A woman in lingerie wrapped her body around the stripper pole on the dance floor, drinking in the lust greedily as revelers ogled her and her husband awkwardly dad-danced nearby. Early 2000s heterosexual porn played on an LED screen dangling over an espresso machine. We gave our Absolut Lime to the clerk (the club is BYOB per Georgia law), and I teetered on my $20 Dolls Kill lucite heels to the main bar and food area, where couples on the prowl guzzled the booze they had brought and noshed on cheesecake. It was our first time back at a sex club since they started reopening, and the place was packed with mask-free revelers who paid $80, on top of the $50–$100 membership fee, to fuck people who weren’t their partners.
I was standing in line with my boyfriend. It was a pleasantly cool June evening and the smell of perfume, cigars, and fried food permeated the air. The line snaked out of Atlanta sex club Trapeze, as around 20 people, dressed in white lingerie and chest-baring white dress shirts, waited to get in.
