening of a bad joke, really. "So a Jewish girl walks into a sex club..." But I did. I went to a sex club (to be fair, not solo, but with my then-boyfriend) and came out the other end, if not, um, totally satisfied, then at least a little more enlightened than when I had first walked in.
This whole "expectation versus reality" is a thing which has fascinated me for years. Because we ALL FUCKING DO IT. Whether any of us like to admit it or not, let alone be conscious that we are, we all share this detrimental habit of creating, and living in, our own fantasies. I don’t mean casual daydreams or benign mind-wanderings: fantasy can be a marvelous and powerfully positive thing. It can motivate us, help us shape our goals and dreams, and even, well, get us off.
I'm talking about, for example, how, hey - remember when that guy you really like didn't text you back that time for three days, even though he normally texts you back within minutes? How did those three days go for ya? I can tell you how they would normally have gone for me in the past: 72 hours of coming up with ALL THE REASONS WHY and driving myself absolutely fucking nuts trying to figure it out. Or how about how when you start dating someone and everything is fucking perfect and beautiful and how is it possible - they are all you want! And more! And then it all goes to shit, right? Because far too often, we aren't dating who someone is, we are dating who we want them to be - stubbornly sticking to our ideals and practically refusing to see the real person. And as time passes and the veil falls off, things don't "go to shit" so much as they "become a reality".
It's so, so goddamn easy to fall into fantasy; to create our little stories in our minds and project the crap out of them on to everything and everyone around us. It's easy to live in that place because in its own weird way, it feels safe and almost natural. But it's not living. Something I stress in my writing, and in life, is the value and necessity of self-awareness while also living in reality / in the moment. And it's tough, because often, who we really are, and what reality really is, isn't who we want to be, nor what we want to see. We can't imagine that he didn't text back because he simply lost his charger. We don't want to accept that we're dating yet another person it won't work out with. So, many of us stay in fantasy land. But it is so much more exciting and interesting when you stop and get into real life. Yeah, sure, things suck and get harder and aren't nearly as pretty, but, hey, even if you don't grow and evolve as a human, you may just wind up at a sex club on a total whim. I don't know if that's goals exactly, but it makes for a heck of an interesting story. Which leads us to...
The most recent example I lived, of this “expectation versus reality” phenomenon. It came and slapped me in the face harder than, ahem, anything else ever has (I'm looking at you, anonymous peens) during the night I went to a sex club. Oh, the irony that no dick-to-face slappage actually happened on this particular eve, but hey, you gotta pick your battles, right? So how did I manage to wind up at one, anyway? I suppose since it's me we're talking about, that's probably not the one burning question you have, but. A couple of months before the night of these events, I had found myself heavily involved in a whirlwind of an intensely romantic relationship. One of the things this man and I shared, if nothing else, was our view on sex, and sex in the confines of a committed, monogamous couple. In short: we were both self-described whores, and if not entirely-reformed whores, then at least whores who wanted to be more and share more with the opposite sex than just being a whore. (Yes, that was an unintentional yet decidedly happy wink to the Supertroopers “meow” game.) Point is, as much as we had both realized in the months leading up to our meeting that we wanted substance in any future partnerships, we still had our mutually insatiable and indefatigable sexual appetites to deal with, too. Finding and having each other seemed to be working out beautifully, for both of us- we each needed it, all the time, and were now with a partner who, too, had an unquenchable thirst.
Now, I do not bring all this up to make you feel badly about your sex lives, nor to tout myself as some sex goddess (although...) But it is important to know that both my then-boyfriend and myself were totally on the same page, sexually. If there was anyone I felt super secure with, safe, accepted and desired by, it was him. And same for him with me. But it was interesting, how differently, as it turns out, that both of us approached and went into a situation as sexual as this one.
I went into it something like this:
The Boyfriend, let’s call him, “9 Inches” - haha, no, I kid. I mean, I don’t really kid, but let’s call him, “Arnold”, casually mentions, ”Hey, wanna go to a sex club tonight?" I immediately respond with, "Sure, let's go!", despite the fact that the last thing I'm picturing is a bevy of pornstar-doppelgangers that will tooootally be there, and tooootally wanna bang both of us. I am dating someone who is down for whatever, I'm down for whatever, neither of us have ever been to a sex club, and Arnold is someone I would feel good about trying it with. Would it be fun if the place was packed with smoking hot couples and singles open and willing to try anything? Of course. But, seeing as it was:
a) a Wednesday, and
b) a Wednesday,
I have my doubts. Does it really even matter though? Not at all, potential hot people or not. I just wanna try something new.
And... I'm pretty tipsy.
Arnold, on the other hand, went into it something like this:
1) I really want a FFM threesome, and Elena has said again and again that she's totally down,
2) We've been trying to find a third for weeks to no avail,
3) I also really want to have sex with Elena right now, but we already got kicked out of the last bar for trying to in the bathroom, so...
4) Let's just go to a sex club and kill two birds, right?
5) I bet there are gonna be hot people there, and Elena is so hot all the hot girls are going to want her.
I'd say I'm exaggerating his inner monologue but - I'm not.
So there were Arnold's expectations, shallow as they may be. Though to be fair, he was blinded by a burgeoning boner and his libido. And jesus, I still find it a little ridiculous how hot he thought I was. But, yes. His reality check was over and done with rather quickly: as it turned out, of course there weren't any smoking hot people at this random sex club on a WEDNESDAY.
My reality check, that I didn't even realize would be coming, happened later - as you'll see. Although, in hindsight, I almost wish mine was as superficial as Arnold's was. So what if there are no hot people to look at? If that was the worst news of the night for me, it'd be super easy to accept and adjust to. But unfortunately, I would up coming face-to-face with learning something more about my sexual self, and - gasp - boundaries, with someone I love. And it wasn't an easy thing to confront, nor accept. That's easily the hardest part of leaving behind the "living in fantasy" mindset, and being in the moment. You have to deal with a lot of things about yourself that you don't necessarily want to, are almost always, aren't ready to. But based on my experiences, that's one of the only real, real ways to grow as a person.
Anyway, after a quick perusal on Google (yes, we googled "sex clubs”, because no, he didn’t, like, have a list of places to go - I say this because people have asked if he did), several options popped up, and we picked one out based on location (yes, very practical.) We were out the bar in a beat and in a cab within minutes. One short ride later, we had arrived at The Sex Club (and no, that's not the actual name.) Our destination was nondescript yet not, nearly hidden up some short steps on a street lined with endless and darkened shiny-windowed businesses. It had the facade of a brownstone, and its front steps led directly to the main entrance door, while a flag with the club's name was fluttering slightly in the nighttime's gentle summer breeze. We walked up those steps, off and away from the sidewalk, and seemingly, the world. Before pulling open the heavy door, we both looked at each other, chuckling a bit: we were really doing this.
We walked inside, and found ourselves in a dimly, lavender-lit vestibule. To the left was a window, blocked off by sliding glass, with a girl seated inside of it. ”Like a movie ticket booth," I thought, "Welcome to the show, indeed." The girl politely explained that this was a couples-only club, and the price for entry was $120 per couple, to be paid in cash only. Arnold and I went to the side to have an aside. "Couples only, hmmm", he said. I didn't know how much of a difference it would make, couples or not. I was here, and I was ready to have an experience and say yes to goddamn everything. You know that zone. After some brief discussion, we decided: let’s go in.
I paid the ticket girl, and we turned to go inside (though not before Arnold asked her, "There's a bar, right?”)
And so in we went. We opened the small doors out of the vestibule and into the club. It was a weird and broad room to walk into: ridiculously-neon colored soft lights were everywhere, like a cheesy, bad 80's-nightclub. There was a tiny bar, seriously, 3 bottles of liquor maybe, with drinks being served in plastic cups. The room was decorated with furniture akin to a school cafeteria: tons of little formica tables and chairs. It was confusing, which direction to head in or what to do. I mean, beyond the obvious. So we did what probably anyone would do, and what there should be a Monopoly card for in life: Go Directly To The Bar.
The bartender was quite nice and poured us basically straight vodka in our “vodka sprites”. Cocktails in hand, we wandered into the depths. This strange dining room seemed to lead only one way, if not back out the exit- down a long hallway lined with dark, medieval looking doors that were all closed. Because yes, Arnold attempted to open a few, but they were locked. We walked past a bench where two extremely tall, thin, attractive blonde girls were siting, with one guy in between them. They were all clothed, but his zipper was open and they were both jerking him off. Dude was about 70 years old - no wonder he had such a shit-eating grin on his face. At the end of the hallway was a thin spiral staircase leading up, and past that, a doorway into a huge seemingly-empty room that we couldn't quite get a clear look into from where we were standing, since the windows on it had thick screens.
We went to go up the spiral stairs, when a voice stopped us. It was the locker room attendant. He made a bit of a speech, but the gist was:
- No drinks past this point, you fucking alcoholics
- This is a sex club. You kinda need to be naked if you're gonna be here.
And so we adjourned to right, into a guarded locker room. We got naked, conveniently just as another first-time couple was doing the same, so we were all able to joke a bit. I blushed slightly at the comments I was getting about my body, but, whatever. We were given towels, and, as we wrapped them around our bodies, headed back out.
It was oddly quiet, and the air felt dense. We finally were about to get a peek into that huge room at the end of the hallway. We were nearly on tip-toe as we migrated towards that doorway, and at the threshhold we proceeded to peer in like a typical nutjob nosy old lady does, into her neighbor's yard. And then it was just like, "Oh. Duh. Orgy room." A quick-once over revealed a ceiling paneled entirely with mirrors, and a huge floor lined with so many mattresses it was quite literally one massive daddy mattress - it made me think of an adult bouncy house. Bouncy House: After Dark. (Sorry, I've been watching too much How I Met Your Mother and yet I am still only good for those two play-on-words. Sad. Sad.) There were maybe 5 or 6 couples in there, max, but not mixing and matching, nor even pairing up. It was pretty much rotund, fat-roll covered dudes getting blown / having gentle make-out sessions with their partners. Like an oddly surreal, yet very real-life rubenesque painting.
Since we aren't 17th century upperclassmen, we passed on that room, and went for the spiral staircase. I was leading the way in this strange and barely-lit, live-action “Choose Your Own Adventure: Manhattan Sex Club” expedition. Upstairs was almost claustrophobic in its layout: tiny, low-ceilinged, narrow hallways, breaking off into tinier rooms, one after another, all padded with mattresses and the occasional pillow. All empty. “Where the fuck is everyone?” I found myself thinking, and coincidentally, just as we turned to maybe head back, we practically bumped into another couple. I'm telling you, it was dark in there. The guy looked at me, then asked, "Would you like to join us?"
I remember looking at his eyes, a pale and watery blue set, his round nose, and thinking of sad older-male character actors. All I remember about his wife was her very curly hair. I forget if we cracked a joke or simply silently nodded, but we wound up following this couple into one of the rooms- still tiny, but the largest of those we had seen on this floor so far.
The woman mounted, then started to caress and kiss, her dude, while I straddled and did the same with Arnold. I liked letting my towel drop, my body reveal, and how the cloth material draped around my hips as Arnold, sitting upright, pulled me towards him. As couples, we were definitely separate, but the room was small enough that there wasn't much space in between us. As my towel fell further off of my body, I felt Blue Eyes start to touch me a bit, EXTREMELY gently; it almost tickled. As the famous Matthew Mcconaughey quote goes, my brain went, "All right, all right, all right!" And then Curly Haired Wifey joined in...I didn't recoil from or stop either of their fingers on my skin, because I figured, yeah, this is what's supposed to happen here. During random and passing quick glimpses towards the doorway, I could see a lot of people starting to form a rather large group, all silent and motionless, watching us. One of the voyeurs, another couple, got tired of window-shopping and entered the room, laying down on the other side of Arnold and me.
It was a younger Asian couple, and I thought, "Oh dang, she's actually passably cute and not 600 years old - I can get into this. THANK GOD. I mean wait what, no, I was totally having a great time." Like I mentioned earlier, I wasn't going into this evening expecting anything, certainly not, "Ohhh man, I am totally going to have a hot experience with a hot woman." But... I might have maybe sort of slightly hoped. Or at least get a chance to see a really beautiful pair of boobs; I don't ask for much in life, really. Anyway, I stole looks at Asian Girl to gain an assessment of her, while she assumed the same position as us other ladies: on top of her guy, and she promptly started grinding on him. You would've thought her riding his pelvis into submission would've distracted him a bit, but holy hell, his hands were on my ass REAL QUICK. Again - I didn't think much of it, since this was, as I might have mentioned once or twice, a sex club, but I could sense that Arnold was getting annoyed, or at the least, feeling left out. So I did what any good girlfriend would do: I went in to go in on Asian Girl.
I don't know what I expected her reaction to be, but seeing as her boyfriend's hands were literally on my bare butt cheeks, I figured I could at least kiss her and she would reciprocate and a good time would be had by all. But alas. This chick reacted in the MOST ASIAN WAY I COULD HAVE EVER DREAMED OF. She literally covered her mouth, turned/bowed her head, and went, "Tee hee hee". You know. That stereotypical Asian giggle thing that everyone makes fun of. I would've laughed out loud or simply have been amazed that that JUST HAPPENED FOR REAL, but mostly I was a little insulted that she didn't want to have anything to do with my affections. Ooooookay then. Fine. Your porn is weird as fuck anyway. I'm going back to my boyfriend now.
After awhile the room emptied out, couples and watchers and all, so Arnold and I adjourned as well, back downstairs. We were recapping the actions of the last room, play-by-play, as we had each perceived it. I was right about him being annoyed with the affections and attention I was getting, and I said even I was suprised by it. Arnold admitted, "Elena, you're the kind of girl people come here hoping to see." I meeeean. Shit. Ha! I don't know how much it means to be the best of the Wednesday Night Swingers Crew. But, I'll take it.
We walked down the hallway, wondering if we were going to spot anything we really liked for the both of us, and I said, "Hey, remember those blonde girls from when we first walked in? They were cute." And closest to my type, generally speaking. And just as we turned to walk back to the cafeteria-room, we saw them. Two blonde gazelles, with legs seemingly as long as my entire body. They were still with that Old Man, and not to downplay his game, but particularly upon closer inspection I could only assume he HAD to be paying them. I can't remember the last time two girls like that would willingly and simultaneously blow a dude like him, unless it was for a career move.
I saw one of the blondes walk off, and my eyes drifted quickly back to the other one. She was wearing nothing but black lingerie, her hair cut in a short bob, laughing and playfully touching her Daddy's arm. Arnold nudged me, seeing me look at her, "Go talk to her." "No, I'm shy!" I said, still looking at her. She saw me and immediately and warmly waved to me, motioning for me to come over to her. You guys, I was like the nerdy sic-fi junior high school male geek with braces and acne in that moment. But almost as if in a hypnotic state, I made my way to her side.
She was pretty, and all smiles when we started talking. I asked her where she was from, unable to place her accent, and she said, "Portugal." I don't remember how, I think Arnold did it, but all of a sudden my towel was off. Still feeling shy, even more so seeing my fully naked body reflected in a room whose walls were covered with mirrors, I wanted to cover myself with my hands or huddle into myself. But Blondie simply gazed approvingly at me, and upon seeing my body revealed, the Old Man came over and joined in the admiring. Good god I felt gloriously awkward. Both of them were exclaiming over my body, especially my booty, practically shouting, "You must be Brazilian!" They were hilariously excited. Blondie ran her hands across my flat stomach, murmuring. She then started to bashfully hide her own stomach, saying, "I'm getting my period later this week." Leave it to the females to bond over PMS and menstrual cycles and bloating at a sex club.
She and I started dancing together, while Arnold stood on my left and her Old Man on my right, both of them watching us. Her bra came off, and I started to touch her- my hands felt slightly clunky and unsure of even how to. She was so thin and feminine, and I couldn't tell if feeling her arms around my waist were making me more or less at ease. I moved in even closer and kissed her, and her lips were remarkably soft. I wondered if she liked how I was kissing her; I've been told by women before that they think I kiss "aggressively". I've got that Italian Passion, I can't help it DAMN IT. But I tried to adjust to her style anyway, which was incredibly gentle and light, like wings to my lips, and completely not what I'm used to feeling.
Next thing I know, we're both sliding down and touching Arnold, her being coaxed by her man. She looked up at Old Man before actually doing anything to Arnold, and I could hear him give her permission. So me and her continued, both of us kissing and licking Arnold's dick. I felt my right hand, almost habitually / instinctually, latch on to Old Man's wang. To be honest, it was pretty much for leverage; I had no real intention of doing anything to him. But then he placed one of his hands on the back of my head, pressing it forward and towards his (very tiny) penis. I do NOT do, nor respond to, "The Ten Pound Hand", and I certainly wasn't going to put up with it now. But, etiquette. I pulled back and looked up at Arnold to see what he thought about this. Yeah, there were pretty much FLAMES shooting out of his eyes from fury. "Non permiso?" Old Man asked, to both Arnold and me. I hesitated, not knowing the boundaries here, but Arnold, practically choking, said, "No man, sorry." Blondie got to her feet, and the two faded off and away, into the walls.
Shortly after, Arnold and I left that room, and went to the one room we hadn't done it in: the orgy room. Our favorite Asian couple was already in there, and we lay down directly to the left of them. Once again, she was on top of her guy, riding away, moaning in her tiny, girlish, if slightly-nasal, voice. Arnold was on top of me this time, and I felt myself almost bothered at him watching her; like he was getting off on that and that alone, while he just happened to be fucking me.
It was an odd moment.
This, for me, was a particular boundary I had never really let myself, let alone needed to, explore. I know guys watch porn, check out other women, and fantasize about, well, every female they see. And it doesn't bother me, because it's human. I mean shit, I do it myself, with other men. But man, when you live it out - actually see your significant other, especially one who you're in love with, watching another girl ride another guy, right next to you, while he’s actually inside of you, and then he comes? Like...there's no way my vagina was what got him off in that climax. And it's a bizarre feeling. This was a boyfriend who never once made me feel unloved, unwanted, or anything other than fiercely and entirely desired. I had no reason to feel invisible, or that I wasn't a part of that experience in that room. And yet, for a brief and terrible instant, I did. That's when I realized MY "fantasy", my expectation, that I still hold on to. And the funny thing is, it has nothing to do with whoever my partner is or what’s going on around me, and everything to do with who I am.
I know I've resolved and moved forward from a lot of shit about myself over the years that I've discovered and had to come to terms with in order to grow. But, my sexual side, which I have come to accept is and will always be such a strong and integral part of my make-up, had never been the thing to trip me up in this way. I pride myself in being able to understand and fully accept human behavior, and live in reality while in the context of relationships and sex. But that night, I saw and experienced something I was pretty sure I was not okay with. Generally, yes: I don't like feeling invisible. I don't like feeling used. I don't like to admit that even I, sex goddess, could possibly have sexual boundaries or insecurities - its a place where I always feel strong and sure of myself. I didn't like that my mind went to "that” place, the “creating a story” place, in a sexual moment. I'm sure Arnold was getting off simply because of the whole energy of the night, not because of some random Asian chick's whiny O noises. But still. For a short pause in time, my mind dived out of reality and into a story.
But then, I dug a little more. And that’s when I remembered something I have an unfortunate tendency to do. When I feel insecure or threatened, I revert to a very bad place: where I feel ugly, unwanted, awkward, and like I fucked up, that I’m to blame for whatever happened in whatever the current situation is. Call it Jewish Neuroticism, call it whatever you want. But that’s the story I create. And what blew my mind that night is that I never, ever, ever in a million years thought sex could be the thing trigger it. Sex is one of the few places where I know I fucking own it, where my “story” has no business being and never has. The fact that an arena where I feel so sure of myself could have set off those feelings completely threw me for a loop.
But that’s the thing about fantasy: you learn to recognize it. And then and only then, can you stop it and regain control of your true reality. See your patterns, understand the stories you create, realize why you create them. And then you’ll be able to fully live in situations, in the moment, and completely enjoy them for what they are. Love, friendships, vacations, or - fuck it - even a random excursion to a sex club.
