I do a lot of dirty things in this job -- riding sweaty horses and rasslin' sweaty women, among them -- but nothing has ever compared to the pervasive sense of creepiness that overcame me while working on my first-ever Girl On Top column about an "exclusive" social club called The Beautiful Room. Of course, not everyone is beautiful, so you have to apply via the TBR Web site. I infiltrated last spring by whoring it up (and sucking it in) for the four required app photos and passing a phone interview. I eventually found myself in a rented photo studio drinking vodka tonics and making conversation with a whole lot of breast implants.
Anyway, it's easy enough for you to read the rest of the story, but my 1,600 words are absolutely nothing in comparison to this video, which was apparently shot by the owners of the Pawn Gallery, who had the good fortune of renting out their space for one of TBR's parties. I went to a couple of these 'dos, but obviously I got out before the going got good. Or, I got out before the rental time was up on the space, after which things get frisky. One of the first questions folks asked me after finding out I was working on this story was, "Is it a swinger's club?"
I didn't know for sure back then, but I think we may be closer to an answer. That burning question (and probably a burning crotch or two) is addressed in this fine piece of filmmaking in which somebody turned on some camcorders to catch the action, completely unbeknownst to the shamelessly horny TBR members.
According to the accompanying narrative, TBR had overstayed their welcome at the Pawn Gallery, and since they weren't paying up for the extra hours, one Pawn owner decided, "I would get my $$ in humor since beating these people up for money is a waste of effort." Prepare yourselves for 6:23 of pure Dallas.
If you like this story, consider signing up for our email newsletters.
SHOW ME HOW
You have successfully signed up for your selected newsletter(s) - please keep an eye on your mailbox, we're movin' in!
Highlights include: large, tanned globular breasts a-waving in the night, waiters walking back and forth with trash cans while a man attempts to fondle the aforementioned breasts on a tiny orange couch and just a little taste of some girl-on-girl. You know you want it. --Andrea Grimes