Editor’s Note:
From time to time, Madison Avenue Magazine publishes submissions from readers who request anonymity to candidly share their experiences or perspectives. The following article is one such contribution. Readers interested in submitting anonymously may contact us directly here.
From Church Girl to Sex Club: My Journey from Prude to Curious Explorer
Growing up in a devout Christian household, I was taught that sex was for marriage and, frankly, only for making babies. My mother, however, gave me just enough body positivity and autonomy to plant the seeds of rebellion early on. She encouraged me to be comfortable in my skin, own my beauty, and if I desired show it off a little. But there were no “cute” words for body parts in our house. No “cookie,” no “pocketbook.” My mother called a vagina a vagina and a penis a penis, and in some strange way, that straightforwardness made me open-minded.
Slowly but surely, I started to remember who I was. I rediscovered my beauty, my sensuality, my self
Still, I tried to follow the good Christian path, emphasis on tried. I didn’t exactly make it to marriage before having sex, and once I had my first orgasm at 18, I started questioning some of those old lessons. Maybe sex wasn’t just for procreation. Maybe there was something more to this whole experience. But societal norms prevailed, and I did the “right” thing, was a good girl, and got married. And for eight and a half years, I didn’t have a single orgasm with my now ex-husband. That’s not a typo. Eight and a half years. No orgasm. Void of pleasure. No real exploration of myself as a sexual being. In fact, by the time the marriage ended, I had forgotten I was a sexual being.
A New Lifestyle
Divorce, however, is one hell of a reset button. Slowly but surely, I started to remember who I was. I rediscovered my beauty, my sensuality, my self. I began dating again, and for the first time, I encountered a man who actually cared whether or not I enjoyed sex. Imagine my shock…men like that exist? The relationship didn’t last, but it left me with a new tier of curiosity. What else was out there?
Then came the man who changed everything. Open-minded, nonjudgmental, and patient, he guided me into “the lifestyle” at my own pace. It started with long conversations, answering my naïve, nervous questions without a hint of mockery. Then came the first step, a play party weekend. I showed up terrified, feeling like I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life. But strangely, I felt safer there than I often did in regular settings. No catcalls, no aggressive advances, just people existing in their bodies without shame. That experience unlocked a new level of curiosity, and before I knew it, I was ready to level up: A sex club.
The Night I Almost Chickened Out
When the opportunity arose to attend a sex club with my trusted guide, I agreed. I thought I was ready. Then the night arrived, and I suddenly wasn’t so sure. I mentally came up with every excuse in the book, I’m tired. I’m not in the mood. My eye lash hurts. But I didn’t want to be a party pooper, so I reluctantly went.
At the entrance, we filled out waivers…waivers, nothing like legal paperwork to set the mood before stepping inside. Panic hit me immediately. I wanted to escape. This was too much. What the hell was I doing here? But I took deep breaths and reminded myself: For the plot.
Meanwhile, my partner and I…sat there. Talking. Having a full-on serious conversation while a live-action porno played next to us
At first glance, the club looked like a normal resort, except for the occasional bare ass sprinkled throughout the crowd. The more nudity I saw, the more anxious I got. My biggest concern? Oh my God, I have to take my clothes off. The reality of being fully naked in front of strangers made me reconsider all my life choices.
Then came the playroom. More nudity. More panic. My partner calmly handed me a towel, and before I could think too hard about it, I undressed. And you know what? Nobody cared. No one gasped. Nobody pointed. No one shielded their eyes in horror. In fact, I was the only one making a big deal about my own nudity. I wasn’t special, just another body in a sea of unclothed humans.
The Moment I Realized I Was Okay
We wandered into a room where a couple was already mid-act. Another couple we knew wasted no time getting busy. Meanwhile, my partner and I…sat there. Talking. Having a full-on serious conversation while a live-action porno played next to us. At some point, we joined in, and to my surprise, I wasn’t bothered by the fact that people were watching. I’d had just enough prior experience to be comfortable with that.
Next stop: The Dungeon. Now, this felt more like the movies. Chains. Whips. Suspensions. The Glory Hole. It was fascinating, but also a lot. I lasted maybe two minutes before realizing, Nope, this is not my scene. Respect to those who enjoy it, but I was ready to tap out immediately.
My Takeaways
Would I do it again? Ehhh, I’m in no rush. But I’m glad I did it. And for those who are curious, here’s what I learned:
- Have a drink or do breathing exercises. You don’t want to be sloppy drunk, but a little something to take the edge off helps. If you don’t drink, deep breaths will be your best friend.
- Nobody cares that you’re naked. Everyone is. Take it off and frolic.
- Consent is everything. People watch, but no one touches without permission. It’s surprisingly respectful.
- No phones, no cameras. If you want to star in your own private film, it’s just for you and your memory bank.
- Go with someone you trust. Having a familiar person makes all the difference.
- Your body is good enough. Every shape, size, and type was there, existing freely.
- The Dungeon is not for the faint of heart. If whips and chains excite you, have at it. If not, peek in and run out like I did.
Introspective
I’m proud of myself for stepping outside my comfort zone. I can officially check “sex club” off my bucket list. Do I need to go back? Not necessarily. But I do know this: There are other experiences I want to explore, and I know exactly who to explore them with.
