Danielle Farrell on the secret sex lives of the Irish
How many of you could honestly say that you were aware of Dublin’s swinging sex scene? That you were privy to the knowledge that around every corner and within arm’s reach was a group of people willing and ready to take their clothes off and engage in some very amicable adult behaviour?
I can say without fault that I was not one of the informed and that when I found out I was more than a little taken aback. Not that I have ever been prudish, I’ve kissed my fair share of girls and I liked it – if you know what I mean.
I’ve worked in bars and clubs and even did a stint as a house mum in a strip club. The underbelly of society does not shock as it’s true to say that I have witnessed and heard of most things and it’s always been my personal opinion that whatever floats your boat or sinks your ship, goes. It’s all about personal choice and preference; live and let live and all of that.
Still, when I found out that a friend of mine was an active “swinger” I was more than a little shocked and had to get all of the dirty little details of what goes on. I was hooked. Like someone transfixed with staring at a car crash or some other disaster, I was unable to stop myself wanting to know more. Not that I wanted to participate, but I needed to know more and so I ignored the fact that curiosity most definitely killed the cat and embarked upon my first baby steps to discovering what this whole Irish orgy scene was really about.
Deep down I couldn’t help but imagine the groups being anything more than a perverted bunch of 50-pluses that wouldn’t be able to get a kick in a stampede. No matter how hard I tried I was unable to remove the picture I had of some saggy-skinned man trying to “get it on”; I won’t lie, this image haunts me even now. My initial move was to turn to the internet, the purveyor of all knowledge and certainly all vice. After a quick search I came across an indefinite number of sites that all attempted to lure me into this world of sexual freedom.
As I trawled through page after page I became more and more captivated by the sheer number of communities, forums and event guides that advertised upcoming “parties”. The subject matter permeated numberless sources from specific websites dedicated to swinging in Ireland onto Boards.ie and ads on Gumtree.ie, sure even Facebook has its own devoted group.
Almost immediately I realised that this was a much bigger phenomenon than I had first anticipated and if the pictures attached to the various online profiles were anything to go by then the people involved were far from the saggy granddad I had envisaged but were young virile males and females clearly game for anything. There is a strict protocol that must be followed as a newbie wanting to dabble in the world of swinging.
Adverts and
groups are numerous but the application process
is the same. Firstly, you must apply to the party organiser stating why
you
want to go and attaching a picture of yourself. A meeting will then be
arranged
either over the internet via Skype or in person. It will only
be after a
lengthy conversation that you are told whether or not you are okayed to
go.
My first tentative steps towards entering this tight-knit community was through a meeting with a party organiser called Lauren. I had first met Lauren after replying to her advert on a swingers forum. We had bounced a couple of emails back and forth and from the start I was completely open about why I wanted to attend. Luckily for me Lauren was more than willing to meet up and explain the whole ritual of a typical night’s events.
I chose to meet Lauren in person and arranged a get-together in a coffee shop in town. The first thing that struck me was her incredibly young age. She had claimed to be 21 but looked no more than about 18. The second was her striking beauty; she was tall, slender and blonde – a stereotypical model. Lauren, as it turned out, was not her real name, and she later informed me that most people in the group use an alias to protect their identity.
She said that, although nobody is ashamed about what they do, there is such a stigma attached to it that they choose to conceal who they are for fear of it leaking out and affecting their family or careers. I was warned that although the group had warmly welcomed me as a voyeur for the evening, I was not to print their true names nor write anything that would single someone out and identify them.
This was the only stipulation of my invite and that was, in my opinion, a fair request – I wasn’t there to be anybody’s judge and jury and I was still of the mind that anything goes. I was told that the group on the night would be slightly female heavy, but that this did not pose a problem as females were not exclusively heterosexual. I was also informed that although liaisons between females were par for the course it was unheard of for males to commit a homosexual act.
Protection is required and condoms must always be worn; male or female, it is important to bring your own if you intend on participating. Booze would be provided, as well as some finger food – sex is hungry work – but it is requested that you bring your own as well. The night’s costs, including room rental, drink and food, are all incurred by the organiser but it is asked that you donate about €20 as you are leaving. This is rarely done as most people forget and the rest are too busy to collect. This is standard.
The conversation drifted back towards the community as a whole and I got the feeling that the online community is much larger than the community that actually meet up. People get their kicks from talking about group sex but not actually participating. Was group sex a step too far or did society restrict actions by prejudice? I am told that a lot of attendees are self-confessed sex addicts and that Lauren saw herself as being a sex addict. Insatiable, she craved sex all the time. She didn’t see these events as fuelling an addiction and seemed very uncomfortable when I suggested this. I parked that conversation where it was.
Before parting I am informed that I will be told the venue’s exact setting on the night of the party via text. This is to prevent the location from being leaked and events being ruined by gatecrashers or even worse, cancelled by hotel staff if they become aware of what is going on. As she is going out the door she yells back,
“Bring any toys you want!”
The entire coffee shop looks in my direction – no shame.
The following weekend came D-Day. I had arranged to meet the group in the hotel bar. It is customary for those participating to meet for a few drinks prior – as I understand this is to loosen any tensions and gets things going, it also makes it easier for anyone new to feel at ease and not overwhelmed. I can tell you that as I put on my make-up that night I was more than a little apprehensive and thoroughly delighted that I wasn’t going to be thrown in at the deep end.
We met at 8.30pm. I entered the bar and looked around quickly. There was a small group of men and women gathered at a table. They looked normal, boring even, unlike what I had imagined. My first impressions were not what I had expected, the group was quiet and shy; we bantered with some banal conversation relating to the weather, our jobs (Were they talking about their real jobs?) and our week. It was the sort of polite conversation one might have with an old aunt, certainly not the conversation expected from the group of sex crazed maniacs that I had imagined.
Drinks flowed and things loosened up, there was flirting and suggestive looks thrown between males and females – females and females; nothing overtly out of place from a regular night out. When two females in the group began to get closer things really kicked off. It was clear to all where there activity was going and it wasn’t long before they were off to the room, closely followed by others.
Back at the room things were starting to get hot and heavy, people were stripping down to reveal various ensembles, ranging from lacy and sweet to hardcore and rubber. It was amusing to see everyone shed their normal clothes and reveal such daring and outrageous outfits. They were like completely different people. In the corner, the two women who had initially retired to the room were entangled in each other, panting and groaning while others watched on. I found myself turning a shade of puce and looked away. A woman beside me said that if I wanted to join in I should just go over; I assured her I was fine.
Her name is Nadine, a teacher in her early forties and married with three children. Her husband was unaware she attended the parties and she claimed that they were her “release”, a few hours out of a month where she felt free of the constraints of being a loving wife, a dutiful mother and an experienced teacher. Her sex life with her husband had remained the same since she first met him – that is as virile and as regular as ever. The problem was exactly that – it was regular, “no variation, no excitement, and no change”. She had broached the subject with him dozens of times only for him to become sullen and morose. She had heard about the parties online and decided to attend to just watch. The first time she went she got carried away. She has been an active participant and attendee ever since.
No matter how I pushed that this was effectively cheating on her husband, she maintained that her monthly debauch actually strengthened her marriage and improved her lifestyle. She was no longer so short with her husband or children; she was more relaxed and understanding at work. It seemed having a few hours out of every month where she became the most desirable object in the room for four or five young chiselled men and women buoyed her ego no end, and as we all know sex is a wonderful stress reliever! She also said that enjoying sex with multiple partners at the same time had opened her mind and taught her more about herself. For instance, before attending the parties she had never experienced anal stimulation or had ever had sexual thoughts about a member of the same sex. A man approached, and with a smile and wink, they left for the bedroom. I needed another drink.
At first I was shocked by the activities I was observing, but as time passed I slowly became de-sensitised by what I was seeing. I found it funny that people could engage in a full body pileup; such entangled group sex that one couldn’t identify who they were touching and who was touching them – only to turn around and have a polite conversation about politics or the state of the economy. It was pushing midnight and I was feeling like I had seen more than my share of events. The majority of people were, by now, either partially or fully undressed – naked skin abounded. I stuck out like a sore thumb with my dress still safely where it had been all night – on me! It was time to go.
Upon leaving I couldn’t escape the fact that although I still didn’t understand what they got out of it when they left, they were just so normal. Quiet, shy professionals, singles and couples, men and women you meet and talk to every day. They weren’t involved in any sort of illegal activity yet they were forced to conceal their actions due to the prejudices of society.
The internet has been a strong force in spurring on the rapid growth of the community in the last ten years, and I wondered what could happen with continued technological advances. One thing did bother me though. With so many in the group claiming to be self-confessed sex addicts, were these groups simply fanning the flames of deeply rooted addictions?
Or, as many sexologists believe, is there no such thing as a sexual addiction? Is it merely a by-product of cultural and other influences? Is sexual addiction a by-product of the liberation of sexual fantasy by the internet?
Now more than ever one may easily access material to satisfy any fetish. Is this just fuelling the fire? I could positively say that I would not be attending another party any time in the near future.
daniellefarrell@gmail.com
Behind closed doors
