Suburban Swingers

Jim Trulock and Julie Norris look like an average suburban Dallas couple. He's a graying middle-aged divorcé pushing 60. She's 30 years younger but partial to frumpy floral dresses. But on weekends their late-'70s split-level house in the southwestern Dallas suburb of Duncanville is transformed into "The Cherry Pit." Tubs of whipped cream are laid out with the chips and dip on the yellow Formica countertop. A garland of thong panties adorns a kitchen wall. After a game of Naked Twister or a turn under the disco ball, Jim and Julie and their most intimate friends might pile into their steamy oversize hot tub. And for the, ahem, climax of the night? A semiprivate romp in a side bedroom or a more gregarious encounter on white sheets in "the pit": a half-dozen beds pushed together in front of the fireplace.

Jim and Julie are swingers—couples who socialize sexually with other couples or singles living "the lifestyle," as they call it. Surprisingly, the Cherry Pit parties held in the Texan notch of the Bible Belt went relatively unnoticed for years, despite attendance of sometimes 100 or more invited guests. They stayed under the radar partly because the couple lives on a semisecluded, wooded one-acre lot near a state park, and partly because of the libertarian streak of many Texans. Despite the presence of a Boy Scouts campground across the street, they have few neighbors. But city officials said they had received dozens of complaints over the years that the "parties" on Cedar Ridge Drive were attracting streams of traffic to their normally quiet neighborhood. After examining the couple’s Web site, officials found a request for a suggested donation of $50 per couple (since removed) and accused Trulock of running a sex business from his home. In early November the Duncanville city council passed a law against sex clubs, calling them a public nuisance to the self-proclaimed family-friendly city.

The Cherry Pit parties continued, and Trulock was cited twice for the misdemeanor crime of operating a sex club. On Wednesday Trulock filed suit against the city, saying the new law is unconstitutional on the grounds that it invades the couple's privacy, denies them due process and is overly vague. "What they do behind closed doors, unless it's some kind of activity involving violence or children or animals or drugs, it's none of the government's business!" says their attorney, Edward Klein.

Trulock and Norris say they tried to be good neighbors. They had always set strict rules for their events: no drugs, no weapons and, above all, each guest's wishes must be respected by other guests at all times (in other words, "no" always means "no"). After the city "attacked," as Trulock put it in a message to the Cherry Pit's Yahoo online group, which has almost 4,000 members, they tried to keep the party going by encouraging car pools. When the city erected No Parking signs on the street in front of their driveway, they arranged for off-site parking. They toned down their Web site and tried to explain their lifestyle to the gawkers and TV camera crews that began cruising by their house. Bloggers joked that Baptists were trying to shut the swinger parties down because they might lead to dancing. Many of Trulock and Norris's neighbors told reporters they have a "live and let live" attitude toward what the couple does behind closed doors. But others denounced the swinging lifestyle. "It's immoral," says one neighbor, Jack Martin, a 74-year-old retiree. "Would you want someone living next to you who was a pedophile if you have a bunch of kids? It's on the same line. The frame of mind is the same. The end result is the same: sex."

Norris, a 29-year-old nonpracticing attorney with a law degree from Southern Methodist University, is cheerfully open about swinging, which she describes as a healthy and fulfilling lifestyle for couples. Their attorney has advised them to refrain from media interviews while their criminal case is pending, but she spoke briefly with NEWSWEEK. One common misconception about swingers, she says, is that they have troubled relationships. "Many people who are swingers believe that it saved their marriage. Now it's part of their marriage and part of who they are. But it has to be something you need or are interested in." While Norris and Trulock aren't married, many swingers are, she says. Other areas of the country are more open to the swinging lifestyle, Norris adds. But in Texas "the fear is if one little small town can do it, then everyone can."

No one knows how many swingers there are, but there is a growing number of Web sites, clubs and resorts that cater to the swinging lifestyle. Robert McGinley, founder and president of NASCA (informally known as the North America Swing Club Association), says many people "want more than just one bite of the apple." McGinley, now 74, became an activist for the swinging lifestyle almost 40 years ago with his wife. Today there are swinger clubs operating as public businesses or gatherings in private homes in almost every major city in America, he says. "In the United States we're rather uptight compared to all other Western countries when it comes to sexual behavior. But you cannot outlaw sex. You can try all you want to, but it won't stand up in life, even if it stands up in the courts. We are full-time sexual beings."