Swingers' Saga, Part Three

Names have been changed to protect the identity of those mentioned.

And now, the final installment of the Swingers' Saga! At this point in the story, you've met John and Kiki, the captivating young Cal couple who enjoy hooking up with other couples (gasp!). They whisked me and my friend Jess off into the city to check out a swingers' club for ourselves. We spent the first half of the evening watching men and women of all ages and sizes get down to some dirrrty hip-hop, shimmy on the stripper pole and seduce other couples. Till now, the kink in my sex life had never gone further than the requisite experimentation with handcuffs/public places/whipped cream; anything voyeuristic was a little out of my league. So when "our couple" left the dance floor and headed up the stairs with another duo, my mind started racing on overdrive. I was about to watch sex actually happen, for the first time in my life. Weirdddd.

Sex should not be shared-this is a rule ingrained so strongly in us that getting caught having sex elicits discomfort or embarrassment. Likewise, the idea of watching someone having sex carries dirty or perverted connotations. Such feelings ensure that although most people will have sex many times in their life, only a select few will ever actually witness it. I don't think we fully realize this state of affairs because we consider the virtual representation of sexuality (such as porn) to be an adequate substitute. We mistake the image for the actual, believing that a symbol of sex is in fact its reality. What we fail to remember is that colored pixels on a screen can't capture the nuances of someone's flushed skin, the energy electrifying the room, drawing goose bumps from flesh.

Upstairs, Jess and I chose a perfect couch where we could watch "our couple" through a clear glass wall. Sex was everywhere-couples pressed against cushions beside us and beds across from us, sex noises and smells permeating the air. It's difficult to describe the experience properly to you. Most adjectives I could use (quivering thighs, rosebud-tipped breasts) sound like lines from a trashy romance novel, but the scene before us was a far cry from anything so fake. It was wholly, utterly real-the most genuine form of sex I had ever encountered. Jess and I marveled over how easy it was to watch. Despite the fact that we were the only ones in the room not participating, we didn't feel uncomfortable or out of place. Watching felt natural.

In the soft light of the rooms upstairs, the discrepancy between young/old, fat/skinny and gross/pretty disappeared. Once clothes were removed, everyone's bodies looked beautiful. Spots that jiggled seemed to be granted the god-given right to jiggle. Cellulite and wrinkles appeared downright normal when pressed urgently and feverishly against other bodies harboring their own flaws. The sexual energy wove like a patchwork throughout the entire scene, making what should've been ugly or strange seem sensual. "Our couple" stood out among the others-their charismatic charm had carried off the dance floor and into the bedroom. Kiki was tenderly kissing the inner thigh of the other guy, John was confidently gripping the hips of the other girl, but both of their eyes would inevitably stray to one another. They explained why later: "What makes swinging so hot isn't necessarily having a new partner. It's about seeing and appreciating your lover's sexuality from an outside perspective." At one point in the heat of the action, John glanced up and caught Jess and me peeking. We giggled uncontrollably when he shot us a cocky, self-satisfied grin and waved.

The sex didn't look hedonistic or raunchy (like porno-orgies), and Jess and I decided that we had huge crushes on the couples around us. Most of them had chosen to stick with themselves instead of swapping partners, and their sensitive movements-grabbing each other's hands, kissing each other's foreheads-exuded love. Faced with the fantastic landscape of bodies, we felt overcome with a sense of tranquil happiness and deeper connection to humanity. In Jess' words, we were having "a straight-up god-like encounter."

It's an entirely different experience to stand on the outside of sex than to be a part of it. When you're intimately involved in lovemaking, a person gets lost in the sensations that are naturally roused. But playing the role of the voyeur offers a different kind of enjoyment: aesthetic appreciation. Jess and I were watching art performed through sex, and just like good art is meant to do, it tapped us into the larger current of the world. You know, that strange feeling of a "something more" simmering under the surface of the universe, a vague sense that every bird, stone and person is linked in an inexplicable way.

However unlikely it is to find spirituality in a sex club, we did. As John and Kiki stepped out of the glass-bound room and started getting dressed, Jess and I bounded up to them excitedly. In hushed whispers, we told them, "That was so beautiful! You two are so beautiful! Sex is so beautiful!" Our joyful proclamations continued out into the night air, where John pulled Kiki into a piggy back ride and we ran through the streets of North Beach shouting and laughing.

Not such a bad way to spend a Saturday night.