Swingers 3 Read online

  SWINGERS 3

  SWINGERS 3

  Barry Calvert

  Copyright © 2012 Barry Calvert

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

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  Typeset by Troubador Publishing Ltd, Leicester, UK

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  CONTENTS

  1 Into the Minefield

  2 La Chambre is Born

  3 The First Night

  4 News of the World Exposé

  5 Gangs at the Door

  6 A Blast from the Past

  7 Dirty Girls and Kinky Guys

  8 La Chambre on Nationwide Television

  9 The British are Coming

  10 From No Listers to ‘Z’ Listers

  11 Goodbye, Old Friend

  12 A Night to Remember

  13 Back to the Present

  14 One Hell of a Ride

  CHAPTER 1

  Into the Minefield

  The bank manager’s office resembled something out of a Dickens novel. Dark wood panels covered the walls and portraits of stern looking gentlemen glared down at us from all sides. The bank manager himself sat behind a huge, ornate rosewood desk with a green leather inlay on top, worn thin by years of use. We had been sat there for over an hour, but finally all the form filling and questions were over and he pushed the papers across the desk for me to sign. I quickly glanced at Marie who was sat beside me, she was scratching the end of her nose, always a sure sign that she was not comfortable with something.

  As I signed my name I felt a mixture of elation and foreboding. We had just remortgaged our house for £50,000 in order to finance our new business venture; a purpose built swingers club, the first of its kind in Britain. Of course, we had told the bank manager it was for home improvements, no bank in the country would have stumped up that kind of cash for such a risky venture. This was 1997 and opening a swingers club in the churlish moralistic standards of the nineties was akin to opening a branch of the Millwall Supporters Club in the heart of West Ham, in other words, asking for trouble.

  But we had done our homework on the subject, or at least as much as we could do. The Sheffield Town Hall were not very forthcoming with the information we needed. When we asked them if we needed a special licence to open a swingers club, their response was “What is a swingers club? Will it be a place where prostitutes could operate? Would it encourage underage sex? Is it like a massage parlour? Would foreign girls be having sex with men off the street etc, etc?”

  It was clear that the local council had never had to deal with a request like this before. It took us two months just to find out there was no special licence needed to open a swingers club and this was only the tip of the iceberg. If we had known of half the bureaucracy we would come up against in those early years I think we would have given up there and then. But as we came out of the bank manager’s office, armed with £50,000 in our account, we were naively unaware of all the trials and sleepless nights that lay ahead. We went straight to another bank fifty yards up the road and borrowed another £20,000 before any of the previous transaction could be downloaded and scupper our chances of a loan, again for home improvements. If you tried to do this today you wouldn’t get very far, technology has moved on at a pace, but sixteen years ago the banking industry was only just coming to terms with computerisation and the time of the good old fashioned bank manager was not quite at an end. So there we were, £70,000 in debt, and facing a myriad of problems.

  It was not as though we were young either, I was forty seven and Marie forty five but we were being driven by circumstance. Our previous shoe retail business, which we had worked for fifteen years to build, had crumbled, and we now found ourselves at a crossroads. It would have been easier to have retreated from the challenges, took a low paid job and settled into a life of eking out wages to pay the bills, watching the pennies and disappearing into obscurity. But that is not who we are. Such an existence would have been a prison sentence to us. So we took up the challenge, borrowed £70,000, and charged headlong into death or glory and I distinctly remember feeling it was more likely to be death than glory.

  We may have been short on common sense and we may have been taking on something the vast majority of people would say to be a hopeless, even foolish task. However, one thing we did possess was knowledge. If we had been on Mastermind our specialist subject would have been ‘swinging.’ We knew it inside out; we had lived it for seventeen years and I couldn’t resist feeling that the whole scene was about to expand rapidly. I knew that if we could just survive the first year or two then we would be at the forefront of that expansion. We had to hold our nerve, and more importantly, not run out of money before we came good.

  I rang Danny and Sue that night to tell them what we had done. As our oldest swinging friends, we always confided in them first. Danny’s reaction was not unexpected.

  “Be Jesus Baz, have you gone doolally? How are you going to repay the new mortgage and the loan while you’re still building the place?”

  “Oh, mere technicalities Dan,” I said. I was trying to make light of it, but Danny was right. We had no income now so we would have to live off some of the money we had borrowed until the new club could bring in an income. A risky strategy, but there was no other way.

  Danny continued, “well Baz, if you and Marie are still coming over tonight, I have a surprise for you that will take your mind off mortgage payments for a while.”

  “Oh no, what now?” I asked.

  “I’m going to take us dogging” said Danny.

  “That’s not a surprise, we’ve been dogging hundreds of times.”

  “Ah, but not where I’m going to take us. I know of a new place, it’s where all the action is just now.”

  “Where is it?” I asked.

  “Now that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it” chuckled Danny.

  “Okay, okay, I give up. We’ll be over later.” When I told Marie about Danny’s plan, she looked worried.

  ”What’s he up to now? she asked.

  “We’ll soon find out” I answered.

  It was Saturday night, our main swinging night. Most of our swinging assignations were on Saturdays for the simple reason that there was no work the following day, so we could stay out as late as we liked. It’s probably the same for swingers even today. Meetings in the week are fine so long as it doesn’t stretch into the early hours and who wants to put a time limit on sexy fun. It’s not as though you can jump up halfway through a sex session and say ‘times up, got to go home, got to get up for wo
rk in the morning.’ We’ve had lots of mid-week sex sessions over the years with different couples and they would usually carry on until two or three in the morning. So by the time we arrived home it would be around four and we were up for work at seven. Not good. So Saturday was predominantly our day for what we called our ‘other life.’

  Danny was waiting eagerly at the front door of his house as we arrived. “Come on in” he said “there’s just enough time for a quick cup of coffee then we’re off.”

  “Why the rush Dan?” I asked. “It’s only half past nine.”

  “We have a long way to go” he continued, “and we don’t want to miss the action.” He ushered us through to the lounge where Sue brought in a tray of coffee and biscuits. She looked as good as ever, dark brown hair falling over her face as she bent down, her brown eyes smiling over at me.

  “He’s been like this all day” she said. “Ever since a workmate told him about this new-wonder dogging site.”

  “So do you know where it is?” Marie asked.

  “No idea” answered Sue. “All I know is that it’s a long way away.” Danny butted in. “It will be worth every mile, so it will. My mate said there were dozens and dozens of really fit couples and singles all up for it and some of the girls give a mass lesbian show before the real fun starts. There can be as many as fifteen naked women all playing with each other, lit up by a circle of headlights.” Danny was clearly excited.

  “Fucking hell Dan, this sounds too good to be true!” I said.

  “It’s absolutely true!” said Danny. “My mate has been a few times as a single bloke and he says they’re shagging all over the place, on the top of cars, in the cars, all over the grass. He even saw one girl giving blow jobs sat on the bottom rung of a farm gate. She must have sucked off a dozen guys as they took it in turns to straddle the gate.”

  I was intrigued to know if what Danny said was true; it sounded like one great place to spend the night. “Right.” I said, downing my coffee in one gulp. “How do we get there then?”

  “My mate drew me a map,” said Danny, reaching into his back pocket and producing a crumpled bit of paper with what looked like a treasure map on it. Long squiggly lines all over the place and an ‘X’ marking the spot. There were also a few badly drawn trees and what looked like a river. There were no place names on it and no written directions. Danny proceeded to flatten it out on the coffee table and announced triumphantly, “Just look at this.” There was silence for a few seconds until

  Marie spoke. “It looks like a child has drawn it, how old is your mate?” Danny looked crestfallen, “It will be okay I know where I’m going, he gave me directions. We’ll only need the map for the last few miles.”

  Fifteen minutes later we were all packed into Danny’s car and heading for the wilds of Lincolnshire. Gainsborough came and went, then Market Rasen. We had been travelling for about forty minutes and the sky had began to turn dark. Danny had been strangely coy about our destination, saying he would tell us when we got near it. The girls were pushing him to reveal all.

  “Oh alright, it’s a little hamlet just outside of Louth called…” he hesitated for a second, “...called Cockerington.”

  “What!” exclaimed Marie. “That mate of yours is having you on, it’s a wind up.”

  “No, no” Danny said confidently. “It really is called Cockerington.”

  “Well I’m not convinced.” said Marie. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Well, we’ve come this far” I said, “so we will soon find out whether it’s Cockerington or Cockup-ton.”

  “Oh ye of little faith” laughed Danny.

  Sue just shook her head, “If we don’t get there soon I’ll be asleep.” Twenty minutes later we reached Louth. Danny passed a map to the girls on the back seat.

  “Right, have a look where we go from here.” Pretty soon the directions were coming thick and fast and within a few minutes we were out of Louth and into the dark countryside again.

  “My God, this is the back of beyond Dan,” I said, “I can’t see a light anywhere.”

  We were on a narrow country lane which weaved its way gently through an undulating landscape. There were no discernible features, no trees, no houses, no road lights, nothing.

  “This should be it” said Danny, with just a hint of exasperation in his voice.

  “Hold on, I can see a light” shouted Sue. She was right; it was faint but it was a light, some way off in the distance.

  We made our way up a long, gravel lane towards the light at the top in an open area, where there were half a dozen parked cars.

  “That must be it!” shouted Danny. “Get your tits out girls.” But as we drove up to the parked cars it was obvious they were empty. Then, without warning, a huge security light flooded the area. We were in the car park of a large country house and people were already at the windows looking to see who had invaded their car park. Luckily, none of the girls had got their tits out. We sped back down the gravel lane and drove in strained silence until we came to a crossroads and there on the sign was Cockerington. Unfortunately, there was a North and South Cockerington. Danny was elated.

  “There, I knew it was around here.”

  “Ah, but which one?” I asked.

  “North” said Danny confidently. After a slight hesitation, “or could it be South.”

  “Make your mind up!” snapped Sue. “Is it North or is it South?” Danny looked at her indignantly.

  “It’s North,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Right, let’s go then.” I interrupted before Danny and Sue got into a domestic. I could see that she was becoming more and more irritated.

  North Cockerington consisted of a small pub, a phone box, and about a dozen houses. What it did not possess was a thriving, debouched dogging scene. In fact the only life we saw was an old man walking his labrador.

  “Well, that’s about as close as we’ll get to dogging around here” said Sue as we drove slowly past the old guy, who glared at us suspiciously as we passed by.

  “Ok, it must be South Cockerington” exclaimed Danny as he frowned in Sue’s direction.

  “I wonder if there is a Middle Cockerington?” I said jokingly, trying to lift the mood, but all I succeeded in doing was attracting grim looks from everyone. As we neared South Cockerington I began to fear the worst. It was going to be a long and tense drive home with the mood in the car as black as the night outside.

  South Cockerington was much the same as North Cockerington. The only difference being we didn’t see an old man with a labrador. Instead, we saw an old lady with a poodle. However, one thing it did have was a chip shop and the consensus of opinion was that if we can’t have a rampant dogging session, we would have some chips.

  It was half past eleven and the chippy was ready for closing, but we just got there in time and ordered fish and chips all round. Now, I have long maintained that fate has always played a massive part in our lives and this was one of those times. As we waited for our fish and chips, a car pulled up outside and two couples got out chattering and laughing. One of the couples came into the shop.

  “Didn’t think you would still be open” said the guy.

  “I normally wouldn’t, you can thank these people for just catching me as I was about to close” replied the owner. The couple looked at us and smiled.

  “We should thank you then,” said the lady of the couple, “we’re working up quite an appetite.” Her partner gave her a smile and a wink.

  This lot were swingers, no question. Danny shot me a glance, he was thinking the same as me. If they are swingers, what are they doing way out in the middle of nowhere unless…

  As soon as we got our fish and chips we went out to see the other couple sat in their car. Danny being his usual diplomatic self tapped on the side window and asked “Are you lot swingers?” The couple looked at him quizzically for a few seconds then answered “Does it show?” I quickly jumped in before Danny opened his mouth again.

 
“We’re looking for the dogging site round here and if you’re in the scene we were hoping you may know where it is.”

  “We’re as lost as a fart in a fog” interrupted Danny before they could answer. Just then, the first couple came out of the chippy.

  “Farmer’s Field,” said the guy as he blew on a hot chip, “that’s what you’re looking for, we’re off there now, you can follow us if you like.”

  “Great.” I said. “Is it far?”

  “Five minutes away,” replied the guy, finally popping the chip in his mouth.

  “How did you know we were swingers?” he asked.

  “Takes one to know one,” I laughed.

  We all introduced ourselves and then jumped back in Danny’s car to follow our new friends to the Farmer’s Field dogging site. Danny was overjoyed.

  “Oh ye of little faith” he shouted. “I told you this place existed.” Marie said to “Hold judgment until we had seen it.” Sue just told Danny to “Stop being smug” but Danny had been vindicated, he would have suffered all the way home had he brought us all this way for nothing. We followed the other car down a long, dark country lane, we turned sharp left at the bottom and travelled another half a mile or so along what seemed to be a dirt track. We rounded a bend to be met by a sight that literally astounded us.

  Now, remember, we had been to many dogging sites over the years, some better than others. All basically a big, open area with cars parked around the edges and maybe a few bushes or trees that added some privacy but this place was special. It was a grassy field at the bottom of a small valley, either side were gently rolling hills which rose to about sixty feet, shielding it from view. Not that many people would even know it was there. We entered through two huge farm gates and were amazed when an old chap in a long coat stepped out and asked for fifty pence to park up.

  “Fuck me!” said Danny. “I’ve never had to pay to go dogging before.” We dutifully paid our fifty pence and carried on through the gates.