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In the ADN Swing Bar everything is ready for the creatures of the marginal night that sooner or later will have to arrive: I pay attention to the couples that are arriving, accusing in their reviews consonant narratives to that of Sanjuanito and Eignna my hosts. They arrive quietly, rather quietly, they go up the stairs and get lost in the dim light. There are neither supermodels, nor representatives of the porn cinema, nor bodies molded in the gym. They are ordinary people, anyone, above all they look like young professionals that one runs into in any bakery in the city. There is the circumspect overweight from the big city, it could be the bald man next to our cubicle, Mr. Martínez, a neighbor across the street, people who in any other atmosphere in that crazy city would not be hiding from the glare of the lights. Others take fewer reserves; they shake hands with Sanjuanito and they greet him with a kiss. Some wear themselves out at the bar talking about politics and stuff like that. At first, no dark purposes are hinted at. At this time, after nine at night, the swapping sex scene is only housed in a hidden place in my intellectual back room. "Don't forget that this is a swinger bar, where you can feel free and shake uninhibitedly, where you can dance without a top, without a bra... announces the entertainer through the megaphone on the dance floor." The shadow supermodel is a challenge with her pronounced curves. In the dizzying meringues it is a blender in high revolution. In the softer songs she wiggles in deliberate tune, reaching the extreme of teasing, running a hand over a pair of firm breasts and then over her rounded buttocks. The night thrives and the shadow reveals fleeting frequencies of what happens there. Some couples exchange perpetual kisses, like fifteen-year-olds who abandon each other in the corners of late-afternoon theaters. Others are undoubtedly given to group blowjobs. An older man, with majestic white hair, warms up with the beautiful young woman who accompanies him. Obviously the final operation -that act in which the frenzied hero enters the enemy's spaces- has not begun. Meanwhile we talk with the couples. Everyone has their story. The argument of Chamo and Mona, an indisputably exquisite couple who dress like Europeans, the shake in this world began three years ago, in Miami. On his birthday, she showed up with a sensational present. It was not the perfume of every year, nor the usual Hermès tie. No. She was a girl, a 1.70-year-old Cuban who, according to Chamo, looked like Catherine Zeta Jones. They had already talked about the possibility of a third and so it was. Mona's eyes light up as she excitedly commemorates the night she was no longer the only woman in the bridal bed. From that moment, when they were in Miami Velvet, they undertook visits to swinger bars. They have done it all over the continent and they are the only couple in the scene to have been to the famous swinger bar Les Chandelles in Paris. In turn, Odysseus and Terrana, both lawyers, say that they became concerned about the issue through the Internet, today transformed into a virtual paradise for the swinger world. So slow was the matter for them that they persisted for four Fridays parking in front of the bar's façade, without resolving to enter. When they finally discovered it, and entered the channel of frank sexuality, their life took a turn. "We became more virtuous, more consistent in our relationship," Odysseus tells me. "The possibility of being disloyal with infidelity ceased to be a factor of conflict." But there is a line that Odysseus and Terrana still have not given up: they have had soft relationships with other couples, kisses, caresses between women, but they have never reached the hottest point of swinger sexuality, that in which she has sex with the other. Terrana, tall, distinguished, with a fine fragrance, says that she is not ready yet. I also hear stories from other sources in the bar. A friend of my friend Sanjuanito -with that expertise that certain ladies always have to hunt fabulous hoaxes- tells me that last weekend there was a stir over a lady, in her forties, who made love to six guys in one night . She transferred the shameless story to Sanjuanito, and she tells me that she has no problem with the story, she had sex or fucked six guys, but she didn't make love. Making love is only for us, it's a couple term, an act of love, of course the term is inadmissible when we relate to other couples and people". Is there moral censure for the girl having fucked a group of basketball, with the coach included? "My opinion is one of compliance and insight. If they were there, they had agreed, and they conceived it safely, I don't see any complications," Sanjuanito told me. It's almost midnight and the sex has stopped be that discreet affair. Whether it's 'Chocolate Orgasm' or mondo y lirondo brandy, the liquor has begun to exalt the blood and people have been disengaging from their rigid suits. Some couples are now a single lump in the shadows, while others have relaxed in friendly chats with the table neighbors, a passionate conversation with a promising future. The formality of the swinger scene is taking place there: the lady who definitely doesn't like the gentleman of the counterpart and circumspectly takes her hand to the earring to let her husband know; the gentleman who is getting overexcited with someone else's woman and in every sentence he says places his hand on her leg; the other who doesn't like the boot and asks the guy to calm down. Suddenly the entertainer asks to clear the track and the dancers flee into the dark. Marga and Lucho have arrived, the couple from the exhibition tonight. She is not the femme fatale who spins around a metal pole, nor is she one of those girls who passes fifty thousand bills for shaved triangles in the La Isla de Barranquilla brothel. As paradoxical as she may seem, she gives off a rather kind smile; She has a lean, worked body and it shows that she masters her stuff with skill. Lucho, her partner, in turn, is showing one muscle after another, you can see the hours in the gym, as she takes off her mambo dancer outfit. She has a shaved head, perhaps -I think here- so that she makes the perfect mixture like a great Adonis, with the great friend that she agrees to mention. When she discovers it, and yet they are on the other side of the bar, Sanjuanito's friend begins to tremble at the possibility that that other threatening, lascivious bald man who has emerged into the arena, manages to be in front of her, meager eight inches from her. , as experienced by various women present who howl with happiness. Sanjuanito's friend gets up and flees in horror to the bathroom, leaving me alone in the process. The couple then pretend to have sex in the middle of the dance floor. Female exclamations and male laughter emerge from the gloom. The sex of the couple of expert artists of the libido, under the lights, has been assumed, unlike other couples, in other bars of less distinction, which intertwine in a legitimate duel, with a captivating end of lust and incontinence of fluids . But that is not important. The mission of Marga and Lucho has been fulfilled to the letter. From here on out, the indisputable fun has begun. On the sofas, beds, and futons there are already half-naked couples fucking shamelessly, even a couple of discreet exchanges. Sanjuanito appears and invites me to the fantasies room, where my groin is scalding right now. Two love swings hang empty, but a peek into the bottom reveals a pair of buttocks quivering in a characteristic sexual cadence. She is a woman who straddles hers, her man, without inhibitions, but she doesn't take off her blouse. Between the strident melody I manage to hear the woman's sigh, her breath is agitated, her white buttocks are hastening the wiggle. I look at them clearly, they look like the Moon, it shines with its own light. Then we approach the generous, enormous bed, almost double the size of a single bed. There two couples, one of them Chamo and Mona, have undertaken the approaching ritual, there is some supposed shame. Initially, each couple invents their own. The place is filling up with people, who are in the crosshairs, but in silence. Then the two women bump into each other in the middle of the bed and kiss with feminine delicacy, while their husbands watch on either side. Little by little they are taking off their clothes, without eagerness, but with haste. Then they return to them and enjoy their sex there, each one by his side, like a show for everyone, without apparent modesty, at this moment what was left of shyness has disappeared. This time there was no exchange, of course, the show fell short of the public's expectations and many scattered, they were waiting for something hotter. The swinger night is reaching its pinnacle, other things will happen outside the bar, among that court of dissimilar people that is emerging from the darkness as if on a clandestine sorcery pilgrimage. There is talk of celebrations of more than ten couples where anything goes. Odysseus and Terrana tell me that they were recently guests at a party at a friend's apartment and that he ended up having sex with more than two women while she watched him with pleasure. I stay in the DNA bar with my soda, my reflections. I think about what I have seen and compare it with my expectations. He had suspected that he would find Somerton's adaptation there, that palace of hidden orgies in which Dr. Bill Harford (Tom Cruise) has a hard time of it, in Kubrick's latest film, "Eyes Wide Shut." And of course things escalate, some nights more than others. But even so, even in that universe of couples who have resolved to redeem themselves, there is a fine print, an unspoken, rigid, implacable code. So I conclude that even to shoot like crazy you need ethics. SWINGERS IN COLOMBIA European Sauna Club Calle 76 # 16-2, Bogotá (2nd floor) There is cover and one of the requirements to enter is to take off all your clothes and cover yourself with a small towel. The entry of single men is not accepted.