"Do
you know what kind of place this is?" The pretty young woman at the front desk asks us as we check in and pay the $30 "couples" membership fee.
Ron
Jeremy is apparently an investor in the club, and therefore his name is used to
promote the place: “Ron Jeremy’s Club Sesso Swingers Club.” I have to say my
only hesitation in visiting Club Sesso is the Ron Jeremy affiliation. His
association evokes a certain level of sleaze and creep-factor that, upon
entering, I realize is not the vibe whatsoever. While doing my extensive Yelp research to find the best sex club in Portland, I discover that Club Sesso has 5 Stars and
all the reviews are positive and enthusiastically written by women and men in
relationships. There is a wholesome vibe to the reviews that initially
attracts me, a sense that this is simply a sex-positive environment where
like-minded people gather to have fun. The reviews are spot on.
First
of all, when we first walk in, we are greeted by a friendly, tatted young woman
who politely checks us in. Then Eileen, the “Madame” of the establishment, a
petite 70-something woman with
cropped blond-grey hair and a youthful spirit, materializes to give us the grand tour. She
also asks if we know what kind of place this is. We smile and nod. She leads us
into the small bar where several couples sip drinks and furtively glance around
to see who has just walked in. There is porn playing on a small TV near the
ceiling. The empty dance floor has two cages with poles inside and some
multi-colored directional lighting. As new members on our very first visit to
the club, our first drink is on the house. I order a Campari and soda. Best Guy
Friend asks what they have on tap. I glance up at the balcony above us where one
couple and several single guys stand separately peering down, assessing the
fresh meat. I try not to hold eye contact with anyone for too long, but enjoy
the intensity of their gazes. The sense that everyone is openly here for the
same reason cuts through some of the usual bullshit of going to a bar to find
someone to hook up with.
I think there are a
surprising number of people here for a Wednesday night, even one guy I find
pretty hot who keeps making eyes at me as he passes with his girlfriend. I hold
his gaze for a beat longer than usual. Eileen assures me that “this is
nothing” and says we should plan to come back the following night for Gang Bang
Night or Friday for Wet T-Shirt Night.
“School Girl Night is really
fun,” she says. “All the girls dress like school girls and the men dress up
like professors. It’s very sexy.”
She indicates the empty dance
floor.
“On Wet T-Shirt Night, all
the girls get in the cages. They love it.”
She informs us that her
husband, who owns the club with her, has Parkinson’s so he doesn’t make it down
so much any more.
“But when he does, I get up
on that pole and I fuck his face,” she shares nonchalantly. I want to be this
woman when I grow up. I feel immediately fond of her, not in small part because
she reminds me of my ex-boyfriend’s mother, someone who has always been one of
my grown-up heroes.
Eileen shows us the
“complimentary dinner buffet”, reminiscent of a janky school cafeteria and I
congratulate myself for ordering us a couple apps at the bar where we pre-gamed
before coming to da club. She then leads us upstairs where there is porn playing on a bigger
screen behind a bar with a mattress on the floor instead of a bartender. This
is the first "play area." All the other play areas are small separate
rooms equipped with a large mattress, several towels, and condoms scattered on
the bed like chocolates. One
smaller darkly-lit room has a sex swing. There are doors for privacy and windows where voyeurs can peek
inside if the couples inside are kind enough to open the blinds. No one is
having sex as far as we can see, but it's only 10 p.m. We can hear some distant
groaning coming from one of the private rooms, but the door and curtains are closed
and uninviting.
Best Guy Friend, who has
frequented sex clubs in Germany where he says the rooms are all open and people
fuck anywhere and everywhere, asks Eileen about this.
“Are there any rooms where
people can have sex out in the open in front of people?”
“The third floor room is all
open, but it’s closed on Wednesday nights. On Gang Bang Night, people really go
for it up there.”
“Do people ever have sex in
the bar?”
“Oh no. But on Wet T-Shirt
Night, someone might get a blow job or eaten out in one of the cages,” Eileen informs us. Apparently we’re here on the wrong night.
Eileen tells us that it’s
very important to stay active at her age, and says she pole dances regularly to
stay fit. She shows us her muscular thighs and encourages us to feel how strong
they are. We do. She talks joyfully about sex and pleasure, and about how the
city is always trying to find excuses to shut down the club.
“Really, even in Portland?” I
ask.
“People hate sex in this
country,” says Eileen matter-of-factly.
Best Guy Friend, being
German, doesn’t understand this mentality.
“America was founded by
Puritans,” I inform him.
As a fairly attractive
“couple” in the club, we attract a good amount of attention, and soon a pretty and
flirtatious African American woman is hovering close and smiling at me. I tell
her that Best Guy Friend and I are platonic friends, and she tells me, “I want
to have what you guys have with my boyfriend.” This confuses me, seeing as Best
Guy Friend and I don’t have sex. It makes more sense when I realize she has clearly
dragged her boyfriend to the club, probably because she wants to hook up with a
girl, and he’s not really into the experience. She points him out talking to
another guy that I guess is trying to pick them up. She repeats several times,
meaningfully, “I would rather hook up with you than that guy, I’m actually
pretty into girls.” I play a little dumb because I don’t want to get sucked
into whatever weird energy is going on between her and her boyfriend.
The hot guy and his girlfriend
are still meandering around, him catching my eye every time he passes. I point
them out to Best Guy Friend.
“Maybe we can swing with them,”
I suggest.
“She’s not interested in me,”
he says. She doesn’t seem very interested in the club in general and isn’t
checking anyone out, or even really looking around at all. I wonder if there’s
ever a case when one partner isn’t dragging the other one into this experience.
A young heavy-set girl with a
long-standing membership to the club takes it upon herself to be our hostess
for the evening. She also up-sells the Wet T-Shirt Night and encourages me to partake because: “you have great tits.” Still, no one is having sex publicly,
which is slightly disappointing for a sex club. I’m struck by the fact that it’s probably
much smarter to bring someone you're actually fucking rather than your platonic
best friend (duh) and marvel at how even the couples who would choose to come
to a sex club on a Wednesday night are still shy about doing it in front of
people. I think about how my ex-boyfriend and I would have cleaned up in our
heyday.
An attractive, wiry Israeli Dude
introduces himself. He is from Tel Aviv and works in New York and is in
Portland for business. He invites me and Best Guy Friend outside to smoke weed
out of his Audi. As we stand there smoking, I complain that no one’s having sex
and he says meaningfully, “If you want something to happen, you have to make it
happen.” Best Guy Friend raises his eyebrows at me: a challenge.
When we return from outside,
everyone’s spirits have lifted somewhat because “a girl is being tied up
upstairs.” Our hostess leads us up the stairs to where a big-breasted woman is standing
on the mattress behind the bar, her arms over her head, tied up and blindfolded.
A large man with rainbow-colored hair is smacking her ample ass. She writhes
with pleasure and anticipation as he teases her, methodically perusing a selection
of tools he might use on her.
“This is called a scene,” explains
our hostess. “When you’re tied up and blindfolded, your senses are heightened
and you have no control, leading to a feeling of euphoria.”
“You’re the hostess with the
mostess,” I say stupidly. Best Guy Friend laughs and rolls his eyes. The large
man lubes up a dildo and starts fucking the woman with it, and I find myself
giggling like an embarrassed school girl as I watch this very private moment
made public. Soon the woman is untied and the scene is apparently over.
Club Sesso allows single guys
in (most swingers clubs don’t), so there are a lot of random dudes slinking
around in the shadows, watching and waiting. There is a sense that everyone is
waiting for something to happen, and I get impatient with this. Flirtatious
woman is still hovering nearby, so I try to encourage her and her reluctant boyfriend
to grab a room and have sex so we can watch. I also attempt to volunteer our
hostess. She says she’s more of a “watcher.”
Israeli Dude keeps repeating in my ear, “If you want something to happen, you have
to make it happen.”
Finally, the hot guy and his
girlfriend start getting it on in the corner of the upstairs room. Literally
everyone in the club (mostly dudes) gathers around to watch. I feel almost
uncomfortable watching them because everyone else is. My instinct is to give
them their privacy.
“They want us to watch,” says
Best Guy Friend, a sex club etiquette aficionado.
The hot guy puts down a towel
on a couch in the corner of the hang out area and his girlfriend crawls on top
of him and starts slowly moving up and down.
I suddenly realize that many
couples must come here just to get turned on so they can then go off and fuck
each other in private, rather than actually coming here to find someone new to
have sex with. This idea bores me, and I decide to be part of the change.
Israeli Dude keeps casually
suggesting, “we should just get a room.” I agree. We should. We start trying to
negotiate which room, but I can feel every guy in the room watching me trying
to pick a place to fuck, which makes me self-conscious.
“We should do the swing
room,” Israeli Dude suggests.
“Okay,” I say. Go big or go
home.
Flirtatious woman follows us,
ingratiating herself. “Can I join?”
“Sure!” exclaims Israeli Dude.
But I’m not sure I’m ready for my first public sex experience to also be my
first threesome experience, and this girl’s cloying energy is kind of annoying
me. She’s asked me about a hundred times what Campari is, and even after I’ve
explained it to her and let her taste my drink and she’s made a disgusted face, she
continues to ask: “But what is
Campari?!”
“Maybe later?” I suggest.
“Okay,” she negotiates, “when
you’re ready, give me a sign and I’ll knock on the door and you let me in.”
I vaguely agree to this plan
and push her out the door. I open the curtains on both sides so people can
watch. Immediately, a sea of male faces fill the two large windows. Best Guy
Friend stands off to the side with an amused smile on his face.
We start to kiss and Israeli
Dude tastes like beer and weed.
“You’re about to see a lot of
tattoos,” he tells me.
He takes off my shirt and his
own. We make out and try to negotiate how we’re going to have sex in this
bed-less room we’ve chosen.
“Let’s get you in the swing,”
he says.
Why the hell not? He puts my
legs up in the straps and I’m amused by the fact that I’m now spread-eagle in
front of a bunch of strange men. I can check that one off my Bucket List! He
starts to eat me out, which probably looks sexier than it feels as I try to
balance my ass on the straps so that I don’t unceremoniously fall out of this
contraption. My skirt is still on and I try to free my legs so I can get it
off. He tries to help.
“You need to take my legs
out,” I inform him. I’m glad the guys watching can’t hear our negotiating from
behind the glass. I imagine this is reminiscent of what it must feel like to shoot a porno. He frees me and I stand up.
Skirt comes off. Now I’m standing in boots and a bra, and that’s it. I go down
and start to suck on him.
Then, he gets me up against
the wall and eats me out again, and he’s good at it and I much prefer this to
the swing. I arch my back, aware of my audience. Best Guy Friend tells me later
that at this point the guys outside were yelling for Israeli Dude to take off
my bra, but we couldn’t hear them. Eventually, bra does come off and I bend
over the straps so he can take me from behind. As he does this, I am facing the
side window and can see many faces peering in at me. I avoid their gazes.
“What do you want me to do?” Israeli
Dude keeps asking. At this point, I feel like I’m kind of done and ready to
call it a night.
“I want you to come,” I say.
He doesn’t.
I straighten up and we make
out again. I lean into him, laughing.
“There are so many people
watching us.”
He asks again what I want and
I say, “I think I’m good actually.” There’s no way I’m going to come in this
situation and I feel like I got what I came for.
We turn to our audience like,
show’s over folks. I pull the curtains shut and start to get dressed but he
won’t let me. He’s very hard and doesn’t want to stop. He starts kissing my
neck and my breasts. I decide to finish him off, and I have to say the situation gets a whole lot sexier the second our audience is gone.
I hear banging on the door,
which I know is flirtatious woman wanting to join in. I ignore the pounding,
and he does too, or he doesn’t hear it because at some point he says, “I want
that other girl to come in here and for both of you to suck me off.” Yeah,
that’s not happening. Eventually I hear her being escorted away by a club
employee as she pleads, “I was supposed to join them.”
I get dressed and head out.
Flirtatious woman is nowhere to be found, and Best Guy Friend seems to think
she and her boyfriend went off to have sex in a private room. I guess the
affect of the club worked on them after all. The three of us leave the club and
Israeli Dude offers us a ride back to my Airbnb. Best Guy Friend wants to walk
and process the experience, so we say our goodbyes and head on our way. Best
Guy Friend shares that it was interesting for him to see how I have sex. I’m
pretty proud of myself that on my very first trip to a sex club, I found a
stranger to fuck and did it in front of people. I find myself suddenly ravenous
and so we do something I never do: stop at McDonald’s for a sirloin
burger.
