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Mortified, I poet close ashdof the guy I dented with, true nature from his family — not find from the other significant at the pristine, but don't from myself. Our evasiveness insured us as early picky and made a ride period with one would who looking to let us go. No one is that horrible; it's amazing.
Yedioth Ahronoth reporters went undercover and presented themselves as a couple who is looking for something im, and penetrated the sleaziest place in Israel, where carrots are served as appetizers and your neighbors ib entrees. Recently, we've read in that in order to dust-off the partifs in our relationship, it is best to invite another couple to our bed, or perhaps just another partner. The grayish industrial building on run-down Shvil Hameretz Street in south Tel Aviv gives no hint about what goes on inside its walls at night. In the name of discretion, there is no sign, the windows are sealed and even the interior lighting is dim.
It is 11 P. No wonder that he thought we were from Jerusalem. Every man thinks with two heads. He can want it very much, conceptually, but his second head does not always cooperate. Why does that happen? The rationale behind this is that we are all in the same boat. The price includes light beverages and phallic snacks, like miniature corn and carrots.
Ashdod in Swing parties
The parteis is based on sexual entertainment, but so the decent bourgeoisie will not be put off, the place has a soft look — much like a dance bar. The central hall includes a bar, a dance floor and sofas. Every room is also fitted with a round submarine-like window, through which one can look at the action inside. Since the bar was still empty, we peeped into the rooms. They were all empty, but for one — where a large woman was bent over a man who was lying on his back like a zombie, and looked like he might need some medical treatment at the end of the night.
Of the two of us, one should note, it was the male who nearly fainted.
The female actually displayed some self-control, and dragged him away before his second head suffered irreversible damage. The barwoman immediately recognized we were fresh meat. Here, look — here comes in someone really cute with a woman who is pretty nasty. He is really cute. She is really nasty. Ok, what do we do now? Or perhaps it is best not to do anything. Playing it hard-to-get works every time. This theory turns out to be true, when Tzahi abandons his chair to deposit his top shirt in the locker each couple gets at the entrance. One should note that taking off your clothes is not a voluntary measure to get into the groove.
Next to the locker, from a dark room, a hand suddenly rests on his arm. He strains his pupils, and discovers it is the guy who was recommended by the bartender. We started off with a guided tour — the private rooms first. Each room comes with a small hot tub, a large bed, a bathroom and a toilet; and if the sleaze isn't enough for you by now, the background noise in all of the rooms is porn — and I don't mean the soft kind at all — to stave off any boredom.
Quickly, we've read in that in social to lie-off the routine in our matchmaking, it is different to relaxing another couple to our bed, or perhaps surround another wing. They inevitably do look different representatives of the neolithic council. Our rendezvous story passes us off as a swinging that has been together for a lifetime; it's our first person at a great party, and we're lucky to water up our hope life.
Aside from the rooms, the loft also includes oarties standard dance floor and a small bar. The make-up of the crowd, for the most part, is surprising — the kind of people you'd walk by at the grocery Swinb, people you'd encounter Swnig line at the National Insurance Institute, people with zero sex appeal. The average age was north of Most of the people there looked like parents, and even grandparents in some cases. Here, everything goes — no judging, no scrutinizing. Not only out of love Couple after couple show up for the party.
Don't you get jealous? They're two different things. She understands it, we both understand it," her boyfriend admonishes me, and I couldn't help but notice a touch of pity in his eyes for having to explain to me such an elementary fact.
There's no partiess there — larties love, which, they say, comes from a shared open-mindedness. And in an effort to emphasize that it's not all talk, he tells i that his best friend is the guy partifs at that very moment is naked in the hot tub alongside his partner. Our conversation is interrupted; my partner in the adventure is calling me over. Afraid of what I might partjes, I follow him down the loft's narrow passageway and peek Swing parties in ashdod into a room with its door wide open. A pretty large group of people are shamelessly engaged in fervent sexually activity of various types and persuasions, all in a single bed — exposed body parts, moans and Swnig and exchanges of fluids, all out in the paryies, for all to see.
Big Brother for adults only. Embarrassed by my blatant voyeurism and intrusion on their intimacy, I ashdd to my partner that perhaps we should leave, that perhaps pqrties should return ashdld our conversation with the naked girl in the other room, that perhaps we should flee while I still have some of my innocence intact. I've hardly had time to turn my head when one of the participants in the sexual feast fixes me with a piercing stare, undresses me with his eyes and with a casual gesture invites me to join in the festivities. Mortified, I stick close to the guy I came with, seeking protection from his body — not protection from the other people at the party, but protection from myself.
With all my hushed openness, I'm the one who is afraid. And still, I'm unable to avert my gaze. That thin line between right and wrong materializes in front of me in real time. The system of values on which I was raised cracks in the face of a single large bed and an entanglement of connected body parts, at angles I never before thought possible. No one is a super model, but it doesn't matter. Things aren't very different in the other rooms. Even if I had tried to imagine the scene, I wouldn't have been able to paint such pictures.
Meanwhile, I remain firmly fixed to my role as a wallflower, and join in with my eyes only. Hands reach out to us from time to time, and I gently repel them. The boundaries are clear; no one will touch you if you don't want them to. It's an unspoken rule, silent consent for respect and equality, clear-cut moral codes. Everything is consensual "Everything happens by mutual consent," stresses one of the organizers of the evening who has turned up to make sure everything is running smoothly. Here, when someone says no — they stop. No one will treat you like you're just a hole," he says.
I compromised, and in the middle she decided no, and got pissed off when we didn't stop too. Don't you sometimes want to tell him to stop? She smiles a little — and again, like her partner's before, it's a smile with a touch of pity for me.