Dear Patchers — we’ve made it to the midweek hump, a fitting time for today’s article. This week, Alex got elbow deep (figuratively) in the world of West Midlands swinging, after learning a friend of his had visited a sex club called Chameleons, in Walsall. A real ‘fish out of water’ piece, Alex interviews patrons of all ages and learns about the ins, outs and leather seating, all to answer the question, why are more young people engaging with ‘the lifestyle’? But before we get into that, your Brum in Brief…
Brum in brief
🚓 A whistleblower, reportedly a member of the public, has contacted the Health and Safety Executive (HSE) alleging that West Midlands police teams have been strapping loaded guns into cars using seat belts. Current policy requires officers to place loaded guns into secured boxes within police vehicles. Investigators have raised the risk of improperly stored loaded guns discharging ammo in the event of car crashes. The HSE has said it is “satisfied” further action will be taken by West Midlands police to reduce these risks.
✂️ Protests erupted outside and inside Birmingham City Council HQ on Tuesday as members voted to cut four adult day centres in Great Barr, Kings Norton, Harborne and Inkerman Street. Councillors cited the city’s bankruptcy earlier this year due to equal pay claims, a disastrous IT system and accountancy issues as the reason for the savings. The vote to close the four centres comes after a three month long consultation during which numerous carers for people with autism and other learning disabilities voiced their opposition to the cuts. Tuesday’s meeting was interrupted by affected carers, with one woman yelling: “You just don’t get it — you need to listen to us.” Labour councillors have cited low attendance numbers at the centres, alongside budgetary constraints as key reasons for closing the sites.
🚳The City Council is considering banning cycling in pedestrian areas of the city centre, a move that has caused a ruckus within Birmingham Labour. The proposal is part of plans to create a Public Space Protection Order (PSPO) which restricts certain behaviours within a designated area. It was discussed by the cabinet last week as part of a crackdown on antisocial behaviour, graffiti and begging as well as cycling which has increased with the rise of food delivery apps. The cabinet decided to approve a public consultation on the plans, which former-cabinet member for Transport and keen cyclist Liz Clements, and Councillor David Barker tried to ‘call in’ so it could be reconsidered. That attempt was reportedly blocked at the behest of cabinet members.
Swipe or Swing?
By Alex Taylor
There’s disagreement at Dispatch HQ. The editors are huddled in the corner of the office having a whispered conversation; hands clasped over their mouths. I wait nervously in my chair on the other side of the room. You could cut the tension with a knife. This is what it must have been like in the The Washington Post newsroom on the brink of Watergate, or in Coleen Rooney’s camp at the height of Wagatha. I’m sure every great editorial team has faced moments like these. Do you hit publish? Do you pull the trigger? The predicament this time is a little different though. My editors were discussing whether it was a good idea to send the 22-year-old team member to a sex club.
I’m the 22-year-old. And let’s face it, it’s a fair point. Eyebrows were raised when I pitched the idea. Further eyebrows were raised when Jack, my just-turned-25-year-old editor, gave it the green light. Questions such as this came up: Why on earth are we sending a 22-year old, who knows nothing at all about sex clubs, who has never set foot in a sex club, who didn’t know the difference between swinging and dogging until it was explained to him 25 minutes ago, to write a sensitive and considered piece on the topic of sex clubs?
Let me try to answer. Anyone who knows me will attest this is not my scene. Not that anything’s wrong with it, but swinging is so far off my periphery I almost considered it not a real thing, like Bigfoot or the Manchester leg of HS2. To me, it existed more as a butt of a joke, or as a twist at the end of a sitcom episode in which the main characters are invited to a seemingly innocent get-together.
As it happens though, lots of people of my generation aren’t so blind to the world of communal slap and tickle. A 2020 YouGov study suggests that young people are more accepting of alternative relationship dynamics, with 43% of millennials being likely to say their ideal relationship is non-monogamous and 38% of people aged between 18 and 24 being open to polyamory. This idea is already being reflected in London sex clubs, driven by younger generations seeking more inclusive, individualistic, and queer-friendly spaces. This phenomenon in the ‘Big-Smoke’ has been covered in articles like this one for The Guardian about the now-closed but briefly very popular Crossbreed club. Moving away from the old stereotype of elite, exclusive spaces, Crossbreed emphasised techno music, fetish play, hedonism and wellness. And crucially, young people.
That’s London though, that’s the sort of thing that happens down there, I thought. But then a friend told me that she and her ex had swung, not at a glitzy London club, but at Chameleons in Walsall, sandwiched between a bookies and a tanning salon.
Despite the 1.5 million Brits estimated to swing, I could barely believe what I was hearing. In my naivety, I imagined being middle-aged and in an unhappy marriage to be the defining characteristics of the ‘lifestyle’. But my friend is neither of those things, she’s a trendy twenty-something office worker, and while she wouldn’t call herself a swinger, evidently, she has swung.
She’s not alone either. Whether single, or in a couple, more and more younger people are at it — whether they embrace the label or not. She tells me that Chameleons is a “hub” for the young and sexually adventurous: the friendly staff, diverse clientele and fastidious preoccupation with hygiene encourage the location as a safe environment.
It’s worth noting that there are as many sex clubs as there are articles about sex clubs, largely focusing on snazzy cities like Los Angeles or New York. It’s about time Birmingham (or in this case, Walsall) was mentioned in the same sentence. Not a sentence written by a horny VICE writer, but by an appropriately awkward, young Englishman. The nature of sex clubs is intrinsically private, relying on the discretion and safety provided by the management; not declaring myself a journalist would break an integral level of trust that swingers rely on. After all, the last thing I’d want to do is catch someone with their pants down.
I slip behind an ASDA and pass through an alley off of the high-street. Rubber-faced men with limp cigarettes hanging from their lips pass me by as a nearby church enters view. Its spire judgmentally surveys the refuse bins, steel shutters, and discarded scrap material that surrounds Chameleons’ cubic exterior. To its credit, the nearly windowless building stands proudly among ample, and very reasonably priced, parking, all of which is overlooked by residential buildings.
It's 2pm and Chameleons has just opened for the day, it won’t close until 12am. Three staff members stand outside an ajar blue door having a cigarette, each of them (unsurprisingly) in a developing state of undress. A stout man wearing only denim shorts with a kind and welcoming demeanour puts me at ease. I’ve rung and emailed ahead of time, telling them I’m a journalist, but then he tells me that “no outsiders” are permitted — perhaps it's more exclusive than I first thought.
Undeterred, I instead resolve to track down some regulars. “Call me a saucy name, like Crystal,” the first of them tells me. Crystal was only twenty-one when she first attended, and like me, immediately took note of the massive ASDA and ample parking. She paints an elaborate and vivid picture of the labyrinthian interior divided by beaded curtains — like a sexy version of your Nan’s house. After being led through a dimly lit entrance hall — the blue steel door shifts closed, plunging you into eternal night. The staff are friendly, but as daylight slithers away there’s a feeling that there’s no going back. You de-robe and are released from all denim-clad chaperones. The place is yours.
“Imagine a pub but just with naked people,” Crystal tells me. “Oh also, everything’s leather, which is actually a luxury at Chameleons,” she adds. In a way, I’m glad everything’s leather. Despite looking like Darth Vader’s living room, can you imagine trying to get those stains out of the upholstery? That would be a nightmare trip to the dry cleaners. How do you even begin to explain the discolouration? You’d be laughed out of Johnson’s, that’s for sure.
Alongside glory-hole cubicles, private rooms, and the downstairs dungeon (complete with all the trimmings: a sex-swing, paddles and whips), there’s also a kitchen that supplies the Saturday buffet, and serves the best cheesy chips according to Crystal. I check out the hygiene rating, which is ‘good,’. However the prospect of eating chips with a view of someone’s gyrating buttocks would undoubtedly be too much for me regardless.
Interested though I am in the descriptions of the muddled scrums that pulsate like the breaths of giant animals, and the lovely chips, the age profile of the attendees is what really piques my interest. At Chameleons, supposedly a large number are in their twenties and thirties, some even early twenties. Crystal tells me she remembers “pole dancing once and everyone was very impressed. It felt great.” The confidence boost she received is evidently an incentive shared by other younger swingers. She puts me in touch with Sam, a male patron, who says that “Tinder is great in some ways, but it can be a little depressing when you think that hundreds of people can be swiping left on you, but going there [Chameleons] just feels good, makes me feel wanted.”
This idea stays with me. In the 2010s, Tinder first emerged as an online dating behemoth, offering sexual and romantic liberation while quelling the risks of face-to-face rejection, so what happened? Unlike the 2010s Tinder cohort, Gen-Z have had internet connectivity from birth. Personally, I can’t remember a time before smartphones, and frankly nor do I want to (A-Z roadmap? No thanks). Dating apps are the bread and butter of dating for my generation, but according to this Forbes survey, in which a remarkable 79% of Gen Z-ers cited dating app burnout, that has led to a hankering for something a bit more flesh and bones. That’s the case for Sam, and Crystal, and seemingly many others. For those in the generation above me (millennials) digital alternatives to in-person dating sought to solve any disillusionment with meeting people in bars, work or the ‘fun aisle’ of Aldi.
However, for Gen-Z (Sam and I), who grew up in a tech-mediated world, the reverse is the case. Disillusionment derives from the limits of technology, therefore causing those in their 20s to seek more real-life interactions and authentic connections. A former housemate of mine who used to regularly use an array of dating apps (to various degrees of success) — tells me they found the process “frustrating” and that dating always felt “so close, but further away than ever.” Perhaps the immediacy of sex clubs solves this problem? Leave your clothes in a locker and strut through a room of people brave enough to be vulnerable.
I was starting to understand it, despite not quite wanting to send off an application form. Then Sam tells me a story. Despite now being a single man, he originally attended with his ex-girlfriend around six years ago. He says it was originally intended to be a “kind of erotic adventure” for the couple, after “a few arguments and off-months.” However, his girlfriend was “far too jealous,” and by the end of their relationship their exploits had turned “weirdly competitive. We ended up having sex with basically anyone but each other and realised that probably wasn’t the best sign.”
He chuckles and adds how it’s a common piece of advice to never get into swinging if you’re having relationship issues — it has a way of highlighting any lack of trust, or inability to communicate. Exploring this idea further, he puts me in contact with two friends he’s made at Chameleons: a couple in their mid to late thirties. They tell me they believe monogamy is “unsustainable”, and swinging is a safe way to avoid adultery. Alongside this, one of them describes how knowing theirs and someone else’s body more, even helps them in their private life. “We know two married couples that met at sex parties, one of which was at Chameleons,” one of them adds.
I discuss with Crystal about why more younger Brummies are frequenting swingers’ clubs and she tells me that it’s a healthy way to “explore areas of your sexuality”. She goes on: “I’m not a lesbian, but it was definitely important for me to have those experiences.” One time at Chameleons a couple approached her and her boyfriend while in a ‘couples only’ room. They end up trading partners, she went with the woman, he went with the man. “It turns out we both wanted to experiment with our sexuality, but when it came down to it, he was a right chicken.” Crystal says the experience was “a lot of fun, and I learnt a lot and have no regrets.” I ask her how she feels about her partner engaging with the man, she takes a long pause before she answers. “It’s not that I’m against it, I just think there are different expectations for men, and it has the potential to be emasculating for some reason.”
This hypocrisy really interests me, evidently Chameleons’ blue steel door is impenetrable to journalists and daylight, but not to ingrained societal prejudice. We discuss this a little further and she tells me that despite her preferences, there is a bewildering culture of biphobia among those in ‘the lifestyle’. A friend of hers through work is a bisexual, married man, who has experienced this first-hand at a club the couple frequent; ‘Xtasia’ in Birmingham.
He’s understandably nervous to speak to me, and is keen to be anonymous, as he’s not widely open about his bisexuality. We discuss how biphobia has been raised as a prevalent issue in swinger circles and, despite talking over the phone, I can tell he chooses his next words carefully. “It’s not a massive issue, it’s mostly from older guys.” He then slowly explains how it’s frustrating as it's not uncommon for women to sexually engage with both members of the other couple to some degree. I ask him if he makes it clear that he’s bisexual before any couple encounters. “Definitely,” he tells me. Although when I push a little further, the reaction to his declaration is evidently mixed. “Once or twice, even if I spell it out that I won’t do anything with the dude, we’ve had people change their minds,” he says.
As I head out through the ample parking spaces, past a nearby children’s centre and take refuge in the ASDA cafe alongside an elderly couple sipping their coffee (maybe that’s the circle of life? Children’s centre, sex club, ASDA café) it all makes a bit more sense to me now. Whether or not they’d apply to the S-word, in Walsall what’s happening in Chameleons is resonant of a need for younger people to escape dating apps, explore their identities and bolster their confidence. That’s not to say it's all paradise: despite the best efforts of most, social judgement continues to discretely seep through the leather furnishings.
I get into a taxi and tell my driver, Khizar, where I’d been. “Oh, my days, I thought that was a pub,” He says. His eyebrows raise as he tells me how “people come from far and wide to go there, I collect people who have come from Edinburgh and stay at The Village Hotel.” I ask what kind of people go there. As we drive away, he tells me “[there’s] not one kind of person — mostly younger.”
Correction: An earlier version of the Brum in Brief referred to Liz Clements as the cabinet member for transport. We meant the former-cabinet member for transport. This has been corrected.
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