Should I've brought a condom? I thought to myself as I rode my Stateline into Jacksonville's dull and humid downtown. My curiosity and personal mission to explore the different facets of the human condition led me to purchase a ticket to a steampunk theme party organized by a discreet fetish club. I've been meaning to check out this underground sex club for a while, and the steampunk party felt like a good excuse to wear my domino mask to help me maintain some anonymity. I realized during my ride into downtown that my costume might be invoking Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut. But, I reminded myself to be an observer and act like a professional, so I can get an honest story. I need to keep a semblance of journalistic integrity. Too bad I never follow my own advice.

I rode my bike into a dirt parking lot attached to a large, unassuming warehouse in the business district. I parked and saw a few people dressed in their Victorian/Jules Verne themed costumes, board the old freight elevator to the third floor. I took the stairs up and found a heavy metal door with a latch handle and the club's logo on it. I opened it to see myself in a small, spartan lobby manned by a stern older man, a relaxed middle age woman and a mannequin clothed in leather underwear and bondage gear. The doormen explicitly addressed the rules of conduct, took a photocopy of my license and made me sign a waiver. Safety and respect towards everyone were paramount with the club. I walked past the curtain and into an unforgettable night.

The main room housed fetish stations and three places where you can fulfill your fantasy with an audience watching. There was a bondage room filled with chains, whips, and paddles; a cage and ole fashioned stocks. The other places had beds with other forbidden toys we don't see, but we play within our fantasies. The people were average looking and kind to me as I sheepishly introduced me as a first timer. Besides the projection of a shackled woman being plowed by a decent sized black penis playing in the background, a few crossdressers and a table covered with anal plugs; it seemed like a typical party.

As I talked to a lovely couple who regaled me of their new venture in rope play, a breathtakingly gorgeous woman approached us and asked the husband to be introduced to me. Nancy was a mix of German and Polynesian which made her ravishing, and her simple dress made her looked normal. We talked for a while, and she revealed she liked to be tied up and enjoyed the feeling of pain. I felt a connection with her. The hopeless romantic within me thought about that this could be somebody special. A love who I met at a sex club with a gay black pole dancing for a crowd. You know, just like the Lifetime movies.

Nancy asked me to go check out the rooms with her, maybe a hint. I was nervous about making a move. Overwhelmed, actually, from the strangeness of the situation on top of the uncertainty of her even being attracted to me. We made it to the last room, and I walked in and was about to make a move. Here I go. This is going down in a sex club. I went to make my move, but then the wife of the couple we talked to earlier came over and began making out with her. Disappointed, confused and highly aroused; but undeterred. I thought maybe it would work out in my favor. Perhaps I'll get to have a threesome, or the situation will somehow redeem itself for me. Nope. Nancy, the wife, and the husband went into the room and began having sex while I was left with a depressing erection and with me saying out loud to myself, "makes sense." The hopeless romantic within withered and whimpered. I reminded myself again to remain objective. Get an honest story about the vast range of the human condition. I'm here on a mission to tell a story. I need to be professional…

Fuck it, let's get weird.

The next thing I knew, a voluptuous white woman in leather underwear ripped open my shirt and sent the buttons flying everywhere. My only response, "that's ok, that shirt didn't fit anymore." She and a petite naked black woman, who I watched earlier give her boyfriend fellatio in the middle of the club, shackled me to a large metal-chained spiderweb. The voluptuous woman put a ball-gag in my mouth and ordered me to "drool, bitch." She began whipping me with a leather cat-o'-nine tails as the naked woman began to caress me her slim body. I tried to gesture for her to take my pants off, hoping to get a B.J. out of it. She wanted to kiss me, and I pulled away and muffled in terror, "not the mouth." "Harder," I managed to get out of my gagged mouth. I wanted to see how much I can take.

The voluptuous woman did it harder, and it wasn't enough. Next thing I know, her Blade 2 vampire looking husband grabbed a large paddle and began spanking me as hard as he can; while she and the naked woman began grinding up against me and kissed each other. She then started making out with me with the ball gag still in my mouth. "Harder" I muffled again. You would think the man whose wife I was making out with would hit you harder, but he just gave up. Pussy. They let me go after I out "crazed" them.

The party had grown wilder as I walked around and saw the depraved and kinky acts around me. I walked into a room where a couple was having wild sex. There were seats in the corner, and I hesitated sitting down, but the husband nonchalantly told me as he was mid-plowing his wife that it's OK to watch. And I watched. I watched not as a voyeur per say, but like an anthropologist studying a mating ritual of a hidden culture. It didn't feel bizarre to me watching them. Maybe I've become jaded from my tour as a cop or from the copious amounts of porn I've seen. I walked out after they climaxed and heard White Towns' Your Woman began to play over the clubs' speakers. Its ambiguous lyrics and trumpet pairing paired well with this odyssey into the fringes of the human condition. I wondered what else are people ashamed of to be seen by the public but thrive in the freedom of the privacy. What else would I find after tonight as I continue on my self-appointed mission? How deep does the rabbit hole go?

In a way, I envied these people for they don't live lives of quiet desperation. They express themselves with authenticity and found a tribe of people who accept them for who they are; not repressed. It made me wonder about what secret kinks are the average American repressing due to our puritanical culture. What am I repressing?

I continued my venture as I saw bondage, swinging and some guy about to get a strap-on put into him. I stopped in a room and quietly watched as an older white man in his 60's tied down to the bed and teased with slow foreplay by a beautiful Serena Williams looking woman. What I was watching wasn't indecent, but tender in its own kinky way. They both smiled brightly and kept looking into each other's eyes as she slowly teased him by caressing her hands across his gray-haired chest. Out of all the strange things I've was allowed to see tonight, this was strongly intimate and felt wrong to watch. I stood up and accidentally knocked my chair back. The loud thud caused them to give me a look of anger for ruining the moment and an emphatic "get the fuck out" was heard as I embarrassingly left the room.

I made my way back to the room where I left Nancy and saw some men watching from sofas, while another was getting a B.J. from a woman in a corset. I waited for a moment until Nancy looked at me and gave an expression of disdain when she saw me. Finally feeling uncomfortable, I grabbed what little was left of my clothes and made my way downstairs.

I was stopped before going home by the club members outside smoking and spent 20 minutes talking to these strange but good-hearted people. One of which was a transvestite who was a former firefighter and now a big rig truck driver. I was afraid for a moment it was a ruse used by members of cults or pyramid schemers to lure in newcomers. But they were genuine and kind in nature. Nothing like the stereotypes.

I rode my motorcycle bare-chested with my buttonless shirt flapping in the wind, thinking about all of the people I've met that night. Despite their lifestyle, they were all pretty standard and decent people. I'm starting to discover on this gonzo-journalistic odyssey of exploring the human condition how wonderful humanity is. These hidden or overlooked cultures which are considered taboo, do not fit the stereotype of degenerates or sinners. These people embraced themselves and others with authenticity, respect, and openness to what is deemed to be strange and kinky. To welcome someone for who they are. A lesson we can all take from them.



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Check out the companion episode of the podcast which I interview the owner of the club.