Sad is what I am. Not just because, after nearly five years of serving "swingers," Club Kama Sutra got closed by L&I due to niggling code violations. Rather, because CBS 3 and the Daily News blew CKS' cover, its 712 South St. location. Everybody knew where and what it was. I've been writing about them from day one. City Paper did a cover story on the legal sex spot. Besides, what'd you think those flabby dudes wearing Members Only leather jackets and their laaaadies were doing rushing into Se–or Rattler's Cantina? Looking for chimichangas?

"The news people are just looking to boost ratings at the expense of people's privacy," says Madam X, the operator, manager and primary designer of The Pleasure Garden—a sprawling, new, private BYOB nightclub that I'm not giving you the location of. You can find that out when you peep the Web site and make a reservation. "This crowd—our crowd—is as safe as you can get."

For the record, Garden participants don't want to be known as "swingers." That's arcane. "Lifestylers" is what they're called. "A lot of people who come to Pleasure Garden don't swing," Madam X says.

This—along with a happy multitude of sins—differentiates PG from CKS; that, and the fact that the Garden—nearly 6,000 square feet of space—won't just cater to couples and single female pals. Like San Francisco's Power Exchange, the PG is open to all alterna-lifestyles and kinks. Straights too.

"It's not fair to have a club geared to just one lifestyle," says X. "Everyone wants to have fun."

This is much in league with Madam X's philosophy—a woman actively aware of her own playful pansexuality, what with growing up down the street from Palmerton, Pa.'s nudist camp. "I'm part of all the communities," she says proudly. "Couples, fetish, bisexual, Goth/Industrial—I'm one of few people who go between all those crowds." She's made it her business too, what with having gone from working in Playgirl's art department, ADI Distributors (one of the largest sex novelty wholesalers, located in Philly) and ObZine magazine to convincing PG's silent owners—in the adult business for more than 30 years—to open this club.

Funny thing is, those same people wanted her to manage a strip club. "Too problematic, too many drugs, too much weird psychological stuff with the girls." X had a better idea, one she had brewing for years—an upscale, dressy, 30-plus lifestyle "four star" hangout with great food, state-of-the-art sound and lighting, lots of room and an away-from-downtown location so to be frisky and free in private. With tons of parking. "We have no neighbors and no street traffic; none of the problems you'd have in Center City. It keeps our members safe. And no one will see them going or coming." No pun intended.

As soon as you enter the Garden—a warehouse space once occupied by Mummers and bingo players—you get hit with that Taboo Tiki hedo look: thatch–surrounded doorways and naked mermaid paintings. And that's just the first few feet.

After you're escorted inside, it's one big bamboo-lava-Moai-head-disco-ball-filled mega-room with 20-foot ceilings, coconut-infested palm trees and hemp-roped-off areas featuring glass-enclosed group showers on the right and a row of thatch-hut booths on the left.

Those semi-private areas on the left? They got love-rocking "sensual-furnishings" that X says she cannot be any more specific about. On the right, along with leopard-patterned fabric-lined benches and overstuffed seats, there are group furnishings of the same sensual nature. (On Fetish/SM nights, they might bring in some custom-made dungeon furniture). While some large-scale decorations are still to come, including a Bali Hi-like tiki-head waterfall slated for the Taboo Tiki dancefloor/playpen/dining room, the main attraction of that space is its murals.

X and her mural-painting pals, Billy Three Fingers and Paris, painted up the large-scale works that engulf the main room, the largest of which features not only X's bombshell bod in full regalia but 3-D stone Easter Island heads with faux lava pouring from their eye sockets.

Step past the main room and you're knee-deep in the stained glass-adorned "Cat House" ladies lounge; a more intimate Victorian burlesque parlor with gilded-gold walls and Tiffany hanging lights and sconces, cushy antique blue velvet couches and, of course, a 7-foot-tall stone lion-head fountain. "I'm looking at a bronze Neptune fountain too," says X. "But the lion's pretty impressive."

So is the purple-felt pool table and the black velvet curtain-framed mirrors that surround the Cat House's two stages with gold poles stuck into their center. These are for the scantily-clad-and-corseted waitstaff and the members themselves to swing and wriggle on.

"Everything's like a stage set, very tiki and very taboo but with all of our amenities," says X of towel and laundry services, sous chef-cooked hot 'n' cold buffets and desserts that make the Pleasure Garden into a cruise of earthen, sensual delights. "We're our own orgasm I mean, organism here," she says, giggling.

The Pleasure Garden is located … ah, you're not going to get it that easy, Todd Quinones. The online location is www.thepleasuregardenclub.com.