|
|
call
me curious stories |
|
|
call
me curious stories |
|
|
|
|
|
this section
this site
|
Our last night in New Orleans, we finally got the guts to go to our first swing club. We were nervous the entire four block walk. Our first step into Monique’s, though, was one of the most memorable experiences of our lives. It will forever be the swinging experience by which we will judge all others. We followed the directions down a fairly dark street and arrived what we thought would be a fashionable 20 minutes after opening. It was Sunday evening. A doorman stood outside a plain door by a clock repair store. Somehow he knew where we were going. He opened the door for us. We asked “Monique?” and he led us in. At the dark welcome table, a tall, handsome man made us feel at home. We were asked to fill out a questionnaire confirming that we knew what we were getting into and that we weren’t police. After paying, we were informed we were the night’s first visitors, but that usually on a Sunday a dozen or so people showed up. Not to worry. In the meantime, we would get a tour. We were led up an elevator—downstairs was the bar and dance floor, we were told, open only on Friday and Saturday when most people came. The elevator opened into a beautiful wood lined, high-ceilinged room, the sort one imagines as the study of a mansion in a gothic novel. Big couches were arranged around the room. Books and liquor adorned the built-in shelves. We put the bottle we had brought alongside the others. Low lights gave the room an even warmer and more comfortable air. From there we were shown the porn room, also with many leather couches and the biggest screen I’ve ever seen outside a movie theater. A woman was moaning in pleasure while being licked furiously by both a man and woman. “One of my favorites,” our tour guide said. Then we were shown a hallway with two sets of facing couches where people also chatted—and whatever else. Red lights were strung beneath the couches, making the room glow with sexual energy. There was also a voyeur room, which was a big room filled with mattresses and windows, a couple private rooms, and a row of beds separated from each other by gauzy curtains. The curtains were hung in front of each bed, obscuring direct view from the hallway, and also between each bed. It would be possible to have sex in one bed, and see shadows of countless other couples (or however many) down the line. The rules were that if you didn’t mind people watching, you could leave the gauze curtains pulled; if you wanted privacy, there was a second set of dark curtains you could pull; if you wanted people to join, open the curtains. They still had to ask to be certain, but the open curtain would let them know it is a possibility. If the curtains were pulled no one could open them. These augmented the general rules, which seem to be about the same everywhere you go: no means no. That’s about it. But that really covers it all. The final stop on the tour was the locker room area, which had a dungeon off to one side (dominatrix on duty certain days of the week, but feel free to use it), and a swing off to the other side. He showed us the directions and offered to put Jayme in it to show her. She giggled, and declined the offer, thinking that he wasn’t serious. It stayed in her mind as a fantasy—the tall dark stranger putting her in a swing suspended from the ceiling and having his way with her—to this day. We fixed ourselves a drink we had brought and sat down in the main lounge. We told each other how beautiful the place was and planned having sex there whether or not anyone else showed up. Slowly but surely, though, others did show up. There was a single guy, local, worked construction, who seemed very pleasant. He talked to us about work and the dungeon. Another tall single man explained to us that his wife was sick and couldn’t make it. She didn’t have a problem with him coming alone. Jayme talked to him the most. Three couples also arrived within the first hour. The first was a cute couple we figured to be about our age—he, a little older; she, a little younger. They were friendly and local and intelligent. The second were also local, transplanted from Georgia. He wore a cowboy hat and was very outgoing. We called him simply “cowboy.” The other half of the cowboy couple was kind of plain and shy. She seemed embarrassed by his egregiousness. The third couple was young twenties. He was the quiet one of this group. She immediately introduced herself as Judy to the group. Though outgoing, it was her first time at a club. There were two virgin couples counting us. The conversation bounced around, cowboy telling jokes, the rest of us more intimately talking. Then 11:00 came. The good looking guy who had given us the tour appeared and said that it was time to change into underwear. It was the Sunday rule. Certainly an ice breaker. After brief conversations about underwear and Jayme not wearing any up top (no problem, everyone assured), everyone packed into the narrow locker room at once. People were bending over, taking things off. The act of removing clothes (and politeness) made it difficult to look at everything going on around us. We put our clothes in a locker and began to go back to the lounge. The cowboy had to stop us all first, though, and show us the damage done to his girlfriend’s butt by the dominatrix on Wednesday. He pulled up her big white panties to reveal some nasty bruises. Everyone squinted in pain by association. “It really wasn’t that bad,” she said, “but it sure left a mark.” That assured us that our lack of inclination toward S&M was warranted. Back in the room, we talked to the nice local couple that sat closest to us. She, April, was in her mid-twenties, brown hair, firm large breasts, nice body, bubbly personality, and sexy southern accent. He, Jack, was in his mid-forties, pretty good shape, brown hair, blue eyes, obviously intelligent. We really hit it off, discussing just about anything other than sex. Every so often a remark about Jayme’s lack of bra or something similar would come up. “I can take mine off too,” April suggested. “It’s just that I bought these today at Victoria’s Secret especially for tonight. It seems a shame to take them off so quickly.” A shame. She did flash at Jack’s prodding and he beamed like a proud father. “Those are great, aren’t they?” We agreed. Without much preamble, Jack suggested we go back to a room. “We’re going back, if you want to come, too.” They took the first shrouded bed and we took the second. We didn’t want to seem too pushy. Seconds later they were naked, we were naked, and someone had pulled the shear curtain between us open. I was still a little apprehensive so couldn’t get an immediate erection. Stage fright, I guess. It is the demon of the sex club. Thinking about it doesn’t help though. I went down on Jayme while we both watched April suck Jack’s dick in the next bed. We each watched each other fuck—I got it up eventually. “Should we ask them over here?” I asked Jayme quietly. “I don’t know,” she said. “Go ahead.” But no one made a move. Not on their side or ours. We chatted a little and flirted a little after we left the room—even exchanged email addresses and promises of getting in touch. Jack made us feel April’s boobs once before they left, and they were amazing. They left because they had to work early, and we stayed, wondering if we should have been a little more aggressive. Still, it was an exciting experience watching and being watched. So public, as well. Only shears separated us from the others who would walk by occasionally, pause, and watch our shadows writhe about. We took a short break and then went to the couches in the hallway to relax and get closer to the action. We were still in our underwear. I wore burgundy satin boxers, and she wore a white thong. I went to the bathroom, leaving Jayme alone. She assured me it was OK, and why wouldn’t it be. Some new people had come in, but we had met most everyone there. When I returned, I had to look twice—sort of shook my head like a cartoon character. Jayme was where I left her there on the couch, but now she was joined by two single men, one sitting on each side of her on the back of the couch. Their crotches were eye level. The one on her right was an older man who had recently arrived with a very quiet woman he had left in the lounge. The man on her left was the tall man who had left his wife at home. They were both lightly massaging her breasts, and she was running a hand over each of their bulges. I took a seat on the facing couch.
|
|
