At first I was hesitant to write about my recent visit to the (in)famous Les Chandelles on a blog that gets read by my family and colleagues, among others. However, (a) my personal involvement in the activities of this fine establishment was kept strictly at PG-13 level, and (b) I was getting tired from retelling the same story over and over again, because apparently a lot of people are curious about what happens behind the closed doors of the most distinguished sex club in Paris.
Why did I go? I have been curious about these places ever since I first heard about them, but somehow never got around to it. The other week I was making plans to catch up with a friend whom I have not hang out with for awhile, and somehow the conversation steered in this direction. To clarify, my accomplice was a girl whom I had been friends with for ages, so right off the bat we agreed that our outing would be of strictly exploratory nature. Once we set the “we go - we see - we leave” boundary, it was time to make some calls.
Photo by Dainis Graveris on Unsplash
Having spent the last five years of my life in Paris, I, of course, had multiple people in my social circle whom I could ask for sex club recommendations. (The number that I’ve seen floating around is that 33.8% of french couples have tried swinging at least once, although I am yet to locate this statistics’ original source. In any case, l'échangisme, as the practice is called in the land of wine and smelly cheeses, is clearly much more socially acceptable here than it is in most other parts of the world.)
My bestie recommended a club called Les Chandelles where she spent a lovely evening with her ex boyfriend a few years back. Another close friend informed me that he had gone to a handful of libertine establishments before finally settling down on house orgies as his pastime of choice (at which point, I had politely declined an invitation to join the latter.) I pieced together enough information to know that different clubs had different rules when it came to the attendees: some catered to male/female couples only, while some let everyone in, but set much higher entry fees for single men to keep the gender ratio in check, and others did one or the other depending on the night of the week. Between the evening pilates and the art classes that I am taking this semester, free nights are few and far between. I found a club, which I had not heard about from the friends whom I talked to so far, but that promised free entry to single women every night of the week and had stellar Google reviews.
Before blocking an upcoming evening in my calendar, I decided to check in with the Pilot: another Parisian acquaintance whom I knew as a guy of impeccable tastes and extensive libertine experience. The Pilot sneered at my choice’s amateur website and asserted a good chunk of the glowing reviews to be fake. He proceeded to list the three long-standing pillars of the Parisian swingers’ scene: Le Mask, Taken, and, the oldest, Les Chandelles, together with the opening times and the entry rules for each. Unfortunately, these upscale french sex clubs were surprisingly conservative when it came to the selection of their clientele: most nights they would only allow male/female couples to partake in the evening’s festivities. The Pilot went on to explain that the single men who get into sex clubs not only outnumber the single women inside by a lot, but also tend to not be the sort of men that most women would find attractive. So the male/female requirement is mostly set in place in order to keep the ratio balanced and the crowd reasonably appealing to the average eye. Fair enough.
Sensing my disappointment at the news, the Pilot chivalrously suggested a solution: he would accompany myself and my friend to Les Chandelles on a Sunday night, when the most famous sex club in Paris opens its doors to couples and singles alike for their Friends and Lovers parties. Sunday nights are apparently slow in the swingers’ world, so the Pilot advised I keep my expectations low. The Sabbath price was a reasonable 30 euros to get in though, so I had nothing to lose, and we set the date for the next Sunday.
A couple of days prior to the planned outing, I sent the Pilot a message asking what time we should meet.
- Starts at 22h30. We can go at that time so we get to see the place before it's full of naked people.
Not really sure what I was picturing before, but the “full of naked people” part threw me off balance for a moment. Was I about to step into a porn movie set? Was I ready for this? The Pilot’s and mine relationship has been almost-entirely-platonic in the years that we’ve known each other, so I wasn’t worried about him getting the wrong idea, but what about the others? My companion-to-be reassured me that I was not only free, but expected to set my boundaries as I saw fit without needing to provide any explanation, and that at least some people would only be there to watch as well.
Speaking of watching, have you seen the paintings in my art shop yet?
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The only thing left that I had to concern myself with was by far the most important: the dress code. In fact, if you check out the reviews of the most selective french sex clubs, you will likely find a mix of 5 stars from those lucky enough to have been let in, and 1 stars from those who did not make the cut. My Parisian bestie, who visited Les Chandelles a few years ago, stressed the importance of wearing a classy dress (suits for the gentlemen) and heels - where the latter had to stay on “at all times”. “Why would I want to take my shoes off at a club? - mused I naively. - Oh… Right.”
I was not going to get too adventurous on my first venture into libertinage, so I opted for a slinky but not-too-revealing black dress, the admittedly sexy Agent Provocateur stockings that I simply had nowhere else to wear during these last two pandemic years, and the obligatory heels. I was excited to finally take my recently purchased Dior clutch for a night out - although that joy turned out to be short-lived (more on that later).
Pre-party pics (my friend asked hers to be kept out of the post for privacy reasons)
Just past 22h30 (10:30 pm for the Americans reading), the Pilot, myself, and my anonymous friend found ourselves standing outside a blue door with nothing but the number 1 on it. Soft light was seeping through the blinds of the ground floor window, and we could hear muffled music playing at a distance. The Pilot knocked on the door. Nothing. He pushed the door in. The three of us poured into a little vestibule with another blue door, a doorbell, and a camera discreetly tucked away in a corner. We rang the doorbell. After a few painstakingly slow minutes, the door finally opened, and a suit-clad bouncer peaked out. After taking a brief, trained glance at our trouple, the bouncer checked our passes sanitaires (the covid vaccination certificates), swung the door wide open, and cordially invited us in.
The first thing we saw when entering Les Chandelles, was a little cloakroom with a sign up sheet where we put our first names down (not sure what this was for, or if this was required - there were only two other names on the sheet when we arrived, even though there were a few more people inside by then). Along with the coats, we were asked to turn in our cellphones.. and bags. “But… This is Dior! And it’s tiny!” - I tried to protest but the cloakroom attendant was visibly not impressed. I was given a paperbag to put my clutch in, while the Pilot received a card that we were supposed to use at the bar (each entrance ticket came with one drink included). We were then told that since we came as a group, we had to leave as the same group, and were pointed towards the stairs leading down into the club.
Source: les-chandelles.com/
From the bottom of the staircase, we walked past a candy stand into what looked like a regular nightclub except that every surface - walls and ceilings alike - was covered in red velvet. Chandeliers were hanging low, but high enough for my nearly two-meter-tall companion not to hit his head on the sparkly light fixtures.
Source: les-chandelles.com/
We arrived close to the opening time, but there already were two couples cozying up at the little round tables (nothing R-rated for the moment), and a stocky built dark haired guy flying solo and clearly longing for company. The bar was located just to the right of the dance floor, and had a most adorable baby-faced bartender.
- Is the bartender fair game? - my friend and I both turned to the Pilot, hopefully.
- No, he can't participate, he is working. He can make us drinks though!
While the eye candy at the bar was preparing my friends' drinks and my fruit juice (I asked for tea, the juice was my second choice), I took a look around. More couples were starting to arrive: a grey haired elderly gentleman, his hand placed firmly on the lower back of the girl who could have looked 16 from the back.
- Oh my god, she could be his granddaughter! - I whispered to the Pilot with poorly concealed judgement.
- No, I saw her face, she is much older than she looks. Trust me, she's had work done. - I could not possibly doubt the Pilot’s vast knowledge of women’s physiology so that settled it.
Source: les-chandelles.com/
- Is it your first time here? - the bartender's strong french accent was a cherry on top of an already promising fellow.
We nodded.
- Would you like me to show you around?
- YES! - my friend’s and my enthusiasm were difficult to contain.
- Here we have the social area. There is candy over there, if you want. Drinks are not allowed past the point where the private area starts, - our first steps towards the den of sin reminded me of a college tour, with the guide talking while walking backwards.
- There is one private area on the right, - the bartender pointed towards a large velvety room with two couch-style beds fit for a small sports team. - And here to the side you have a mirrored enclosure with a 360 degree view, very nice. - The last comment seemed to have been directed at the Pilot.
- In the corridor you will find the shower, the ladies room, and the gentleman’s room, - our guide waved towards three doors down from the dimly-lit sink with a thoughtfully placed bottle of mouthwash and a stack of single-use cups.
- There is also the dark room at the end of the corridor. Any questions? - the bartender smiled charmingly.
- What’s the dark room? Is that just a room that is dark? - even I can’t tell you where I was going with this question anymore.
- Uhm.. Yes? - the guy’s face turned into a confused frown while my associates did not bother holding down the laughs.
- Merciiiiiii, - the three of us sang in unison, letting the bartender get back to his work.
The dark room was semi-separated from the rest of the private area by a heavy drape-style curtain. Inside there was a small light near the entrance, right by the pair of handcuffs hanging down from the wall, invoking nervous giggles out of my friend and me, and some polite interest from the Pilot.
The room itself was pretty much a carbon copy of the first private room that we saw, except that it had very little light. It was not pitch black, and as our eyes adjusted, we could make out a smaller bed (still big enough for half a dozen people), a bench next to it, and another bed taking up most of the rest of the room. Interesting!
So far we have not seen anyone in the private area, and frankly, the place looked like an oversized Victoria’s Secret dressing room. In other words, it was high time we hit the candy stand.
Unfortunately, the candy stand contained nothing fancy: it had more in common with a child’s post-Halloween desk drawer than a high end chocolate store. However, complementary candy is still complementary, and I needed a sugar boost after seeing those handcuffs.
The three of us were crowding over the jars filled with mini Twix and Snickers bars, each trying to fish out the candy of his/her choice, when we heard someone speaking loudly over the music. A cheerful middle-aged man wearing a pristine white shirt was making his way through the bar area, joyfully exchanging comments with the prospective libertines. “He must be one of the employees”, - I thought, staring at him with amused curiosity. Having caught my glance, the Talkative Guy went straight to us.
- Bonsoir ! Comment allez-vous ? C’est la première fois que vous venez ici ? - The Talkative Guy’s smile was as radiant as his shirt.
As a techie introvert at heart, I am always amazed when faced with social chit-chatters who do not make me cringe. This guy was a pro: his interest in whoever he was talking to seemed so genuine, it was impossible not to get sucked into it.
The Pilot asked if Sundays were always this slow. The Talkative Guy nodded thoughtfully, while chewing over a piece of salty caramel. Finally, he encouragingly said:
- It will get better, - flashed us one last smile and disappeared back into the bar.
- He looked like a regular, - noted the Pilot as I peeked at a couple of Latina women walking by in impossibly high heels.
More people continued to arrive and situate themselves in the social part, drinks in hand. The Solo Guy whom I noticed earlier was making desperate rounds, but, unfortunately for him, was clearly lacking the social skills of the Talkative Guy.
- Poor dude, I bet he won’t be getting any tonight, - said I to the Pilot.
- He is cruising - looking for other people to get it on, so that he can try to join, or at least, watch.
- Oh.
A blonde with a high ponytail, in a short tight dress and late 30s, walked by our table slowly, smiling at the Pilot. To my surprise, my normally very socially adept companion seemed to have purposefully avoided her gaze. “Must have not noticed her,” - I figured while examining the couple sitting across from us. Meanwhile, the guy was staring back at my friend, up until the Ponytail Blonde stopped by their table and seemingly asked if she could join. The couple shifted enthusiastically, making space, and the three of them dove into a lively conversation.
- Something I forgot to say, - started the Pilot. - At this point, it is all about eye contact. People will look at you, and if you look back at them, it’ll be interpreted as an invitation.
- Why didn’t you say so earlier?! - my friend and I both screamed out in horror, thinking of just how many false signals we have already managed to send that evening.
- Oh I thought it’d be funnier this way, - the Pilot said innocently, and cupped my Agent Provocateur clad knee in an effort to avoid getting kicked. - Shall we go check the private room again?
As my friend headed to the bar to get another glass of red, I followed the Pilot into the not-the-dark room. It was still empty, and I was starting to think that this would be the extent of my sex club experience. “He did warn me that Sunday nights tend to be uneventful,” I thought when I suddenly felt my escort’s arms spread around me from behind. I leaned into the embrace as the Pilot’s lips brushed lightly against my neck, sending tingles all the way down my spine. As I said earlier, there is nothing going on between myself and the Pilot, but we are all creatures of habit, and when it comes to the ladies, the Pilot’s habits have always been on point.
I was enjoying the experience when I realized that I was not the only one. The Talkative Guy was standing at the other end of the room, thirstily taking the scene in. What looked like genuine interest when he was conversing transformed to equally genuine fascination when he was peeping. And I must say, it felt flattering and not the least bit uncomfortable. My friend was waiting for us at the bar, however, so I shifted my body away from the Pilot’s, and the Talkative Guy vanished as discreetly as he appeared moments earlier.
- The Talkative Guy said he's been coming here for 20 years, but not frequently, - the Pilot brought back some sex club gossip. He made a couple of rounds around the place by then, looking for fun details to point out to us first timers and probably some company for the night while he was at it.
The club was by no means crowded, but it did not feel uncomfortably empty. Except for the elderly gentleman whom we saw with his well-preserved playmate at the beginning and the Talkative Guy, most people were either under or around 40, from the looks of them. There were a few younger couples as well, mid to late 20s, perhaps? Appearance wise, I observed more or less the average sample of the people one would normally expect to see on the streets of the upscale Parisian neighborhood that we were in. Meaning, nearly 100% white, likely well off, no one overweight or universally unattractive, but no supermodels either. I noticed a pretty blonde sitting quietly next to a loud Russian-looking guy (my suspicions were later confirmed). Apart from the aforementioned bartender, the Pilot was probably the most attractive man present - at least, if you like them tall, blond, and piloty.
- Things are starting to heat up! - the Pilot was back, excitedly motioning for us to join him at the drape separating the social area from the private one.
My friend and I followed the Pilot down the bathroom corridor towards the dark room. Suddenly I almost bumped into the Pretty Blonde, now wearing nothing but a black lacy bodysuit and standing on her knees in front of the guy I saw her with earlier (who was no longer wearing pants). As the Pretty Blonde did her thing, there was another man standing to the side, speaking Russian to the guy whom she was pleasuring. I think this was the closest scene to porn that I encountered throughout the entire evening - there were much more explicit things to come, but they somehow felt more… unusual? Tasteful? This was more startling than anything else, and we did not linger in any case.
Inside the dark room was a scene from Eyes Wide Shut, minus the masks and the cloaks: in the corner of the smaller bed was a guy propped up on the pillows, and on top of him was a petite naked girl with long straight hair flowing down her back. She was facing her partner, riding him rather methodically, without making a ton of noise (unlike the Pretty Blonde earlier). There were several men standing in the dark around the bed, including the Solo Guy. They were looking at the girl's back, no one making a sound. The Talkative Guy slid himself on the side of the bed, giving the couple the same look of complete fascination that he awarded me and the Pilot earlier. He then proceeded to unzip his pants, never letting his sight off the performance unraveling next to him.
The Pilot motioned for me and my friend to sit down on the bench between the two beds. So far I found the situation to be neither arousing nor shocking, even though I have never seen other people have sex in front of me before. It felt a bit overwhelming, and I was glad to have someone whom I knew and who has been to these things before with me.
The couple that sat across from us in the social area rolled into the room with muffled giggles, together with the Ponytail Blonde. By the time they made it onto the larger bed, the girl was wearing a bondage style bra that I was pretty sure I recalled seeing on the Agent Provocateur's website, a matching garter belt, stockings, and pointy-toed black heels. The Ponytail Blonde’s attire has been reduced to nude-colored pumps only, whereas the guy remained nearly fully dressed.
Source: www.agentprovocateur.com
The Ponytail Blonde playfully pushed the bondage bra girl onto the edge of the bed, nearly landing her in my friend's lap. I moved over closer to the Pilot, making some space for my friend who was visibly uncomfortable at such proximity. Meanwhile, the trio paid no attention to us. The Ponytail, who looked happy as a clam, situated herself between the girl's legs while the girl's partner started caressing her backside.
The orgy was interesting (never thought this would be a sentence that I'd write), but I cannot say that it was turning me on. The fact that my friend was there was definitely a big “off” factor, but that and it being my first visit aside, the action was just too much… out in the open. It was time to go back to the candy stand.
Back in the social area, the Pilot was telling us that he preferred Le Mask to Les Chandelles for exactly that reason. Apparently, instead of two large orgy rooms, Le Mask has several little nooks for people to get their sexy on (although "little" turned out to be big enough for six - the Pilot's sex life is clearly much more exciting than mine has ever been).
Source: les-chandelles.com/
Should you add a sex club to your next Paris trip itinerary? Definitely! Even if you are not into the whole libertine thing, it is a unique and oh-so-french experience that will make for a great story to tell back home. You can also custom-dial the naughtiness of your visit: e.g. my bestie and her ex spent the whole evening in the social area, being chatted up by other well-dressed couples, whereas the Pilot would normally be looking for people to swap partners with on the spot and possibly take home for a group after-party. What I think is important is to relax the expectations about the first time you go (I have a hard time imagining anyone but the most hardcore Tinto Brass fans feel completely at ease in the midst of an orgy from the start). Personally, I am into neither swinging nor having sex with strangers, but I must admit, having the Talkative Guy watch me and the Pilot share a moment was… thrilling. I'd love to check out another club like this in the right company, but perhaps not in a way that I'd be comfortable blogging about 😇
If you enjoyed this blog post, I invite you to click here to view my full list of off-the-beaten-path experiences to have in Paris for more content like this ;-)
