All photos courtesy of Guillermo Cervera, from his series Sex Club. All photos courtesy of Guillermo Cervera , from his series Sex Club. I can't say I've ever been particularly interested in swingers clubs, mostly because in my mind, swingers clubs are the preserve of the old, desperate and flaccid, gold-toothed Russian mobsters and characters out of Michel Houllebecq novels.
But then came an offer from my girlfriend; she had been to a swingers club a few years before we met and found it quite fun. I said nothing at the time, mulling over it instead. A few days later, on a weekend, we were in a club drinking with some of my friends till the early hours. Around three in the morning, I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I think now's the right time. Let's go swinging.
We left our group without much explanation and hopped in the car. Twelve miles later, we were up in the mountains on the outskirts of Barcelona, looking for parking outside a mansion. As we walked through the gates, a well-attired man in his forties came out of the door in the company of two women.
My doubts about my own outfit were confirmed as soon as we walked in — compared to everyone else in the club, I was dressed like a fucking dog.
The glamorous woman that greeted us explained politely that my shorts were totally against the dress code, but since it was my first time, just this once, they were willing to let it go. Men could enter only if accompanied by a woman, while women were allowed in either way.
