I Pretended To Be A Swinger In Paris And My Man Came Along For The Ride

As an author, I get to make a lot of stuff up. Often it goes like this: Hot man. Perfect body. Perfect night. However, perfection is flawed. It’s not real. I mean, in my amazing fantasy world there is no tripping, falling, or embarrassing moments happening but in my real world, in yours too, I imagine, things don’t always go right. But the real romance is when we still manage to get to the other side of crazy and to find happiness. Real life to me is genuine and inspiring, so I strive to make my stories reflect those things, but in my endeavor to keep things real, some might say I have been known to go to extremes. How extreme?

Well…I’m going to dare to tell all here. I was writing a character that was visiting Paris, never having left the United States before, and was then tricked into going to a Paris swingers club, when she’d never done anything so daring.

It hit me that I had a problem. How in the world was I to write about Paris and swingers clubs when I’d never visited either?

And since I needed to experience both separately and cohesively, I dared to drum up this crazy idea. I did it. Gulp. I talked my man into an adventure and before we knew it, we were on a plane to Paris, with the understanding we were going for research, not to participate in the swingers action. I’ll spare you all the travel disasters we had getting to Paris, that would easily prove real life is a little too real, and get right to the fun stuff. The two swingers clubs in Paris I dared visit with my super shy man! Once in Paris, new questions arose…

1. How to pick the club?

Unlike the United States, where research proved swingers activity is pretty much private parties, swingers clubs are popular in Europe. I was nervous about where to go and how to know we were safe. We researched and found a place that is famously known to attract Parisian politicians and wealth. That seemed safe. Okay. At least safer than lesser known places.

But here is the catch: We read that people were often turned away for not being attractive enough. Yikes. Would we meet the guidelines?

We had to call in advance to make dinner reservations. That was unexpected and really, we weren’t sure what else to expect, but we reserved our table and were given guidelines for our visit, which were fairly simple. The door was unmarked. Find the doorman and he’d escort us inside.

2. The big night…

Courage was in order. Mine felt low. Hubby felt his was as well so we did the only thing we could do together. We drank champagne. I alone, did what girls do to find confidence. I tried on five dresses, hated them all, but finally settled on the one with the lowest cleavage because, hey, I’d had decided in my bubbly-hazed mind that if the “Entrance Gods” who were deciding if we were attractive enough to enter didn’t think I met the bill, then maybe they would think my boobs did. And based on this logic, you now know why I don’t drink a lot.

3. Arriving at the club…

The cabbie dropped us in a nice neighborhood with cobblestone streets with random stores, bars, and activity happening nearby. We looked for the doorman we were told to find and decided the man in a rather official looking uniform we found at a crossroad near several of the restaurants might be him. Nervously, we approached him (it was so very clandestine) and dared to say the name of our destination.

Sure enough, his eyes lit up and I waited for him to look us up and down, to judge us, but he did not.

Instead, he waved us forward, and walked us down a small street, and though it was a nice neighborhood, I had a moment of wondering if we were about to disappear and never be found again.

We followed him and he stopped us at a towering, arched wooden door.

A buzzer sounded and my knees went all weak. This was it. We were about to enter a world like none we’d ever known, and in a country we’d only just arrived in.

Hubby and I shared a look and a nod, and in silent agreement, we entered what amounted to coat check area, and there was another couple in front of us. They were having a conversation with another formal looking man in a suit. And then…it happened. They were judged unworthy and turned away! They turned and headed for the door, and neither the man nor the woman made eye contact. Appalled, suddenly we were left to step forward and allow this nameless man to judge us as well. I about fell over from nerves but the champagne still had control. I yanked my dress down a little more and we stepped forward.

The man immediately inspected my breasts and motioned us forward. Success!

We were good enough, or at least, my ridiculously low cut dress was good enough. Needless to say, hubby and I were feeling pretty good. We had feathers in our proverbial caps. We were good enough!

4. Dinner sets the swinging mood.

A nicely dressed woman led us down a narrow hallway and down even more narrow steps, but then everything is small and narrow in Paris. However, everything in Paris is not 70’s style décor with yellows and purples like this place was, and hubby and I shared a looked that said: Is this some elite fetish Paris favors and what other crazy fetishes await us from here?

Without an answer to those questions, we were directed downstairs where we were seated at a table and given the choice of two meals. We ordered and made sure champagne was included. At this point, I noted the nicely dressed couples around us, and I decided that people must mingle, pair off and go to some sort of private room. It all seemed very safe, except for the creepy guy that kept staring at me who made me want to pull my dress back up. It’s then that I had a realization. He was not only creepy and unattractive, he got in the door. And guess what? No one in the restaurant was attractive. Did that mean we were not attractive, either? Our feathers in those proverbial caps wilted.

The meal arrived and the wilted feather had me downing more champagne than I’d normally indulge in but it helped me tune out the creepy guy. I had not, however, downed enough to forgive how bad the food (that came with a five star restaurant price tag) was.

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With absolutely no swinger action visible, we paid our bill, and were directed to go upstairs. We’d graduated to the next level of something, whatever it might be.

There were two more narrow hallways to travel, both with more 70’s style wallpaper, before we entered a bar complete with a dance floor no one was using. Instead, fully dressed patrons sat at the tables framing said dance floor, but then who could blame them? The music was some sort of disco French music. We got drinks and sat down. The dance floor remained empty. And then it happened. Britney Spears and Will.I.Am started playing in English and everyone got up. The dancing began and my man and I were more than happy to join in. For a good half hour, we danced, and danced to American music and forgot we were in a swingers club.

5. The shock that followed…

People started disappearing down a hallway so we figured: Let’s follow. We walked down the hallway, which was rather long and ended in a room. We stepped inside and everything changed.

People were naked and on top of each other. It was an orgy. And I mean full-blown orgy.

There were at least thirty naked people piled together, there was no pairing off in rooms. There was just this room. Somehow we were standing in the center of it fully dressed, and my man started commentating. She is doing this. He is doing that. It was nerves and I had to elbow him and tell him to stop. I mean, I was pretty sure they knew what they were doing. It was me nudging him that nudged us. We turned and ran back down the hallway, not stopping until we were on the nearly empty dance floor. We stared at each other and then burst out laughing at our own reactions. And then we started dancing. We danced for a good hour, and had a great time. We did not, however, go join the orgy, and I swear I didn’t see condoms, though my man swears there were machines on the walls. And he was reporting on the action, so he has to be right, right?

6. Repeat: The Next Night

I was certain that there had to be clubs like the one in my mind where people paired off and went to rooms and things were much more controlled and safe. We decided to try another club. We ended up inside another orgy room and back on the dance floor.

Turns out, in my romance author fantasy world, things were much more romantic than in real life.

Needless to say, the character in my story, was just as shocked as I was, and it worked well for the story. She ran out of the orgy room and she enjoyed the dance floor. Dancing is good, especially when Britney Spears and Will.I.Am show up in Paris, and in my books.

We won’t be going back to a swingers club, but I can say, I dared to go to not one, but two. And now you know what it’s like to be a swinger in Paris. Or at least dare to explore the swingers world and find that dancing it out on dance floor is more your style!

Maybe you haven’t tried being a swinger in Paris… but do you have any fun escapade stories like mine? Let me know in the comments!

Featured photo source: weheartit.com