“Fine. But make sure I know where you are.”
She reached into her purse, “Here. We get in free if we’re married since I’m so young,” she said as she handed me a wedding band. Placing them on our fingers was a strange ritual. When she took my hand as we walked to the door, it was surreal. For all of ten seconds, I was fake-married to a woman like her, and despite the obvious absurdity, it felt a little exciting.
We made our way to the door. I think I might have been more nervous than she was. It was one thing to think about going to a swingers party when you are newlyweds with nothing to lose. Being blackmailed into it at forty five only an hour or so outside of the community where you live and work, well, you could be committing suicide in every way except the one that really counts.
I will hand it to Sarah, the place was far cleaner and formal than I would have ever imagined. We were greeted at the door by a stately looking gentleman in the suit, who asked our names and if we’d made a reservation. Sarah introduced us as “Cindy and Mike” and we were crossed off a list and let inside to the foyer. Sarah took me aside, placing her hands on my shoulders.
“Listen, don’t hover over me but stay kinda close. Have a drink, have fun. For the most part this place is awesome and the people are nice. And if you do or say anything I don’t tell you to do, this is all over. OK?”
Here I thought I’d have a nice candle-lit taboo love making session at home. Now I was an enslaved bodyguard at a high-class swingers party. Any way I played the angles, there was nothing I could do to escape the situation. C’est la vie.
We went through a small sitting area to a grand ballroom. It was quite a sight to see. Groups of otherwise ordinary looking couples could be seen chatting like it was a social mixer. A lot of tall, groomed young men with nice builds and tattoos sauntered about, looking to pick off a frisky married woman (or man). And a few who decided escaping to a bedroom was too private were clawing at each other on a sofa or in a shadowy corner.
I walked to one corner of the main ballroom while she went to another. The way the eyes followed her as she walked across the room can’t be aptly described. Absolutely every single male in the room stopped what they were doing, whether it was lightly chatting or rutting away. With the way she looked, there was no way anyone in the room knew she was still in high school. She was prey and every man in that room was rabid to taste her. For a minx who loved to be in control and feel bathed in attention, it was heaven.
I asked for a scotch from the bartender and was greeted by a married couple. Neither looked anything less than drab, which I always assumed was the norm for these types of places. The wife had her breasts out on full display. It wasn’t a terrible rack, but it was sagging with age and it didn’t perk my interests. I guess I’d been more than a little spoiled with my recent sexual insanity.
“Hi, we’re Bob and Sally. Seems we haven’t seen you here before?”
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