By Oscar Chaplin
Special to YNOT

LONDON – The British press is floating an ugly fib that needlessly and unfairly disparages as mere “porn viewers” members of a very sophisticated and exclusive sex club. It’s a club of which I was an avid and passionate member until it was closed in gross overreaction to horrifically biased and desperately uninformed newspaper coverage.

“London’s last porn cinema closed down days after it was discovered by horrified landlord,” screams the headline on The Sun’s website. “It was claimed that customers paid to get into the reportedly last sex cinema in the capital and romp with like minded people while watching racy films.”

Even setting aside the paper’s atrocious use of the passive voice, this claim remains pure, unadulterated bollocks. The Office was not a “porn cinema.” It was a proper sex club at which porn films happen to have been shown. There’s an enormous, fundamental difference.

Maybe if The Sun’s reporters got out more often and had the occasional roll between the sheets with something other than their own right hands, they would be able to discern the difference between going to a porn cinema and shagging with porn playing in the background.

Here’s a hint you pathetic, shut-in, journalistic nitwits: If you’re doing it alone without your penis being inside another person (or another person’s penis being inside you, obviously), that’s watching porn. If your penis is inside someone whilst porn plays on a nearby screen, that’s having sex accompanied by a bit of porno displayed on the tele.

Pretty straightforward, no?

Well, apparently it’s not straightforward enough for the pen-pushers at The Sun, because even as they somewhat accurately describe the goings-on at The Office (as witnessed by an actual journalist who got his information by actually going to the club), they still manage to misapprehend what was observed.

“A reporter for Vice was there for the opening night and wrote up a detailed account of customers engaging in sex acts while others watched, and a man walked around naked but for a pair of socks,” states the article.

For fuck’s sake, what part of that description would lead one to believe they were describing a “porn cinema”?

As the aforementioned man walking around naked but for my socks, I can assure you while there was sex taking place in every available room (indeed, within every available corner of every available room) porn was displayed on only a few screens here and there.

Plus, with all these actual people dogging right in front of us, and the possibility of being invited to do likewise quite real, how many of those in attendance do you suppose were paying attention to the screens, as opposed to keeping out a watchful eye for an opportunity to join in the pleasure parade? Not bloody many. That’s your answer.

While I can understand why the landlord wouldn’t want his property used as a sex club without his permission, I’m less concerned about that than I am the defamation of me and my polyamorous peers. Say what you will about my penchant for sucking the toes of attractive women who are actively being penetrated by some other bloke at the time, but don’t call it “pornographic” unless you plan to film the activity, distribute it and pay the lot of us for our efforts.

Having already spoiled our fun at the Hadlow Tower, must the British press and the busybodies it riles up really deprive us of our new stomping grounds as well? Can’t you let us have just one historically significant place in which to bone to our hearts’ content in private?

Look, I don’t come round your church complaining about your assorted ancient fairy tales and the stultifying effect they have on the ability of my countrymen to think their way out of a wet paper satchel; can’t you show me the same courtesy and kindly keep your religion away from my lack of trousers?

At present, my sexually liberated colleagues from The Office are looking for a suitable new venue to host our gatherings going forward. When they find one (sorry all you Tory prudes — there’s no “if” about it), I ask only one simple courtesy from the press: Keep your blathering traps shut and leave us the hell alone.

Failing that, if next time around you’ll kindly trot out to investigate our club someone a bit better looking than that bloke from Vice, this would at least help assure the sort of high aesthetic standards which we at The Office strive so hard to maintain.

Oscar Chaplin is not a porn viewer. He’s a sex enthusiast who frequents sex clubs, orgies, swingers’ parties and other sex-focused gatherings during which porn occasionally happens to play on the tele. Learn the difference, you dunderheaded The Sun reporters.