I celebrated my 30th birthday in Barcelona, and in pursuit of a good time, I went to Oops, a swanky sex club by myself. Wait, I know what you’re thinking; why go to any kind of club or lounge alone? I think the better question is, why not? If I waited around for others to do things or go places with me, I might never get around to them.
By the time I went to Barcelona, I was familiar with the sex club scene in Paris and New York, and seized my chance to see how the Spaniards got down after hours. I’ve been to enough of these events over the years to know that racial diversity is lacking, so I wasn’t shocked to see only one other Black person at Oops.
It was a beautiful evening when I took a cab to Carrer d’Anglí, wearing fitted black pants, boots, and a red blouse with enough plunge to show some décolletage. The façade was like a castle, and the first thing that struck me once I paid the fee was how palatial and lush the interiors were. The expected rules applied; no photos or recordings. So, once I put my phone in the locker, I made it a point to mentally document as much as I could. No doubt that there would be plenty to commit to memory that night.
The surprises came early, before I could get my first drink. A film that left nothing to the imagination was playing on a television hanging above the main dance floor. This, for me, was a first. Le Taken, Chemistry, and the other clubs I’d attended took a more understated approach, but Oops made no bones about exactly what it was, while still being classy. The honesty was refreshing. I didn’t watch for long because I had exploring to do, but it was to be expected considering Europe’s openness about sex.
Other than that certain film, and the little bowls of condoms in the play areas, this could have passed as a regular, upscale club. The lighting was dim, with strategic splashes of purple, pink, and gold. The spaces flowed seamlessly, divided by glass or sheer curtains for the voyeurs, and there were closed off nooks for more discreet play. People didn’t dive into the main event immediately; there was a kind of foreplay, consisting of dancing and conversation. If those went well, then the real fun could begin. There weren’t as many patrons on a Thursday as there would have been on a Friday or Saturday, but there was still plenty to see.
I love swimming, so you can imagine my joy when I found out there was a pool. There was nobody in it when I arrived, and I didn’t let the lack of swimsuit stop me. I struck up a conversation with a couple that got into the pool not long after I did. I could do this without issue, because women usually initiated in these spaces, but I would have proceeded differently if I were a man. She was a beautiful Colombian woman, and I forget the details of her man, but that’s par for the course with me.
Not far from the pool was an enclosed dance area, and I excused myself to get dressed and check it out. The DJ played great music, most of which was American pop, electronica, and the like. Like every other room, it was large enough so that nobody had to be on top of each other unless they wanted to be. There wasn’t any sex here, but some came close to it with the vertical grinding they were doing. At the center of the room was a pole; unfortunately, I couldn’t manage any inversions because of my attire. But I worked with whatever else was in my wheelhouse and had a great time dancing on my own, and being entertained by the magician doing fun tricks with playing cards.
Upstairs, I wound up having a go with a couple from out of town, but for the most part, I observed. There’s something beautiful about watching how others go about the business of seduction, and without getting too explicit, the woman was really in her element. Sometimes, I keep in contact with those I’ve played with, but in this case, there wasn’t much of a desire to do so. It was a fun moment in time with no strings attached, and that was that. As noted in an op-ed I did for The Huffington Post, people usually go to sex parties to satisfy a primal urge, not to catch feelings, though that can happen sometimes.
They say your vibe attracts your tribe, and that proved to be true for me in Barcelona. Hours before I went to Oops, I was having coffee with a woman, and told her where I’d be going. As it turned out, she and her husband were also in the scene, and a few nights later, the three of us went to a club called Uhomo. Going to a sex club with a couple was a completely different dynamic that opened the door for yet more adventure. I still laugh about it, because what were the chances that the first person I befriended in Barcelona shared my specific interest?
Oops is a standout Barcelona sex club, immaculate and aesthetically pleasing with good-looking people. Not once while there did I feel unsafe or uncomfortable. On the contrary, I felt very much at home, but I can understand why some women would be hesitant to go to a sex club unaccompanied. The world is a very different place for us than it is for men, and that’s a reality we have to navigate.
Related: 5 European Clubs For Swingers And Other “Lifestyle” Travelers
