Last September the French government finally let swinger clubs re-open their doors so long as they followed strict COVID protocol, like having hand sanitizer available near gang-bang rooms and mandating masks (and only that!) be worn while walking to and from the toilet.
Long-time libertine (and new buddy of mine), Alexandre, ventured on over to one of the clubs here in Lyon during this brief moment of freedom before a second then third confinement shut all fun things back down for an eternity. Even though he’d already had COVID, he wore his mask the whole time (even while inside of people!). Despite being vaccinated now, Alexandre still doesn’t want to catch COVID “or anything else” at the clubs and is maybe even more pandemic-cautious and responsible than the average non-libertine (including our trusted French leaders). He’s no unicorn, either. Several people I know who frequent French sex clubs have been the same way. Funny how some of the very folks known for flouting dominant culture’s oppressive, heteronormative rules are sometimes the people who most respect COVID ones.
Once France finally got its hands on enough vaccines and the COVID restrictions started lifting this June, some of the first places to swing open their doors were—voilà!—sex clubs.
Because it’s France, which is known for confusing and contradictory bureaucratic regulations few understand, most swingers clubs were allowed to open up at the same time as gyms and restaurants so long as they also had food or spa-type things. Nightclubs, on the other hand, had been closed for 15 months and counting (until July 9). You can share bodily fluids with complete strangers in rooms with no windows now but you still can’t share a dance. In fact, one nightclub owner said he was going to buy some couches and beds and call himself a libertine club so he could finally get back to work. The government has been talking about requiring proof of vaccination/negative tests for patrons of nightclubs. But sex clubs?
Just a mask!
I myself have been dying to check out a libertine club since moving to France a few years ago. In fact, I’ve had more and better sex on French soil than the four decades before. Combined. Maybe it’s partly due to the confidence that comes with age, but I have no doubt France’s more sexually liberal mentality has played a huge role. Once I got away from America’s puritanical extremism (I mean, we were originally colonized by those pilgrim fucks too crazy for even old timey Europe), I felt totally free to try new things, like an open relationship, a threesome with two dudes, and letting a guy with a foot fetish blow his load on my toes. I’ve juggled several sex friends, got eaten out on lots of beds and beaches by strangers, and even got slut-shamed in the British tabloids for having too much fun as a “cougar.” But the French libertine lifestyle and sex clubs were something I was just getting up the courage to dip my jizz-covered toe into. And then the unthinkable happened: I started dating someone worthy of time and love. Oh and there was a global pandemic too!
Since March 17, 2020, France has had three draconian lockdowns enforced by permission slips and police checks. We were only allowed to leave our homes for very specific “essential” goods during the first lockdown. Other than that and one hour of exercise a day within a one-kilometer radius, we were quite literally locked inside by the police. Unfortunately, sex was not on the list of essentials, so anyone confined without a partner or sex friend was theoretically cock-blocked by President Macron for months. Besides a brief reprieve last summer and early fall, all the sex clubs, bars, restaurants, and basically anything worth leaving home for have been closed since March of 2020.
Until now that is.
I asked friends and acquaintances in the libertine world what the hell they’ve been doing for 15 months while clubs were closed. My former sex friend, Alex and his girlfriend said COVID pretty much killed their libertine life. They’ve only hooked up with one other couple since last fall. Between confinements, interregional travel bans, and endless early evening curfews, it’s been a logistical pain in the ass to plan a three-four-five-whatever-some with other libertines. That and a lot of people didn’t want to take the risk of getting a 135 euro fine if stopped by the cops. Those of us who were hunkered down with a partner or sex friend didn’t have the horny and alone factor to deal with. My buddy, Remi, spent over a year at home, mostly alone. During the first lockdown he joined Tinder to flirt with women and have occasional sex via WiFi. One sex friend did come over a few times by checking the hour of “exercise” box on her permission slip, then jogging on over, having a quick brown chicken brown cow, and jogging back.
So stressful!
Even though most of the libertines I know have respected the rules more or less, there are plenty who haven’t. Remi’s best friend, who’s a doctor at the local hospital, told Remi you can’t get COVID from sex as long as you do it doggy style.
My friend Natasha is like me, an expat in her early forties living her best sexual life. But unlike me, she’s never been too worried about COVID and has spent most of this pandemic doing exactly what she was doing before the pandemic—whatever she wants! She did stay home and obey the rules during the first lockdown because she had a roommate and didn’t want to be a dick. But she later admitted to me it’s really because she hadn’t waxed and couldn’t be bothered to shave down yonder. Once lockdown lifted last summer, she was off to swinger parties in Paris with her sex friend and planned a tour around southern France staying with libertine couples they met online who had nice profiles but even nicer pools. Most of the libertines in her circle stuck to cyber-gang bangs during the first lockdown, but by the second and third were just over it. So they’ve been throwing private sex parties since the clubs closed back down in October.
Natasha, by the way, has never once been stopped by the cops. Me? Four times. While jogging or getting groceries. That’s the French way, though, I’ve been told. There are laws you break, ones you don’t, ones that are totally your call.
Now that the vaccines are here and life is opening back up, not all the libertines I know are rushing back to the clubs. Remi and his sex friend Camille went a couple weeks ago, but their first night back didn’t go so well. They failed to read the program before showing up. Gang Bang Night. Oops! I’ve been assured by everyone that most nights at the sex clubs are comfortable, respectful, and safe. In fact, that’s how my old sex friend Alex sold me on the idea. He said unlike normal nightclubs, where men harass, touch, or even grind up on us without our consent, sex clubs don’t tolerate that nonsense. With the exception of Gang Bang Night, women usually don’t have men following them around either because the men aren’t allowed in alone or if they are they pay 74 euros. Women? Free if we don’t bring a man.
Camille offered to take me the next evening to Couples Night because men aren’t even allowed inside without a woman. Much better stats. I’d always assumed you go to sex clubs with a partner, but she’s taken girlfriends there before just for the ambiance. A free night of hot tubs, a buffet, drinks, and girl talk, all in a place where men leave you alone unless you explicitly show interest? Hell yeah. Take me there, queen!
So after years of wondering and waiting, I finally head on down to the swingers club, which is only a block from the mayor’s fancy office, and meet Camille, my sex club tour guide/hand-holder. After ringing a little doorbell, we’re let in and are greeted by a sweet lady. She explains the ridiculous mask rules, then gives us each a towel big enough to cover tops or bottoms but not both, a see through pink scarf, two free drink tickets, and anklets, which hold a key to our assigned locker and a little pocket with a mask tucked into it.
“I wouldn’t use that if I were you,” Claire laughs, “or eat the food.”
Hot air hits our faces as we open the ginormous wooden doors and enter what I can only describe as a 9,000 square foot Kamasutra dungeon museum of amazingness. I mean, this place is just incredible. Apparently the owners imported 240 tons of statues, masks, walls, and doors made of marble or wood, all the way from India. There are elephants, monkeys, and that wise-looking fella sitting with one hand held out like he’s waiting for a high five or telling you to stop with your shit already. First things first, though—gotta take off these here clothes! We find our assigned lockers, strip down entirely (except masks!) and throw a towel around our waists, then check out the gym. Yes, there is a gym in the locker room. Not an elliptical machine or any cardio. Just a bunch of heavy shit that makes men’s veins pop out. Barf.
Lucky us, we arrive just in time for the buffet! My expat friend, Natasha, always bragged about these sex club spreads, but I can finally concur. Shit looks delishhh. Camille is French, though, meaning her food standards are far higher than ours. She drinks water while I scarf down a plate of mysterious French cuisine with far too much egg and cheese but fuck it, yummm. I can’t even see what I’m eating because this room is literally a giant cave lit up by purple and pink lights in the corner. If I had my phone I’d pull out the flashlight like old people to see what the hell is on the menu this evening but such things aren’t allowed outside your locker. I forget I’m eating a meal almost entirely naked until I notice a man’s junk swinging ever-so-gently as he slices off a big ole hunk of brie.
Except when we’re eating, bathing, or drinking water, Claire and I keep our masks on because them’s the rules! After I scarf down something I’m guessing is chocolate because again I can’t see shit, we drop our towels and go fully nude in the ginormous pool behind us. Even without masks now (but fully vaccinated), this room feels pretty safe because it’s tall enough to fit half a Rockefeller Christmas tree and there are only maybe 20 people here max.
Almost every square inch of this room is filled with statues, including every character from Noah’s alleged ark. Honestly, the decor is the only shocking thing about this place. The rest is to be expected. Red velvet couches and throne type chairs. A stripper pole in the middle of it all. Three stories of rooms, dozens of them in varying size, with beds, condoms, gel, and stuff to wipe clean the filthy mattresses. Most are actually pretty boring or surprisingly small, but some have things like a swing, handcuffs, windows to watch or be watched, and oversized glory holes minus the duct tape. There are rooms for gang bangs, others with locks, and because it’s France, one just for smoking. It’s 9 p.m. on a Thursday, so we only see maybe five couples having sex, three of which are men with their faces buried into moaning women’s crotches.
God I love it here.
My only real complaint is that it’s easy to get lost because it’s so damn dark in the labyrinth. Luckily the kind janitor in jeans and a mask walks around with a broom and a flashlight, which helps us find our way. After a couple hours of girl talk and sight-seeing, we decide to bail. I’m barely comfortable being in the same room with people at all, much less sharing air with them in a hot ass cave.
The only thing truly shocking about the whole sex club experience (other than the decor) is the fact I wasn’t interested in screwing a single dude. Life's funny like that. I finally got to go to a libertine club... when I’m a goddamn newlywed. Yep, much to everyone’s (especially my own) surprise, I got married. I guess being locked in a tiny flat 23 hours a day for months with that man worth my time was a totally new kind of adventure for me. One I didn’t want to end. Furthermore, he’s not only OK with Camille taking me to a sex club, he waved all proud as I rode away on my bike like a nervous school girl. When I asked one last time if he’s sure he doesn’t mind me going without him, he swatted by doubt away with his hand. “I trust you fully babe. And I want you to always be the curious free spirit I fell in love with.”
We might experiment with libertine stuff down the road; we might not. The important thing is we talk about it. Like everything. We did decide long ago that we wanted go to a sex club together at some point. But there’s one place neither of us has any desire to go soon when they re-open or maybe even long after this pandemic crap is over. A goddamn nightclub. Fuck those places. Sex clubs are safer all around.
