When you’re standing in a room with bras thrown on palm trees, 20 feet of porno playing on the wall behind the bar, and the person closest to your own age is 10 years your senior (and still trying to hit on you), you know you’re in for one hell of a night.

A bamboo door was the only thing separating me from a world I did not know existed so close to my home. Maybe I was just naïve, but this lifestyle of group sex and multiple partners had never even crossed my mind. My biggest fear as I walked into a popular South Philly swingers’ club was possibly seeing a friend’s parents on a sex swing. I walked in and saw red lights hanging from the ceiling, giving the room a warm sensual energy. To my left were two hot tubs and a large group shower made of clear glass for optimal viewing pleasure. In the center was the group sex area, which reminded me of a ball pit in a McDonald’s. Only there were no balls in it...yet. Nearby were the semi-private sex rooms. They were doorless and decorated like windowless tiki huts. In each room were beds stocked with everything you could need. In fact, everywhere I looked there were sanitation wipes. Further left was the “juice bar,” (swingers’ clubs are BYOB). There was a dance floor with tables lining it and in the back was the kitchen. Word on the street is that the “wing ding dongs” are excellent.

The hostess at the club took me over to the bar where she gave me a complimentary Coors Light. She told me that if I needed condoms at any point in the night I could go ask the people at the coat check.

“I used to leave bowls of them out but people would always steal them,” she admitted.

A cloud of smoke hung over the bar and through it I could see pornography playing on the wall via old school projection equipment. I had never seen genitalia so large before. The other walls were painted with half-dressed women in loin cloths and phallic symbols.

I began to get more comfortable as the bar got more crowded. One couple, Mr. and Mrs. Love, sat down and introduced themselves to me. They were dressed like any other couple in their mid-30’s out at a bar would be -- jeans and a polo for him, heels and a black top for her. Mr. Love is a DJ. And a licensed minister. His wife is an optometrist. The next weekend at the club’s Valentine’s Day party, Mr. Love would be marrying people. Mrs. Love then mentioned her two children -- ages five and seven.
Swinging began in the 1950’s and has progressed into an accepted lifestyle thanks to the help of Internet groups and online chats. The World Wide Web is how most swinging couples meet.

According to Actualswingers.com, most swingers are married couples in the age range of mid-20’s to late 30’s. The same site says that a recent study done confirms that up to 20 percent of couples have tried swinging.

Friends of the Loves soon arrived and I was promptly introduced to the Extremes. They were also your average 30-something couple, though dressed a bit more provocatively. Mrs. Extreme’s shirt ensured you saw every bit of cleavage she had to offer.

Mr. Extreme asked me if it was my first time at the club. He assured me that it was like any other bar I’d ever been to. Only there, I could do “whatever the fuck I wanted.” Mrs. Extreme began to chat with me about the fun they had last weekend with the Loves. They had traveled to Delaware for some kind of swingers’ fest. Mrs. Love said the details were a bit hazy; they started drinking at three in the afternoon on Saturday and didn’t stop for the whole weekend. She assured me that there were some great photos, though, and proved it by pulling one out of her purse to show me. It was of her husband and Mrs. Extreme. Mr. Love wasn’t wearing pants and Mrs. Extreme’s face was in his crotch.

Mr. Extreme wandered back into our conversation and assured me it would be an evening to remember. He mentioned that several more of their friends would be arriving soon. Mrs. Extreme proudly told me that their clique was the “in crowd” at the club. She said to stick with them and I was sure to have a good time.

Slyly, Mrs. Extreme told me, “If any creepy people bother you, let me know. We’ll take care of it.”

I felt much more comfortable being in their group than I had sitting at the bar alone. They entertained me with tales of their wild nights. One night Mr. and Mrs. Love had a party and one of their friends got so drunk he punched a hole in their ceiling. Mrs. Extreme told them they needed to have another party soon.

Mr. Love responded with the ever-so-casual “only if you suck my dick.”

Everyone chuckled. Comments like these are not uncommon in swingers clubs. Mr. Love’s delivery wasn’t harsh or malicious. It was just an ordinary response in a decidedly unordinary setting.

The Loves and the Extremes welcomed me into their clique and acted as if I had been their friend forever. Everyone else in the club came up and said hi. It was strangely reminiscent of sitting at the “cool kids” table in the middle school cafeteria.

As the drinks flowed and the flirting intensified, Mrs. Love and Mr. Extreme were deep in conversation.

Mrs. Love then looked at me and said, “Mr. Extreme always feels like a pedophile when he’s with me because I’m only 4’11”.” I giggled nervously.

“Yeah, she’s pretty tiny and it weirds me out because I’m not into children,” Mr. Extreme said.

As the night wound down for me, it was just heating up for the rest of the patrons. People began to unlace their shoes and head for the tiki rooms. I decided it was time for me to leave. Walking out I caught a glimpse of naked people getting it on.

And all this for only a 30-dollar membership.