The Club

It was a frigid October night when we headed out to the club that first time. Kevin read the directions to me off the back of an envelope and our anxiety levels peaked when it seemed the route was taking us well outside the city’s familiar limits. After a few minutes, we found the place. It looked like many of the other non-descript buildings around it, dim and depressed. The windows were all backed out. I scavenged for parking on the main road across the street, well within the glow of the streetlight. The door was locked but a sign indicated we should ring the bell.

The door was opened by a white-haired man with a kind face. He looked to be about 60, and did not seem at all put out by my obvious surprise. He was wearing a gray sweat suit and sneakers that were an impossible shade of white. In about fifteen seconds, I’d registered the retro-sleaze feel of the place in its wood-paneled walls, low ceilings and cheesy lighted dance floor. The tables and chairs looked like airline terminal furniture but the tunes pumped with a healthy aggressiveness. The DJ spun an enticing combination of throbbing hip hop and raucous southern rock. Groups of couples had already begun filling the dance floor and collecting in pockets around the room

Kevin and I made it as far as the two nearest bar stools. The old man said someone would be by to give us a tour soon. I slipped my jacket off and noticed my exposed cleavage was immediately appreciated by several sets of eyes. After twenty minutes, no one had approached us and little clicks of patrons were forming with more ferocity. Suddenly, a middle-aged man and woman walked up. The man, who said his name was Steve, was tall and slender with dark hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. His partner Monique was a plump and pretty blond who smiled warmly. She invited us to follow them up a narrow and dimly lit staircase. My high heels slipped and sunk into the shag carpeting as I stumbled after them.

The upstairs was a collection of rooms, all connected through door less entryways. Some rooms had queen-sized beds that looked like they were made of foam. A few rooms had sex chairs and swings. There was very little light besides what spilled from orange and red bulbs tucked behind shaded and recessed light fixtures. There was a large open space with a several rows of blue lockers against one wall. A narrow, almost lightless hallway terminated with a tiny bathroom. The toilet glowed white against the backdrop of seventies kaleidoscope wallpaper. The back of the room housed a large, tiled roman shower with bench seats and multiple shower heads.

Steve explained that some couples were content to stay down at the bar, but most ventured upstairs at least once to try it out or just to watch. He went on to stress that this was a safe place with no pressure. Back downstairs, I had my wine refilled. We settled into a booth by the dance floor and watched as couples gyrated happily around in the dark, loosing pieces of their clothing a little at a time. After a while, Steve and Monique made the first move and asked us to join them upstairs.

I don’t remember getting undressed or how we ended up next to each other on one of the large beds, already inhabited by several couples in full coital swing. I was suddenly on my back, wearing only a towel and my knee high black boots. At first, all I could see were moving shapes and shadows but the noises were unmistakable. Moans of pleasure and the dirty sex talk of strangers filled my ears in living stereo. Stray hands ran over my breasts and an occasional leg was thrown haphazardly over my thigh or my stomach. I gasped as random fingers sought out my private spaces, exploring me without need of invitation. I felt my towel tugged free and then the strange, hot lips of the blond on my sex, timid at first, then she began to lick and suck until my moans joined the chorus. All around us there were couples engaged in every sex act imaginable. One young couple was testing the limits of a sex chair; the metal frame shook and groaned as they pounded away at each other. In another corner, a muscular man, his arms covered in erotic ink, was spanking his partner mercilessly. Though her ass was fire red, her face was twisted with an unmistakable grimace of ecstasy.


Monique turned and took Kevin into her mouth, her head bobbing rhythmically up and down on his shaft. Steve slipped into her, matching his thrusts with the movement of her mouth. Kevin extracted himself and dropped to his knees between my legs, spreading them wide. His first few thrusts were slow but soon he was fucking me in a frenzied pace, pounding into me again and again as the bodies shimmered and shook all around us. Monique fondled and sucked my breasts, teasing my nipples into hard points with her teeth. I heard Kevin groan and felt the hot burst of his seed inside me. After, I allowed myself to be lead with Monique into the showers where we fucked again side by side, our bodies slippery with jasmine scented suds.

By the time we stumbled out of the club, I was dizzy with wine and my entire body ached. I leaned back in my seat. I had not bothered with my bra or underwear and the cold air ran up my sweaty thighs and over my still throbbing sex. Kevin reached over and opened my blouse. He slipped his fingers inside me as I reached for him. We drove home, fondling and teasing each other at intervals, his erection straining against his jeans and my exposed breasts glowing white in headlights of passing cars.

Word Count: 998