In the Swing of Things

Written by Matt Harvey on . Posted in Bash Compactor, Posts.


The first hint that Webster Hall—where a party called “The Leg Show” featuring some Penthouse Pets
was being hosted upstairs— might not have been the best place for a
Valentine’s night out, was at the door. The guy with the list asked,
“What’s your female’s name?” But it was a popular late-night
destination for the fancier of the perma-tan, outer-borough set; one
long-faced twentysomething couple was even turned away because the dude
was wearing jeans.

Decorations consisted of Penthouse centerfolds
from the 1990s taped to the walls firehouse style and an overworked
smoke machine. I spied two thirty-somethings in fishnet tops and
micro-mini skirts petting each other next to a speaker. Any doubt at
what the party was all about was put to rest when over a retro-house
beat. A smooth-voiced emcee intoned, “This is a swinger’s party.”

The red corset dress-wearing blonde, Dr. Victoria Z—who is a psychologist and Penthouse columnist—explained
how this group makes infidelity work. In her Russian accent she said,
“The man makes sure the woman is involved.

Let her choose the
other girl.”Then the PhD unzipped her corset and gave me a peek at her
doctoral thesis on anatomy, and added,“I’m married, but I can swing if
I want to.” A tanned, buff couple in from Miami for the party, Lisa and Jeff (everyone
uses first names here), told me that they had decided to swing before
they were married. “You’ll never know what it’s like until you try it,”
Jeff told me. “It’s a lot of fun.” A couple in a dark corner was
chatting up Vera—a body-painted brunette on stripper heels who
worked for the party. “I don’t swing, I don’t even like guys,” she
admitted quietly. Two cats and nights at home, the whole deal? “Yep, basically.” So why do you work this party? She deadpanned, “It’s not just trashy shit; they’re really classy.”

My crew was getting restless, and I wasn’t exactly going to argue. But just when I’m out they pull me back in… Penthouse bigwig Lainie Speiser and two Pets—Shawna Lanee and Taya Parker—were hanging
out in the smoking section. Redheaded Lainie asked, “Why don’t you send
your date over to me? She’s cute.” I asked Taya, a short girlnext-door
looking brunette, how many pendant-wearing ogres tried to pick her up
tonight. “Like on their shoulders? Is that a new fetish?”The night
ended on a laugh.

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