Without sounding like an out-of-touch sexist male chauvinist pig bastard etc., I must admit that I’ve been disappointed by the lack of promiscuous sexual activity at the tertiary education level. Television, film and some kind of imagined anecdotal evidence had lead me to believe that the grassy slopes of such a forward thinking campus as ours would be teeming with writhing bodies; that hallways, courtyards and the infamous bar would be charged with a unique and loose lust where anybody could hook up with anyone else (similar to a gay bar – or so I’ve been told.) As I made all of the important decisions on where to matriculate, all I could think of was where I wanted to... well, you know. Anyway, for better or worse, I was wrong about the university model as a haven for free thought, love and celebration of the human form (even though mine is a body probably best not celebrated.) Where I had thought people came together to educate and (possibly) procreate, I instead encountered intelligent young adults who were choosy about whom they let see their au natural state. Damn them and their good judgement. Why couldn’t I learn about art and philosophy and re-enact scenes from a Norman Lindsay painting?
Anyway, after this initial (read: lasting two and a half years) frustration, I came to realise that no-one was going to just drop their womanly wears so I could see their womanly wares (I promise, that’s the last pun I use in this article.) I needed to stop relying on this tired and futile hope and start relying on a new one. And it was in perhaps the most obvious but personally least considered place that I found a new hook to hang my soiled trenchcoat upon – that technological rhizome, that polymorphous nether-field of dirty websites and desperates: the internet.
The internet began life as a scientific result of the American military-industrial complex and, with the advent of email, found life as a community for academics to resourcefully trade ideas and knowledge. It was over a decade, however, before the medium’s growing popularity brought it to a cultural zenith, to its true calling: as a pornographic fairground and communal space for any fetish or sexual niche one may care to name. This is not exactly a new revelation, and is the reason each new generation of teenage boys is more ambidextrous than the last… but whom amongst us, on the cusp of real life and the mundane, has considered utilising this flesh-market resource? I’m not talking about just looking at pictures or downloading videos, but actually embroiling oneself in the world of, say, sado-masochism or bestiality (ah, for example)? I decided, with the writing of this article as my alibi, to do a bit a digging and see what swinging had to offer a twenty year-old arts student. Or, for that matter, Franklin Smyth-Jamieson - a twenty-four year old who works in publishing.
I set up a dummy email address with an online email provider and logged onto the internet, whereupon I searched for sites where ‘interested parties’ could ‘talk’ about ‘swinging’ (so much for subtlety.) Now, one would be surprised how many non-sexual results one gets from a typical search engine enquiry into ‘swinging’ – if one wants to read articles about indecisive voters or rope, then that’s the word to use. However, once narrowing down the search I came across several sites for couples and singles based in Australia. “Hallelujah!” I cried, being wary enough of the rest of the family in my house not to follow with “Promiscuous sex at last!” On my screen was a page that is required reading for novice swingers entering the ‘bullpen’ for the first time; one that should form the basis of a university or TAFE course somewhere: ‘Swingers Etiquette’, a resource contained on the Australian ‘Hotshop’ swinger’s site. A few excerpts:
Taking all of this on board, Franklin Smyth-Jamieson made his debut on the New South Wales ‘Swingconnect’ message board. I gave myself a few days to make some ‘connections’ with couples and other singles and gain a better understanding of why the lifestyle was attractive (answer: a lot of sex with many polite strangers – gee, I wonder why I didn’t see that reasoning?) An eager couple took little time to approach Franklin about the possibility of getting to know him, and I suddenly froze. Was my libido or, for that matter Passing Show, worth this? Did I want to discard my self-esteem to ravish a large middle-aged woman while her husband watched? These people abided by a doctrine of friendliness and dignified intimacy – not indulging in dirty or cheap and nasty gatherings. They were comfortable with such open and friendly unions, but I knew it wasn’t for me. For a start, I was somewhat fond of people my own age. However, and most perversely, I was hoping for (and expecting) something altogether more sordid and dingy. Why weren’t there etiquette points about calling people ‘bitch’ or tying up a partner to violently claw at their middle-age paunch? Something as primal as a sex party or orgy seemed at odds with a friendly, nametags and plastic cups approach. No, the world of swinging was too sterilised for my tastes.
Thank God for the rest of the internet.
Etiquette guide and other material extracted from Hotshop [http://www.hotshop.com.au/index_2.htm]