“Don’t let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief and shining moment, that was known as Camelot.”

Alan Jay Lerner, Camelot

Once upon a time, not so long ago, in this city there was a place where you could be yourself without the morality police and millennial’s coming of age to judge, tweet and or close it down. I think on it as something akin to a Camelot for gays and swingers and all of the kinky freaks wanting to commune and share their story without blame or shame. I mean. New Orleans is where you’re supposed to be able to let it all hang out. Or, so I thought. For those of you who remember “The Executive Fuck” story and my partner in kink, Sexy Beast, this is where we first flaunted ourselves in public. We were getting to know one another and our relationship was new. I was eager to run and frolic with whomever he found for us to explore sexually. He had had the privilege of living in New Orleans when the few sex clubs in town were still rollicking and full of kindred spirits who enjoyed this type of thing. Now, the last sex club open in town is Collette’s. According to Sexy Beast it was formerly a fun and uninhibited good time full of people who were there to participate wholeheartedly and get it on. I’ve noticed that over the years at this particular club, instead of hot and horny free spirits there are lovely women who prefer wearing sexy clothes and sitting very close to their husband or boyfriend in an attempt to be seen, but not to be touched. No edge. No soul. No fun. If there’s a game in town the opposing pseudo wannabee kinksters are dressed to the nine’s and have an impenetrable force field that outsiders or locals cannot pierce. It’s a click fest. If you get my meaning. Bad music and drunk milfs in hooker boots sliding up and down the stripper pole command your attention because no one is actually fucking. The one’s that are fucking are not necessarily the ones you’d want. I could get laid there, but the cock blocking, attention whores won’t let me near their mates. I still gaze, bat my eyes and I make it known that I’m available. For sport and out of sheer boredom I like making some of these women nervous. I get a little too close to their husbands in the halls and smile at them as we watch their “better half” do her best Springer inspired pole dance. You’re the one, Honey. I’m just a distraction and I don’t want to take him home with me. I just want to chew on his strange and meaty member while you entertain us. Tough crowd. The Country Club, however, was the most fun I have had in this now shuttered city and it was a delight to hang with all of the freaks. It was like Mardi Gras, but naked. The facade is a 1860’s era Center Hall home which is ascetically lovely and unassuming. Located in the Bywater, we usually wound up here at the end of an evening. It’s also a restaurant with a decent menu and a large and comfortable bar inside. The patio area in back was the show. When you walk through the restaurant and bar to the outside, what you see first is a pool and the large Tiki bar. Upbeat music is playing and boobs and cocks are flying. It was so free. Unlike Collette’s and the failed Jasmine’s, where you must bring your own booze, The Country Club provided all the libations you could want without having to bring your cooler. I have always despised a bar or club that didn’t have it’s own. I can just drink at home. This is New Orleans for God’s sake! Everyone and their brother can get a liquor license. So many legal loop holes. It was like a Prince video on this patio. In the large pool naked couples are kissing and getting close with all sorts of characters. In the left back corner is a hot tub where you could share a blunt and warm up for the festivities with a lively group of gays. Look to your left. Is that woman naked and in the bushes being fucked by some stranger? I think she is. Hmm… Move away from the hot tub and head toward the chaise lounges. This is where me and Sexy Beast first did the deed here. I got on top of him and rode him in reverse cowgirl style while men and women gathered and looked on. What power! It was a thrill to say the least. If you wanted to get it on under a Louisiana moon with drink in hand and cock in mouth, the Country Club was always there for you. Sexy Beast would carry me around in the pool attached to his hot and hungry love rod and chat with others. We were like two love bugs in that place. His cock was always inside me. Giggle… Everyone was doing it and it was all under control. Just a fun and happy vibe. Towards the end of its reign this club was slowly, but surely starting to clamp down on anything sexual. Something had changed. The world became more conservative and our youth were coming of age. The security dorks followed you around and discouraged any physical contact in the pool. They frowned on closeness in any form. Sexy Beast, always the rebel, barked back “can I put my arm around her?” I moved to New Orleans to have the fun I was never allowed to have as a teenager. So, being the type of people who do not like being told what to do, especially by overzealous amateurs, we did it anyway. We escaped the pool and went over to a bush. I blew my Beast while looking over my shoulder because I wanted to. You won’t stop me because the youth of our time have no edge and are offended. Maybe they would be happier at a Dave and Buster’s playing skeet ball. It’s like Chuck E Cheese’s for adults. No one will be naked, you can surf Reddit on your IPhone while wearing your Sponge Bob t-shirt. Also, my Beast won’t look at your date like she’s a piece of meat. This still bothers me a great deal. Why should my fun be preempted because the youth are offended and the tourists want to clean up Bourbon Street and everything that makes New Orleans fun? Come on!! On our last visit we were so frustrated by their security detail literally separating married couples and constantly leaning over you in the pool with “too close” and “don’t touch her, Sir,” that we fled into the bathroom. I had been drinking and needed to go to the Ladies Room anyway. I picked a stall and Sexy Beast decided to try one of their newly remodeled showers. As I sat down I heard the bathroom door fly open. One of their Hitler Youth forcefully opened my stall. As I sat there naked on the toilet I said “I usually pee alone, Sweetie.” He muttered something about “I’m just checking” and left the room. What a violation! He didn’t even apologize! Sexy Beast was giggling in the shower and I told him when I finished I was coming to join him. As I slipped out of my stall, looking left and then right, I made sure the coast was clear. I opened the shower door and started fondling my Beast’s always erect and very dependable meat stick. We kissed and groped each other’s goodies. It was fun to try and get away with it without being discovered. In fact, I felt a compulsion to make the most of this. I got on my knees as the warm water flowed over us and took him deep into my mouth. I sucked and sucked with everything in me. I wanted this to be memorable because I somehow knew that this would be our last fuck at the Country Club. Things just weren’t the same and going there had become tiresome and too much of a challenge. I bent over for him to take me from behind. As his slid inside of me I heard the bathroom door open again. As we detached from one another in a one graceful movement, the shower door slammed open and another young man, who I believe took his job way too seriously, told us to get out. We laughed out loud in his face. We knew it was over and that this last shining beacon of kink was kaput. We walked outside being escorted and chided by the security dork for “violating the rules.” I loved that he had made such a scene. I think a few people applauded us as we made our way to our clothing, still waiting for us on a nearby chaise. He even watched us dress ourselves. The absurdity of it all was hilarious to us. With our pride a little battered, but our spirits still up, we wound up at Cafe du Monde to drown our sorrows with hot beignets and cafe au lait. In spite of the humiliation it was still a good night and I remember how much we laughed about it and felt a little sadness because this was one of our favorite places in town. We had really bonded here and their Gestapo tactics couldn’t take that away. Still.. we knew it was over and that stings a little. Not too long after we were publicly dismissed from what had now become a vanilla version of its former self, a young woman claimed she was raped here and the court agreed with her. The Country Club stopped offering the “clothing option” at their pool and changed it’s format forever. It’s funny. This place had started as kind of a haven for gays and those who wanted to express themselves in a semi-controlled setting. Peacefully. Joyfully. Then with just one fateful night it was over. Sexual harassment stories in the news followed as this town was taken down by young women who didn’t like being called “baby” in the workplace and so forth. I’ve been there before. I get it. I’m not saying that these women aren’t telling the truth and in some cases business owners and men in power have been pigs. Forcing a young women to show her body and threatening dismissal if she doesn’t comply is always wrong. Just like the case of fallen superstar Chef John Besh, well…. Manipulating young women into being your personal fantasy is never alright. However, there are other jobs in town. In the case of this rape story I remember what my mama always said, “if you’re looking for trouble you’ll find it” and “don’t put yourself in a compromising position if you’re not prepared for the consequences.” What I dislike most about the entire #Metoo movement is it’s so very, very self serving in that it’s all about “me.” I also think it became trendy and women became emboldened to out their boss and scream rape in instances where I’m not sure it was quite the case. I say trendy because it’s not the news du jour it was about four years ago. What does that mean? Men aren’t sexually harassing women anymore? Or, has the trend simply past? Women walk a fine line when it comes to sex. No doubt. Men have to adjust themselves accordingly and not take advantage. I feel like we have all been punished because of the actions of a few bad men or we are a classroom collectively missing recess because of sexually conflicted and immature women and men. I guess I just miss having fun and my kind of fun is risky. I hope that New Orleans isn’t losing it’s edge. There has to be one place left in this world where we can misbehave.