It felt like we were doing something incredibly illicit as we carried a backpack of sex supplies down the streets of downtown New Orleans looking for an unmarked building to jump out at us and say, “Hey! Sex here!”

To our surprise, however, the club was relatively easy to find; it was exactly where the website had said it was, and a security guard was waiting outside in a suit. At first he looked large and intimidating, but he surprised us with his friendly introduction. He laughed and made small talk with us as he opened the door, ushering us into our first experience with The Lifestyle.

As someone with a background in sexual health, I was extremely impressed with our introduction to the club, Collette’s. Two nice, young women dressed in corsets charged us the fee, which was $80 for a couple on a Friday or Saturday night. Through our research, we discovered that swingers’ clubs typically charge a small amount for single women, a significant amount for single men and somewhere in the middle for couples. There is usually at least one night of the week on which single men are not allowed in the club. We signed an agreement that included a “yes means yes, no means no” consent policy, and we followed one of the women on the tour. The downstairs area included a dance floor with a stripper pole, large white sofas, and a circular bar. This was the public area, intended for socializing and dancing with your clothes on. As is true of most swingers’ clubs, this club had a BYOB policy with mixers and bartending service provided.

We then walked up the stairs to the “play areas.” At this point in the tour, our guide reemphasized the importance of consent and reporting any unwanted activity to the staff. I was both impressed and intimidated by the variety and quality of the play spaces. There was a “library,” with walls of books and large leather couches. Just off of that room was a theatre where guests could watch the porn that played all evening on the screen. Down the hall were the semi-private rooms, with both sheer and opaque curtain options. Then there were private rooms that locked from the inside. The “viewing room” had a large round bed inside with one-way glass; we gazed in at the four or five guests who were already fucking at this relatively early hour. The “orgy room” was the largest of all the rooms, furnished with a single large bed for roomy play. Our guide then showed us to the dressing room and showed us where the condoms and lubes were kept. As we walked past, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the sulky custodian, whose job it was to clean up after the use of each room.

After the tour guide left us, we wandered around downstairs, conspicuously new and nervous. I danced on the mostly-empty dance floor, drank a plastic cup of pineapple juice, and whispered to Adam about which couples we might be interested in playing with. It became apparent that because we had come in early for a tour, we had arrived a bit too early for the crowd. Those who were there were much older than us and kept to themselves. An older gentleman came and sat near us and asked us what we were interested in. After we told him that we were mostly looking to play with another guy, he said, “I can’t help you there, but I wish you the best of luck in finding what you are looking for.” Although the interaction went nowhere physical, the friendly old man sat and advised us on the ins and outs of the swinging world, even suggesting some clubs closer to home. We were feeling a little bummed that we hadn’t found anyone to play with, but we were grateful for this kind old Fairy Godswinger who appeared in our moment of need.

Tired and disappointed, but not wanting to leave a swingers’ club without having removed our clothes, we settled into one of the semi-private rooms and fucked each other. I was so involved in the sex with Adam that I failed to notice our growing audience; there were about six people who had pulled aside the curtain to watch us. Luckily, they didn’t miss the big finale in which Adam came in my eye, leaving me barely able to blink for the rest of the night. One man thanked us for a “great performance” as we toweled off, dressed, and hurried down to the bar for some water. The bartender somehow noticed I was frazzled and nauseous; she took one look at me and handed me a bottle of Tums. That was the closest I have come to witnessing a miracle. We talked over our experience on the long drive back to our hotel, glad that we had done it but disappointed that we still had not acquired an additional dick.