The Front Investigation: No bang for the bucks

In which the reporter and his friend Harry Glickman get unlucky at a swingers' club

By CHRIS BARRY

 Every time any of my relatives come to town it seems they always have the same burning question on their mind: "Chris, where do we go to swing in this here Montreal?" And I always feel like an ass, because, even being the consummate urban hipster I am, I have to admit that I don't know.

 So I decided it was time I finally got down to doing a little hard research and, after about 20 seconds online, stumbled across this members-only club in Rosemount that offers something they call Gang Bang Nights. Sounded good. I rang them up.

 "How much is it going to cost me to get in to Gang Bang Night?" I inquired, knowing this would be the determining factor as to whether I would visit the place. "A hundred dollars for a single male," said the very ethnic voice on the other end of the line.

 "A hundred dollars!!" I shouted. "Holy doodle, what the fuck's going down there for a hundred bucks?"

 "One girl for every three boy, good deal, guaranteed action for you, good deal." But it didn't sound like all that good a deal to me. "It's free if you bring your wife along," the guy added, perhaps sensing my reluctance, "but she has to participate in the Gang Bang. Maybe you come on Couples Night if you not so sure. Fifty dollars. Or free admission if you bring girl, no obligation for her, good deal for you."

 I sensed a bargain, so come Friday I was all wound up to go. Unfortunately, my wife, who had initially, albeit reluctantly, agreed to accompany me on this most important fact-finding expedition, got sick with the flu and ended up backing out--leaving me with no choice but to replace her with my old friend Harry Glickman, a 40-something sexual adventurer with a little bit of a gut, a thinning hairline and a healthy taste for all things unsavoury. A partner switch that ended up costing both of us an extra $50 at the door. Yikes!

 NO SATYRICON

 Assured by the doorman that two handsome studs like ourselves stood an excellent chance of being asked to participate in a threesome with some lucky couple, we forked over the cash--me with tears in my eyes--and stepped through the curtain into what we expected to be something like a scene out of Fellini's Satyricon.

 But no go. It was more like a scene from A Night at the Roxbury. Yeah, there were plenty of couples there, and not all of them gross and skanky, but nobody was naked and, for the most part, the joint wasn't much different than your average Repentigny disco. Music courtesy of Britney Spears and the Venga Boys, with a lot of 30-ish couples in clothes from Cohoes sitting around on the club's fake leather couches ignoring each other. The only positive exception being one plump Goth chick--who struck me as maybe having emotional problems--with her tits half pulled out of her bustier for a couple of enthusiastic clowns to chow down on. Yum.

 Apparently all the action was going down in some mysterious orgy room that they had hidden away upstairs. But unless we scored with an eager couple, this sexual nirvana was strictly off-limits to us single males.

 And good luck hooking up with a couple. Nobody seemed eager to escort a pair of awkward voyeurs into the orgy room. As for single girls, well, big surprise, outside of a few bikini-clad "hostesses" guarding the stairway to heaven, I didn't see one all night.

 But, I reminded myself, I was here on a research mission, not to pick up chicks. Besides, a couple more $5 beers in my system and what was I going to care about swinging anyway? I settled in for the long haul.

 BUMRUSH THE ORGY

 And I was doing fine just soaking up the kitschy atmosphere until Harry started getting depressed and tried to bum my flow by choosing this occasion to inform me that a day hasn't gone by in the past 10 years where he hasn't considered killing himself.

 "That's nice," I told him, trying to change the subject. "Maybe we should try to storm the doors of the orgy room now and see what happens?" So off we went in a desperate attempt to try to get our $50 worth of swinging.

 But no chance. We weren't 10 feet from the staircase before a three-strong mob of "hostesses," no doubt familiar with this kind of behaviour from single dudes, encircled us and let us know in no uncertain terms that this sort of stunt was strictly frowned upon and that if we ever tried pulling this shit again we would be barred from the club for life. And God forbid that should ever happen.

 Sensing increasingly bad vibes coming our way now that we had proven ourselves to be so blatantly uncool, we split about five minutes later, Harry more bummed than ever, and me without any real, solid info to be able to report to my loved ones next time they come to town.

 But, you know, at least I made the effort. :