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You’ve ALL been there and you know it. Curiosity.   
 
I don’t know if it’s true that curiosity killed the cat, but curiosity was responsible for the issuing of many a bail bond I am sure.  

One particular weekend my curiosity got the better of me, and just like a Keanu movie, the punishment just kept coming.  Sex club raid photo: echinacities.com

One Monday morning I was listening to the exciting exploits of my friend Madelyn. Considering my weekend consisted of watching “Dying to be Thin” on the Lifetime network, I NEEDED a scandal to perk me up.  

Madelyn told me about her girl’s night out and their visit to Club Kama Sutra, a member’s only voyeuristic sex club in the city. The BYOB establishment (I am assuming you bring your own for hygienic reasons) was located in a building blended seamlessly among storefronts downtown.   

I was enthralled. I blurted out, “I WANT TO GO.”  Madelyn looked at me as though I was asking her to take me to a ritual killing. She said, “Ok. Saturday night.”   

On Saturday we pulled up at the address and I was confused. It was a white; in descript storefront with a small overhead sign reading something about sugarless gum and roosters.  I lie to you not; it had something to do with roosters.

Inside the first floor is for dining (because one wants to enjoy a nice piece of salmon so close to an active orgy). The second floor is in no way shape or form forced on any visitor he was sure to stress. The second floor is the ONLY place for sex..... and boy-howdy was it!  I immediately observed how minimal the décor was, and my second observation was “OH MY GOD EVERYONE’S DOING IT!!”  Mass naked-ness was everywhere, and no one was an Adonis I assure you. This was obviously the playground to a lot of renaissance faire lovers who usually only have the opportunities to live out these type of fetishes and fantasies in the privacy of their home and internet connections.    

My third and final observation of the second floor was that I am NOT voyeuristic. I wanted out of there, and to re-join the land of the “pant-ed.” Madelyn clearly interpreted my new shade of pale correctly and suggested our guide take us to another floor. The third floor was much less stressful. There was a dance floor, clothed folks, and a great DJ. Madelyn and I danced with each other and made friends with the other third floor dwellers. Now I was smiling and finally back to my general shade of pale.  

Then all of the sudden, the music came to an abrupt stop and a man’s voice bellowed: “Everyone this is a raid.”

That paler shade immediately returned and I stared at Madelyn. We rushed along with the other “caught” folks down the stairs to the closest exit.  

Unfortunately, this did mean going past the dreaded second floor where people floundered to get clothes on quicker than…well, there isn’t really a better analogy here; quicker than those raided at a sex club would. The host and tour guide frantically handed out coats to the lemmings running out, and then I heard him say, “just put up your middle finger and they won’t put your face on camera.”

I grabbed my coat and went for the door reluctantly, but at the same time, I sure as hell didn’t want to stay in this “Titanic” of a bad idea. Madelyn turned around and looked at me and said “ok, you ready? Just put up your middle finger.”  Madelyn darted out fingers a-blazin.'  I strategically stand behind a taller gentleman, take in a little regret of having seen him naked earlier, and dart out the door behind him. I take my coat, flail it over my head and take off down the street like Lindsey Lohan running from the paparazzi. After my sprint down a Philadelphia alley-way, my evening was complete.

So did curiosity really kill the cat? Maybe not, but curiosity most certainly killed the sound void I once had in my category of mental images, which before that night didn’t include a population of fetish driven swingers in their craft.  

Let this be a lesson to you, if you ever do get the same curiosity, by all means, “to each their own,” you only live once.

My advice would be to just bring a big enough coat.  

Ladies, ever wonder where the phrase "tapped that" originated?  Fella's, ever wonder if girls had slumber parties with nighties and pillow fights?  Yeah, well me too.  The Vagina MonoBlogs takes a proactive but honest point of view on some of these timeless questions and offers some perspectives to apply...or avoid for that matter!

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Contact Brandi Conrow at brandi.conrow@hotmail.com

Photo: echinacities.com