Swingers 3 Read online

  “Yes,” said another of the couples, “let’s have a lock in.” I looked over to Marie, she looked over at Sue, Sue looked at Rachel, we were almost exhausted, but not totally spent.

  The other couples were all attractive and ready for action. Dave rose wearily from a chair and said, “Well I’m the oldest one here and I’m game if you are.”

  “Go and lock the doors Dan,” I said, “we owe it to ourselves.”

  We broke our own rules that night. We said we would never get involved while we were working, it would not be professional, and we never have apart from that first night.

  Me, Marie, Danny, Sue, Dave and Rachel got it on with the other three couples. We got it on in the pool, we got it on in the lounge and finished up in the dungeon. We even had a naked pole-dancing competition for the guys as well as the girls, it was hilarious. By now it was almost six o’clock on Sunday morning. We wearily said our goodbyes to everyone and staggered to our car. I can hardly remember driving home. We slept through the whole day, eventually waking at about seven o’clock on Sunday evening, starving hungry. The first party at La Chambre had been a phenomenal success. All we had to do was keep it going; easy peasy, or so we thought.

  CHAPTER 4

  News of the World Exposé

  The first ever party at La Chambre had been an undeniable success. The phenomenal turnout had both surprised and elated us. Of course we knew we couldn’t hope to maintain those numbers, but it still came as a shock to us when the following Saturday only sixteen couples walked through the door. This trend carried on for the next three months; eighteen couples, twenty couples, then back down to fifteen, then seventeen. We were spending vast amounts on advertising through the various contact magazines and top-shelf publications, all to no avail. We tried different promotions, even gave free entrance to couples who had been the previous week, but try as we may we couldn’t get the attendance much above twenty couples for any length of time. Looking back, I think part of the problem was that people didn’t trust us. Why should they pay a year’s membership when we could be gone the following week? It took time to gain their trust, of course we knew we weren’t going anywhere, apart from going under if they didn’t come and join us. It was a frustrating, not to say financially taxing, first six months. We were only opening one day a week, on a Saturday, the rest of the time the place stood empty. But how could we justify opening an extra night when we couldn’t fill one night.

  The answer was to offer something different on another night. I know it’s difficult to believe, but the single guy market was almost non existent back in 1998. By far the vast majority of swingers just wanted other couples or single girls. Single guys got their kicks primarily at dogging sites and there didn’t seem to be much use in opening a singles and couples night, but we were driven by necessity rather than faith. So, after seven months of just running a Saturday night, we decided to open Fridays for couples and singles. Was it all going to be worth it, we didn’t know? We had no other choice than to go for it. So on a warm night in July 1998 we instigated the first ever mixed night to be held in a venue specifically designed for that purpose. Single men no longer had to hunt down secluded dogging sites or try to wangle invites to house parties. Now they had access to their very own club where they would be on equal terms with the couples, but even then there was no rush to the door. Fridays again were slow, about ten to twelve guys and only six or seven couples, some of whom were Saturday nighters. The single blokes in those days were mostly older guys around the forty five to fifty mark, but there were quite a few characters amongst them.

  One we called Doctor because he always arrived at the club dressed in a tweed jacket, corduroy trousers and carrying one of those old fashioned doctor’s cases.

  I’m sure everyone where he lived believed he was a doctor, but when he got here he would strip down to his boxers, take his towel out of his doctors case and shag like a rabbit all night long. Another single we took to was a likeable bloke called Nick. He told us he had been in a well known pop group in the sixties and on occasion he would jump on the stage, borrow Jerry’s microphone and sing to us. To be fair he did have a good voice, but none of us could remember him being in that pop group and the sixties was our era.

  Even though the turn out of couples was poor on Friday, at least they were all there for the guys and we gradually cemented Friday night into our calendar. With Saturday holding steady at about twenty couples we were paying the bills and breaking even some weeks. Other weeks we were falling behind. We were running out of time and we knew it. We had been open almost a year, and despite all our advertising we were still the best kept secret in Britain. All that changed on a miserable, rainy Sunday in November 1998, when I stumbled downstairs after a late night at the club and picked up the Sunday newspaper.

  On the front of the News of the World was a big, red headline ‘Swingers Club Exposé.’ A cold hand gripped my heart when I saw it. La Chambre was the only swingers club in the country. Under the headline it read ‘Turn to centre pages for the full story.’ I went into the kitchen and lay the paper on the breakfast bar. I couldn’t bring myself to open it, I just stared at it hoping it meant someone else, not believing it could be us.

  Marie was still in bed. I just wished she was here to look inside this paper instead of me. Gingerly and with trembling hands, I turned to the centre pages and there in all its monstrosity, was the headline ‘ La Chambre Swingers Club Exposed.’ Underneath was a picture of me and Marie stood next to our car outside our home. Next to the picture it read ‘Perverts open sex club near church.’ ‘What fucking church?’ I shouted to myself. ‘There’s not a church within a mile of the place.’ I carried on reading, it went on to describe what debauchery happened behind the closed doors of what used to be a respectable public house, The Robin Hood, in Attercliffe, Sheffield. The whole thing was sprinkled with emotive words like depravity, perverted, vile and immoral. At the foot of the page were two more photos taken surreptitiously in the playrooms, thankfully when they were empty. The whole thing covered the centre spread, two full pages dedicated just to us.

  My mind was reeling. This was the biggest selling Sunday tabloid in the country. I peered out of the kitchen blinds, expecting to see crowds of people on the front drive holding placards and shouting ‘Unclean! Unclean!’ All I saw were a couple of lads kicking a ball about so I went back to the paper and carried on reading. It said something about church leaders being up in arms about us. “There’s that fucking church again” I said aloud. At the end of the page it said a full dossier had been sent to the local police.

  I slumped onto a chair. Not only does the entire world now know what we’re doing, but the local police will have a field day with us. We will most likely be arrested, brought before a court and sent to prison, our business will crumble, our house re-possessed and we would become destitute. I half expected to hear the police siren wailing up the road. Once again I peeked through the kitchen blinds, still the two lads playing football but now the neighbour was washing his car. Does he have the News of the World? If he does he will soon know all about us. Christ, half the street could be reading about us right now. I retreated away from the blinds, away from the outside world.

  Clutching the paper I reluctantly trudged up the stairs to our bedroom. Marie was just waking up. “Have you made a cuppa?” she asked sleepily.

  “You’ll need something a lot stronger than a cuppa when you’ve seen this,” I said holding up the newspaper. She took one look at the headline and sat bolt upright in bed becoming instantly awake.

  “Shit!” she exclaimed “Shit shit shit!” She began to read the text “What church?” she said. “And when did they take the photos of us?”

  “Lord knows, but all our neighbours, our friends, our family, our doctor, the people at the corner shop, the supermarket, the petrol station, even our window cleaner is going to look at us and think, ‘perverts.’ ”

  I dropped onto the bed and covered my head with a pillow. I could se
e everything we had worked for being destroyed before my eyes. I was in turmoil. Marie, meanwhile, had rallied. She was already out of bed and dressed. The phone was ringing off the hook downstairs and someone was banging on the front door. ‘This is it,’ I thought, ‘the police were about to break the door down.’

  “Come on!” shouted Marie. “You get the phone and I’ll get the door.” On the phone was Dave asking if I had read the Sunday paper. At the door were the two lads asking if they could have their ball back. After Dave had rung, Danny rang, and after Danny more and more swinging friends.

  That Sunday night we huddled together inside our house with the lights off. We had taken the phone off the hook just to get some peace and had decided to present ourselves to the Attercliffe Police Station the following morning, to save the indignity of being arrested at home in front of our neighbours. This may sound a bit dramatic but you have to understand in those days the likelihood of being arrested was a very real one; others had been locked up for much less. I remember one couple in Birmingham who had rented a big house in the country for a swingers weekend being given three months for fraudulently using the property for immoral purposes. I comforted myself by thinking we were being honest at least, maybe a little too honest.

  That night as we lay hugging each other, Marie and I made a pact. Whatever tomorrow may bring, we would not apologise for being swingers. We were not ashamed of who we were or of what we had tried to achieve and we would not be made to feel like lepers. But as we lay there in the dark, listening for the knock on the door, I must admit to feeling very alone and vulnerable.

  By nine o’clock the following morning we were in our car heading for the Attercliffe Police Station, which ironically is only a quarter of a mile from the club. Marie gripped my hand as we entered the station reception. It was deserted apart from a policeman who was sat behind a glass partition. I had to speak through a small microphone fixed into the glass.

  “We would like to see someone regarding the La Chambre adult club please.” The policeman looked puzzled.

  “Regarding exactly what sir?” he responded.

  “It’s about the News of the World dossier…” I hesitated for a second. “We’re the owners.” The policeman’s eyebrows raised with a sudden realisation.

  “Oh right,” he said lingering on his last word. “Would you take a seat and I’ll get someone out to you.” He was on the phone immediately. “We have the owners of La Chambre in reception… okay, yes, they’re both here.” He put the phone down and gave us a glance over his shoulder. I looked at Marie and gave her hand a squeeze.

  “Well this is it kiddo, remember if they split us up, do not apologise to anyone.”

  “I won’t,” replied Marie, her bottom lip shaking just a little.

  After less than a minute, two plain clothed men arrived in reception. One of them had a folder in his hand, they led us down a corridor into a small interview room where they asked us to sit down before plonking the folder on the table in front of us.

  “What are you doing here?” asked one of the detectives.

  “We have come to give ourselves up,” I said. “We know the News of the World have sent you all the information you need to have us arrested, so here we are.” Marie interrupted, “We’re not about to let our neighbours see us dragged away and neither are we going to say sorry for what we do.” She was ready to take it on the chin whatever came and I was proud of her.

  “So do what you have to do and let’s not waste any more time,” I snapped.

  I was sick of running scared too, we were both ready to suffer for our convictions and if that was prison then so be it. We had known all along it could come to this, so it was no good bleating about it now. The two detectives looked at us in astonishment and then one of them burst into laughter.

  “My God,” he said turning to the other one, “I wouldn’t want to mess with these two, bloody Bonnie and Clyde eh,” he laughed. The first detective turned back to us and said, “Look you two, I don’t know what you think we were going to do but you can rest assured we have no intention of arresting you.”

  “Bu... bu... but the dossier,” I stammered, pointing to the folder on his desk.

  “That thing,” he said. “It’s a load of rubbish, just newspaper sensationalism.” The other detective took over. “Don’t you think we know what goes on in our own patch. We sent people into your club a few weeks after you opened.” The other detective took over again

  “And do you know what we found?” Both Marie and I shook our heads unable to speak.

  “Nothing, no under-age sex, no prostitution, no people trafficking, no drugs, nothing. All we saw was consenting adults doing what comes naturally, that’s not against any law that we know of.” He leaned across the desk and gave his best bad cop look.

  “If we wanted to shut you down, we wouldn’t need some fantasy made up dossier from the News of the World. We would just park a panda car outside your front door everytime you opened.”

  “That would do it,” I said, having found my voice again.

  The other cop now took over. “It’s like this, you don’t cause us any problems, then we won’t cause you any problems.”

  After that we shook hands and they walked us to the front entrance. As we stepped out into the fresh morning air one of them said

  “Oh, by the way, where is this church they were on about?” I shrugged my shoulders. “Damned if I know” I answered. The detectives laughed and closed the door. We made our way to the car with a sense of freedom which you can only appreciate when you’ve come close to loosing it.

  When we got home the phone was going crazy, but it was not our home phone. It was the business line for the club which in the three months since we had it connected had hardly rang. Now it was continuous.

  Millions of people all over Britain had seen the News of the World exposé and now just about every swinger in the country knew about us and wanted to get in touch. The News of the World had achieved more in one day than we could have achieved in ten years of advertising. We worked in shifts to answer the phone, only stopping at around eleven thirty at night. By the morning the answer phone would be crammed full of more inquiries. This went on for about three weeks before it began to slow down. Our membership trebled within a month and the weekend parties were booming. We would have people driving from the south coast and the north of Scotland. It was incredible. I think it’s fair to say that the News of the World saved us; if it were not for their exposé I’m not sure we could have hung on long enough to make the club work.

  Three months after the exposé, with the place still flourishing, we sent a big bottle of bubbly to the News of the World head office with a note attached which read ‘Thanks for calling, please come again anytime.’ They never replied and they never came back.

  When the News of the World was closed down for improper practices in 2011, we felt a sense of vindication. They had done their best to shut us down, to ruin our lives and all just to sell a few more papers that week. We had survived not only that but thrived long enough to see them go under. I can’t have any sympathy for them, in fact I often wonder if the dossier on them I sent to their local police had anything to do with it.

  CHAPTER 5

  Gangs at the door

  It had been six months since the News of the World had done their best to destroy us and the club was thriving, most Fridays and Saturdays there were queues outside when we opened the doors. We had been going for a year and a half and were finally able to consistently repay the massive loans we had incurred setting up the place. We had made changes too, for one we had hired a professional DJ called John who brought with him all the top of the range equipment needed to do justice to our new and vibrant atmosphere. With the club now packed every weekend, we also needed extra bar staff, but by far the most significant change in that summer of 1999 was to bring Craig, our son in law, in from the car park to work with me and Marie hosting inside La Chambre. Craig had a work ethic second to none; coupl
e that with his infectious personality and I knew he would be a sure fire hit with our members. After all the hardships and setbacks we had endured getting to this stage, we felt we had at last turned a corner and it would be smooth sailing from now on. But as usual, whenever things are going well something always seems to come along to try and ruin it. This happened to us late November 1999, almost two years after we had opened.

  It was a Monday morning, I was down at the club doing some minor repair. I was working in the lounge with the front door open for some fresh air and in stepped a big Asian guy. I looked up, thinking he had come for some information about the club. Before I had chance to speak he strode towards me aggressively.

  “You the owner?” he said, his eyes darting all over the lounge as he spoke. He was checking to see that I was alone and taking stock of where everything was, I saw him look at the bar, till and drinks chiller.

  “I pay the bills if that’s what you mean,” I said standing my ground.

  “Nice place you got ’ere man,” he said looking over my shoulder at the disco equipment.

  “We like it,” I replied. He then brushed past me without speaking and walked into the lounge as far as the dance floor.

  “Look, can I do something for you?” I asked. He turned to face me again.

  “Naw man, but we can do something for you.” A noise behind me made me turn to see three more Asian men stood in the doorway. My heart was pounding four to one. I wasn’t sure what was going on but it wasn’t good. I turned to face the first guy again who was now walking back towards me from the dance floor.

  “You got a lot of really expensive stuff in here man, be a pity if it got all broke up.”

  “Why would it get broke?” I asked trying to sound calm.

  “Haven’t you heard man, there are a lot of bad people about.” He looked over at the others by the door and laughed, they all laughed. I didn’t say anything, I was in a bad situation and had to think fast.