A joyful horniness filled the air as we chatted.
It felt as if the revelers were openly rebuking death, going full hedonist, drinking and orgasming their way through their COVID anxiety.Ĭlothes are not permitted in the play area, so we waited in line behind Jorge and Isabella to remove our clothes and don towels in the locker room. In the back room, shirtless men with towels knotted around their waists played pool with seminaked women, while a man masturbated in the corner (there is always one guy jacking off in the corner at a sex club - no matter the country, city, or time of day). I talked to Nikki, a middle-aged clubgoer, who said she liked the club because “Trapeze felt like the most normal place during the pandemic, the only place I could relax because nobody was wearing masks.” Trapeze barely shut down during the pandemic, closed just last April and May, but people have only returned in bigger numbers more recently. My boyfriend and I spotted a couple in their 30s or 40s - she was gorgeous he looked like Fred Armisen - in the main bar, where people were mostly clothed.Īnd that’s about all the discussion we engaged in with a Colombian couple named Jorge and Isabella (names have been changed to protect privacy) before we headed to the plebian “play area.” (Trapeze’s pricier Diamond Club, where guests enjoy silk sheets, condoms, lube, and chicken and waffles was sold out.) A woman in lingerie wrapped her body around the stripper pole on the dance floor, drinking in the lust greedily as revelers ogled her and her husband awkwardly dad-danced nearby. Early 2000s heterosexual porn played on an LED screen dangling over an espresso machine. We gave our Absolut Lime to the clerk (the club is BYOB per Georgia law), and I teetered on my $20 Dolls Kill lucite heels to the main bar and food area, where couples on the prowl guzzled the booze they had brought and noshed on cheesecake. It was our first time back at a sex club since they started reopening, and the place was packed with mask-free revelers who paid $80, on top of the $50–$100 membership fee, to fuck people who weren’t their partners.
I was standing in line with my boyfriend. It was a pleasantly cool June evening and the smell of perfume, cigars, and fried food permeated the air. The line snaked out of Atlanta sex club Trapeze, as around 20 people, dressed in white lingerie and chest-baring white dress shirts, waited to get in.