The Lifestyle
C October 1, 2007

This is the story of my weekend at The Estate.

You have not heard of it. It is not advertised, nor promoted save within a special sub-culture that lurks within every neighborhood, even yours. The residents of Charlotte, North Carolina hardly know it’s there, though it does enjoy a certain level of fame, even sequestered away off the main roads, behind a fairly nondescript wooden gate.

Visitors to The Estate are fond of saying they’re involved in ‘The Lifestyle,’ capital letters implicit in the message, though what exactly ‘The Lifestyle’ means is open to interpretation. For some, it means participating in a sexually charged playground, whether that means voyeurism or full-swap. For others, it just means knowing how to have a good time, and not being ashamed for it. Most would respond well to being called perverts, albeit jokingly, but that’s not it either.

If you haven’t figured it out, I went to a swingers’ club.

Mostly what The Lifestyle entails is simple freedom of expression. We humans have been blessed with infinite variations to the sexual experience, and endless ways to be creative.

For me, no wooden gate has ever been so intimidating. I had some idea what lie on the other side, although as in all instances of fantasy intruding on reality, the experience was both more and less than I ever could have dreamed. In this case, the gates to Eden were flung open at about 8 p.m. Friday night and stayed open until 8 a.m. on Sunday. Paradise only happens on weekends.

I had heard rumors of an angel with a flaming sword standing watch over the forbidden fruit. All we got today was a police officer parked just outside the fence with a big happy dog in the car.

“Coming back for more?” he said, friendly-like, as we pulled up to his window.

I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind, with a job like this. Was he cataloging the perverts? Was he trying to figure out what the conservative-looking gentleman in the suit was really into? Did he harbor any fantasies of his own, and had he seen the inside of this place?

Idly, I also wondered how often he got toyed with. A decent looking guy like him in a police uniform could probably get a lot of action if he tried. Maybe there was even someone willing to take care of the dog.

We told him this was our first time and he said to have a good time. He didn’t seem to be checking ID’s, but he did move his head as though inspecting our vehicle. Most likely it was just a show of force to help us feel protected. Then I told him he had a nice dog and he said thanks and waved us in.

Aside from a rather enormous dirt extension on the parking lot, The Estate looked a lot more like someone’s home than it did like any club I’ve ever seen. Another privacy fence appeared around a pool in the backyard, a locked side-door led into the kitchen and a cement walkway stemmed off the driveway onto the porch. The aluminum siding and few tasteful potted plants screamed American suburbanite, and if the house looked a tad big, we didn’t notice because we were seeing only one side.

The inside did little to put aside this idea. Sure, they had me sit on a folding chair in the foyer and fill out some paperwork about myself, then they checked my ID at a small cash register on the front desk, but beside it was a comfortable looking, carpeted stairway leading upstairs. I began to seriously wonder if someone lived here during the week and only transformed it for these parties.

Then the tour began. An older black lady came and introduced herself and began politely guiding us around the establishment, first taking us through the dance floor where a DJ booth was set up in the corner playing 80’s music. Even this might have been a converted living room, with the furniture gone and the carpet ripped up. At 8 o’clock there were not many couples on the floor, most of the ones I saw were seating at the tables all around the place sharing drinks. A few eyed the stripping pole wistfully, and I wondered what kind of fun things happened here on a busier night.

Bypassing the strobe over the dance floor, we marched past a row of booths and a dinner buffet, which was really just an ordinary kitchen counter with a few dishes set out on it. I might have expected some kind of sexual pun included with the food, but there was roast pork, lemon chicken and a few vegetable side-dishes set out with some good rolls and really excellent chocolate cake for desert.

A bartender in the corner took our Bacardi Silver and put it in the freezer box. You had to bring your own alcohol to this party, though mixers were free if you wanted one. That bartender would disappear later in the night, after which the bar became self-serve, which suited everybody just fine.

A door in the far wall might have been a kitchen, but that was the one part of the house all the couples seemed to avoid looking at, as though by instinct. To go through that door was to begin to break down the fantasy and observe the hard work that really went into running a place like this, from the food constantly being served to the sheets that constantly needed changing (you know why). Even the main computer bank of guest files might have been back there, or a central office. I don’t know because I didn’t ask, and I don’t know of anyone who would want to.

We next crossed a billiards room with two free pool-tables and some chairs and benches, around which gathered a diverse crowd of some of the friendliest looking people. Most clung together in couples, some old and some young, but the hungry glint in their eye meant we were all in on the same joke.

Some were less shy than others about introducing themselves, but through all this there was no inappropriate touching of any kind. Gentleman were gentleman and ladies were treated like ladies, and every one of us knew that our creative freedom, as it were, hinged on a common decency and respect held for one another. It might have been any other bar, at least until they got to know you and what your limits were.

Beyond the billiard room there were men’s and women’s restrooms, and then a much larger room which held another bar and a costume boutique for that little extra spice. To the left were three hot Jacuzzis where couples could relax naked, although a strict no-sex policy in the water was enforced. There was also a patio door to the heated pool outside, a locker room down the hall and at the end of it, a movie room with several fluffy couches and a big-screen TV playing several different channels of porn.

Smaller TV’s mounted to the ceiling in every room played the same porn. I also note with some irony that while the men were noticeably free with their bodies, the door to the women’s restroom always remained closed, as though hiding an even bigger secret than the society we now enjoyed. Modesty, it seems, must always receive lip service.

Now it was time to tour the upstairs. We walked back through to the dance-floor, where the main stairwell was tucked away out of view from the dancers. At the top, yet another security guard waited outside yet another locker room, for those who choose not to walk naked through the dance floor. This happened more and more frequently as the night went on.

The main reason for this was that an extension of the hallway, to the right of the stairs, was specifically marked off for those going nude, in towels or underwear only. No street clothes allowed. Very few rooms lined this hallway, but at the end it opened out into one large room with no less than eight beds, all pushed together to form two super-beds. A bench lined the wall for those merely trying to warm up for activity, and I politely termed this the “hospitality” room in order to avoid embarrassment.

The remainder of the floor, that part open to people in street clothes was less interesting, if “less-interesting” can even apply to a place like this. There were several rooms of various sizes and decorations with doors you could lock or not, at your pleasure, and mattresses in some cases big enough for ten people.

A bathroom was conveniently located along this hallway, complete with shower for those who insist on cleanliness before or after sex. Or, one can imagine, during.

Speaking of cleanliness, I need not mention that condoms were freely available in baskets located in each room and the main hallway. Whatever other rules a couple might abide by, protection was always a must.

Have more than a few people complain about you, for being too aggressive or otherwise acting like an ass, and it was much easier to escort you outside than risk keeping you around.

Other than these strictly enforced rules of common decency, rules were determined individually by the couple partaking in the festivities. A lot was dependant on how much they trusted each other, how experienced they were or what they’re particular kinks were, but I noticed several different varieties of individuals.

My girlfriend Veronica, who introduced me to the Estate, and I were of the “same room, same bed” philosophy, which I would like to think was the norm. As stated, this generally involved making arrangements with another couple to have sex adjacent to and in full view of one another.

Those more skilled at this type of arrangement seemed to have worked out how to get all four, or even more, involved at the same time. I’ve witnessed a single woman being suckled by three or four different men, women pleasuring with their upper and lower halves at the same time, and other even odder arrangements.

The ones that pissed Veronica off the most were those interested in what was called “soft swap” This was generally due to the female’s insistence that no other woman’s vagina was allowed to be around her man, and involved whatever stimulation you could get out of fingers and lips, but no genital to genital sex.

As a general rule, couple integrity was not to be broken. Or, as Veronica put it, you know who you come in with, and that’s the person you’re going to leave with. This was slightly awkward for me, at the time, not considering myself part of a real “couple,” but it made it easier that I realized everyone else was playing by the same rules.

In its own way, it adds to the intimacy of the activity. Such places could not exist if the couples didn’t trust each other, and when the bond is strong enough there’s a kind of emotional high from having participated in something like this with someone you love.

As for myself I can only confess I was in it for the fleshy pleasures, but Veronica described to me a feeling of being “surrounded by love.” She felt she knew me, and knew the pleasure the girl I was with was feeling, because she had known it herself. Meanwhile, she was being pleasured and pleasuring herself, and all with her acceptance.

Then again, she has voyeuristic tendencies I do not.

Singles were far away from the norm, but they did happen. Single gentlemen were permitted only on Friday nights, usually either well-known husbands who came without their wives just to enjoy the atmosphere, or visibly immature characters who just want to get laid. In general, the same variety of guys you might find alone in a lingerie store.

Females were wildcards, though if you have been at all closed to the club atmosphere, it’s not hard to predict they are more prevalent. First of all, the management generally tries to attract females to a place so men will pay to get in, where the reverse is rarely true. Secondly, it’s the female in any pair who arranges good relations with another couple, apart from allowing her favorite man to have a membership. Here, at least, the ladies really do have the control.

Of those single females at all interested in sex, more than a few were on the prowl for a girl-girl experience. Then there were the few just looking for something to stir their juices after desperation had all but dried them. These ran the gamut from pushy to just plain sad, and are to be avoided. The majority of single ladies, itself a minority, were there to enjoy the dancing and friendship in ways only a female could possibly consider.

Not that there weren’t pleasures to be had in the non-carnal department.

Each room had its own joys to offer. My particular choice was the pool hall, where you could play friendly games against all kinds of people. Being with Veronica, I alternated between the dance floor and the pool hall, each with their own crowd. The pool and Jacuzzi bar I more or less left alone. I don’t like getting wet.

But as with any place, what matters most is the people. And I have to say, the people are great. Swingers, by nature, have to be social and accepting of alternative lifestyles. These were some of the friendliest people I’ve ever met, whether or not they were interested in you sexually. Sometimes they were just fun to share a drink with.

Stare too close and the illusion breaks down, but I suppose that’s only to be expected. The Estate seemed prone to cliquishness, as bad as in any high school. The crowds I mentioned, in the pool room, the dance floor and the Jacuzzi bar, seemed more or less impenetrable crowds where everyone knew everyone else. And, as you might expect, the really good looking people had their own table and only talked to each other.

It took Veronica and I several more visits to really become accepted as one of the pool hall people, and I think that’s mostly because Veronica flirted with some of the movers and shakers. I’m ashamed to say that we didn’t make much especial effort to be nice to newcomers, and that I think should be the most important part of any club.

Remember that people, especially people with unique enough minds to participate in this subculture, always have their own issues. But also remember that they’re there to be social. Like any good strip club, you try to leave your issues at the door.

I’d like to make one last anecdote before signing off, one which is descriptive of the nature of The Lifestyle and at the same time, I think, one of the coolest things that has ever happened to me.

After spending several hours rotating through the crowd on the first floor, making some headway with people, but no real unfreezing on our first night, Veronica and I retreated to the upstairs. We could have gotten a room to ourselves, but that seems to defeat the purpose of the place, so I insisted we go into the “hospitality room.” If nothing else, I wanted to see what everyone else was up to.

I can’t recall if the bed was full or empty. It seems to me there may have been anywhere between two and four couples pumping away or wrestling in the corners of the bed. And then there were of course the spectators, those men and women occupying the perpetually occupied bench. The Spectators: those not yet willing to get involved.

Obviously, Veronica and I didn’t let this stop us from getting down to business. We claimed one edge of the bed and began wrestling in our normal fashion. I’d like to be able to say the spectators had no effect on our performance, but it did. It made it even better.

I hate to have you readers delving into that part of my psychology, but there it is. Having an audience watching Veronica and I go at it only made me feel like I was performing for someone. It made me feel more attractive and more of a man, that I could draw a crowd like this. And suddenly, I wasn’t just doing it for Veronica. I was doing it for everyone in the room.

At some point another couple laid down next to us on the bed. I thought nothing of it, not yet being familiar with the rules any couple played by. I didn’t know if they came from the stands, or just walked into the room. I didn’t know why they picked that spot. If I looked at them at all, it was only because I was performing for them. Other than that, it slid from my mind.

The girl smiled at me, blissfully, while she was being eaten out. I smiled back. Maybe she was the type of girl who liked to watch other couples. Maybe she wanted to dream of me while she was with her husband. That somehow made it even better.

I smiled back, and continued in my work. Next thing I knew, the girl was reaching over and stroking my hips as I bucked into Veronica. Now my interest was well and truly piqued. While Veronica panted and heaved beneath me, I reached out and grabbed this mystery girl’s tit. Her smile said she approved.

I can’t even describe what happened next. I don’t know if there was a look, or a nod, or a signal of any sort. I all knew was that we were flipping, rotating actually. Some silent, invisible referee had called “switch”.

In the blink of an eye, I found myself in position between the mystery girl’s legs. I started to go forward, and that was when she reared back and away from me. At first I thought I had done something wrong, and that was when I realized I had no condom.

(Veronica is tied up in back, so I don’t need one.)

Her husband jumped off the bed and rushed over to one of the courtesy pots. Grabbing a condom, he flew back to the bed and held it out for me. It was as if he was asking me to please fuck his wife. It was incredibly odd, and I didn’t know either of their motivations. I didn’t know, but I was going to oblige.

I’m going to tactfully refrain from describing the act itself. Assuming you aren’t already gagging over the sordid details of my now “R” rated fantasy, though it happened exactly this way, putting it in true complete detail would make it well and truly rated “X.”

I also have to admit I lost track of Veronica during this period. She later informed me she had to refuse a few advances by men other than the lady’s husband, and she may have sucked a dick or two. I didn’t know and, if I’m honest, I didn’t and don’t care. I was doing what I arrived there to do, and by God I would do it.

I finished up, grabbed my shorts and stumbled to the bathroom, as men a prone to do. I used the urinal, glanced at myself in the mirror and flexed, then went back to check on Veronica.

On the way back down the hall, I passed, headed in the opposite direction, the very girl I had just fucked. She smiled at me, a very strange smile considering the situation. It was satisfied, and a little knowing.

For a moment I thought about saying something, but what could I say? “Thanks?” “What’s your name?”

Then I realized I didn’t really want to know her name. It didn’t matter. I had never heard this girl’s voice, I didn’t know a thing about her, and I wouldn’t recognize her again if I saw her. In all likelihood, I would never see her again. And yet we had just shared something incredibly special that had left both of us feeling better than we had before.

So I walked back to Veronica, and I didn’t look back.