You’re not exactly sure how you got here… 

It started with an article on Kinkly about couples ditching dinner-and-a-movie and instead, having a novel experience in a more erotic setting. Then came the podcast with the mom-next-door claiming that a swinger club saved her marriage. 

Apparently, going to a sex club is the millennial version of spicing things up. But maybe you’re not trying to fix anything. Maybe you’re just craving an adventure.. 

So here you are, standing in the front lobby of a very nondescript industrial building. Instead of waiting room chairs, there are velvet benches. Holding hands with your partner a little tighter than usual, you’re both trying to play it cool. 

The man leading the tour introduces himself. He’s wiry and cheerful and wearing a shirt that says ‘Slipper When Wet.’ At first, you think he’s a greeter, maybe a volunteer. But he lets you know that he’s the club host, manager, and designated mop guy ‘if someone spills lube all over the dungeon floor again,’ like some sort of sex club Roomba.  

He walks you and the handful of other first-timers through the space like he’s giving a tour of his family’s house: proud, casual, deeply invested. The first stop is the cuddle room. No sex allowed, just blankets, tea lights, and a low hum of music. ‘Some people just want to reconnect here,’ he explains. ‘Or come down after a scene.’ The only rule: no sex in this room. 

Then it’s on to a space filled with what can only be described as an orgy pit. Multiple low mattresses with fresh sheets, purple lighting, and actual fishbowls of condoms and pumps of lube in each corner. ‘You don’t have to use them,’ he says, ‘but they’re here if you want them.’ Oh, and you must switch out the sheets when you’re done playing, ‘Just throw them in the hamper.’  

There’s a BDSM room, complete with St. Andrew’s cross, spanking benches, and leather cuffs. A room with a glory hole wall. ‘It’s more popular than you think,’ claims your tour guide with a little smirk. And then there’s the bar area. It’s BYOB but stocked with plenty of waters, snacks, and a playlist rocking all the Y2K greatest hits.  

What surprises you the most? The amount of conversation about rules. Consent, boundaries, and encouragement to say no. Encouragement to say yes, too, but only if you actually want to. 

Your quirky host explains, ‘Some folks come to play with others. Some just want a sexy space to hook up with their partner. Some are voyeurs. And some are regulars who just want to sit and chat and feel… not judged.’ He lets that hang for a moment. ‘But we always start with clarity. You don’t touch without asking. You don’t interrupt a scene. And if you see a red wristband, that’s a no to everything.’ 

You nod as if you understand, but you’re not entirely sure you do. You’ve been to house parties, music festivals, and Burning Man-adjacent events. But this one feels different.  

Not just more naked, but more honest? 

You don’t know what’s going to happen tonight. Maybe you’ll just hold hands and watch. Perhaps you’ll dance. You might kiss like teenagers and then head home buzzing. Maybe you’ll discover something new about yourself. About each other. 

Someone walks by in a glitter thong and thigh-high boots. You take a breath as your partner squeezes your hand. And just like that, you’re stepping forward into the dark, velvet-lined unknown.  

This balance of safety, sexual health,  and maintaining fantasy—the equilibrium that the managers of these swinger clubs have to maintain to keep things both open and safe—is explored in “Managing the Business of Sex: Swinger Club Managers and Sexual Health Promotion,” by Dr. Chris Haywood.  

This 2024 study, published in Culture, Health & Sexuality, takes a peek behind the curtain. Not at the type of folks who go to these establishments, but examining the role of the swinger club managers in the UK and how their decisions shape not just the vibe of the club, but its contributions to public health.  

From taboo to trending 

Twenty years ago, if you said you were going to a swinger club, people might’ve raised their eyebrows (or avoided eye contact altogether). Fast forward to 2025. Not only is swinging more visible, it’s booming. According to Dr. Chris Haywood, in 2003, there were about five clubs in the UK. As of 2024? Around 44.  

These aren’t strip clubs or brothels. They’re spaces where all types of folks meet for consensual sex, usually with their partner, often with others. These clubs offer everything from cuddle rooms to BDSM style dungeons. 

But what do we know about these places? 

Dr. Haywood points out that while there’s a “growing understanding of the demography of those attending sex clubs and what happens within those clubs,” there’s very little research on how these clubs (as businesses) handle sexual health. 

Sex Clubs have often been treated like research labs, useful to study consensual non-monogamy, but not studied in and of themselves. Most academics look at things like consent etiquette, how couples negotiate rules, or how swinging functions socially. But what’s missing? The actual club environments: management, health culture, and infrastructure.  

Meanwhile, STI diagnoses in the UK are rising fast, including gonorrhea, syphilis, and more. And there are now more new HIV diagnoses among heterosexuals than among gay or bisexual communities. So, what role do swinger clubs play in this? 

In this study, Dr. Haywood wanted to understand: How do swinger clubs view sexual safety promotion? Do they even see it as their job? 

To find out, they interviewed 10 managers from across England. These weren’t one-question surveys. They were semi-structured interviews, some lasting up to 3 hours, done inside the clubs themselves.  

“The aim of the study is not to be comprehensive in its engagement with swinging practices, but to initiate the conversation about the relationship between swinger clubs as a business and sexual health promotion.” (Dr. Haywood) 

Managing a swinger club 

Dr. Chris Haywood found that some managers frame sexual health promotion as a financial burden, not a moral obligation. 

Vanessa, a club owner in the Midlands, made it clear: “We sell them [condoms].” She explained that post-COVID, club owners are constantly “chasing our tails.” Unlike gay clubs, she claims, heterosexual-focused swing clubs don’t get free condoms or testing kits. This lack of support from public health workers forces heterosexual swing clubs to treat sexual health supplies as another revenue line. 

So their condoms are sold. They’re available, but not obviously available. And not free. 

Other managers took a different approach: it’s not our job. It’s theirs.  

Pam in the West Midlands claimed that it’s “not for us as a club to decide. You take responsibility for your own health.” John, in London, echoed this: “People are old enough to make those decisions for themselves.”  

Here, the sex club becomes just a fantasy venue, not a stakeholder in anyone’s safety. Michelle, in the North-West, called it “molly-coddling” to suggest an official policy.  

These managers rely on a logic of rational choice. That adults come in, know what they want, and take responsibility for the risks. But as Dr. Haywood points out, this model doesn’t always hold up when bodies, alcohol, emotions, and power dynamics enter the room.  

“Just a little nudge.” 

Some managers found a middle ground. 

Cherrie, in the East of England, doesn’t push. But she nudges. “You know you have the lube in the rooms, don’t you?” she tells guests, adding that they’re “condom friendly, too.” She provides makeup remover and deodorant alongside condoms and lubricants. 

Matt, from the South-West, avoids condom-shaming by making them freely available. “If people choose not to use them, on their heads be it.”  

And then there are the managers who treat sexual health as a core part of the club’s identity.  

Melanie in the North-West took over a club where condoms were sold. And she was “livid.” Now? “There are condoms in every single room.” And they’re free. She even puts posters about sexual health on bathroom stalls. 

Lucy, managing a club in the West, turned her venue into a kind of wellness hub. Training sessions for newcomers, workshops on lap dancing and arousal. For her, sexual health is part of a larger erotic self-care ethos.  

A balancing act 

According to Dr. Haywood, managers are “navigating a ‘delicate balancing act’ between ‘stakeholder expectations’ and ‘socially responsible behaviors’.” Some clubs lean into hedonism, others lean into health. But all are reacting to external stigma. Many clubs were hesitant to even participate in this study, fearing it might harm their community.  

Every manager shared one thing: They genuinely care about their patrons. But their care came in different flavors: business-oriented, hands-off neutrality, casual encouragement, or full-blown advocacy. 

And the most talked about “ideal consumer” was 40-something, partnered, heterosexual. This is linked to what previous research called the “imagined consumer”: a mental profile that managers create of their typical guest. This imagined client determines marketing, club policies, and even what kind of sexual health information is offered. Inherently leaving out conversations around sexual health messaging for same-sex activity, bisexual encounters, and non-binary identities. Dr. Haywood notes that these assumptions limit how the sex clubs understand risk.  

“What was missing from club managers’ accounts was [a] lack of discussion of the sexual health implications for women engaging in same-sex encounters and men who have sexual encounters with other men.” (Dr. Haywood) 

The bottom line 

Swinger clubs are still “a blind spot in sexual health discussion,” especially because public health circles may assume that older adults are cautious and conservative when it comes to sexual activity.  

Dr. Haywood suggests that public health interventions should be co-created with both managers and swing club patrons, ensuring they are nonjudgmental and acknowledge the role of pleasure in sexual wellbeing. And expanding the information around bisexual, same-sex, and non-binary experiences.  

Club managers do care, but their definitions of care differ. From hands-off to condoms in every corner.  

The takeaway isn’t about whether condoms are free. It’s about how these sex clubs frame pleasure and risk. Folks are seeking more freedom in their sexual expression, so we need safer spaces to protect those experiences.  

Maybe it all starts with a pump of lube and someone saying, ‘It’s condom friendly, too.’