sex club anxiety

Sex club 3 of 3

Yes I know this is crazy but we did indeed go to the sex club a third time, even after the first and second times were so stressful and uncomfortable.

Before we went, Stew and I talked at length about this night. We have agreed we will stay together (even as we are talking about it, this feels unrealistic but sounds like a good idea), not do anything with anyone alone, I will be kept safe.

I am actually excited about this club trip because I feel we’ve been through all the negative emotions and only fun things can happen. I have (over-) analysed and thought extensively about the previous two club visits and I’m ready. I know what to expect. I think.

One important fact I have left out of all of my writing so far is that I am autistic. This affects my life all of the time, and especially in social situations. Around other people, especially those I don’t know, the only way I can cope is by mirroring the people I am with. My deeply ingrained view is that if I copy others who seem to know what they are doing, then I will be OK. Bear this information in mind as you continue reading.

This was an unusual night because Stewart and I met there, having driven separately. Previously, we’d come out to the club from the hotel we were staying at, which gave us the benefit of lots of post-club discussion.

When I pulled into the car park, Stew was standing outside his car, smoking. We kissed and went inside. I had decided that this time I had better have a drink to calm my nerves, so I’d brought a bottle of a favourite wine.

We made our way as usual through the cold, damp building to the club. I stowed our things in a locker and quickly downed a small glass of wine, then poured another. Stewart and I picked a sofa and settled in. The wine was a good idea. I felt chilled and comfortable.

A couple came in and sat down next to us. Stewart made it clear to me that he did not want to play with them. While she was not my type, he definitely was – late 40s man who clearly had been a rudie skinhead back in the day, cool shoes and old tats. Stewart went out for a fag and I talked to this couple about where they’d come from (Powys) and the other clubs they’d been to.

Stew came back and again indicated he was not interested in this couple. I then did something so uncharacteristically rude that I am still cringing about it as I write this weeks later – I blanked them. I stopped talking to this couple sat next to me, and even when Stewart went out to smoke again I didn’t speak to them.

The club quickly filled with almost entirely couples. Young couples, older couples in going-out-for-a-nice-meal clothes, mid-30s couples in this-is-my-business-casual-look clothes – a huge variety. A couple in their late 20s came in and sat down. The girl went off to change and returned in a miniscule kilt and crotchless knickers, white halter top and very high heels. Many of the men (Stew included) took huge interest in this girl, which, despite being in a sex club, felt creepy.

By this point a few hours had passed and the calm brought by the wine had worn off. All of the other couples seemed to know at least one other couple. The people there that night seemed socially at ease in a way I will never be. I had no idea what to do next. It was nearing midnight, we were in a sex club where no one was having sex and everyone was just casually talking. This was so confusing. I was at a complete loss as to what to do. This situation actually blew a fuse in my brain. There was no one there like me (bar rudie skinhead who I was no longer speaking to).

I must have made it clear to Stew that I needed something to happen. We found a private room, went in, locked the door and got naked. Then, Stewart reached over and unlocked the door. Just in case, I suppose, others might join us and make this a more interesting evening than just my sucking his cock as I do every time we see each other.

I gave Stewart head and he came. This room had no ceiling, but was open so that any noise from inside could be heard outside and vice versa. So we could all the hubbub of people talking outside. The door being unlocked made me nervous, I couldn’t relax thinking that we could be in for a repeat of the previous time, where half the club ended up in with us.

Once again, I was stressed and uncomfortable. Out of my depth. Vulnerable.

And I finally realised: there is no fucking point to this. There is no need to put myself through this. I don’t need to be stressed and feel scared. There is no benefit, no lesson to learn. It’s time I’ll never get back. I can’t even say ‘I’m glad I did that but I wouldn’t want to do it again.’

I just wish I hadn’t done it in the first place.

*I chose this image of a girl looking out of a hole in the wall for this post because that is how I felt on this occasion. Small and scared, isolated from the world, looking out on a scene I had no understanding of and wasn’t equipped to deal with.

Click here to read about the second time we went to the club

Click here to read about the first time we went to the club

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