Swingers 3 Page 10

  “Ahh, you want it rough eh?” I said

  “Yes, yes, as rough as you like,” so I grabbed a hand full of dark brown hair and began slamming into her. Her screams of pleasure soon brought the others to us, the bedroom door swung open and in came Alan, Little Sue and Danny. They stood almost spellbound just watching me slam into Sue. Her head pulled up with my grip on her hair. Sue managed to turn to face them and said between slams “S… Matter…Never Seen…Anyone… Get…Arse…Fucked…Before?” At that Danny and Alan almost manhandled Little Sue on to the bed next to us and began top and tailing her, she wasn’t complaining.

  The long, drawn out sexual nature of the night had the effect of turning us rampant, add the drink and it made for a night of rough sex. Marie and Maria were having a one to one in another bedroom and judging by the moans and groans echoing across the landing were having just as good a time as the rest of us.

  Alan and Danny were now double penetrating Sue and her squeals of delight filled the room. Just then, Mark burst through the door with a mouth full of cheese flan, “What have I missed?” he shouted. At that, Little Sue latched onto Mark’s dick with her mouth sucking like a woman who already had two hard dicks in her. Mark blew out a mass of crumbs and grabbed the bottom of the bed “Fuckin ’ell,” he shouted “she sucks like a fuckin Dyson!” That brought a howl of laughter from the rest of us.

  Eventually, it all calmed down. As I slowed and pulled out of Sue, she lay gasping, face down on the bed. Little Sue lay beside her running her hands over her body in satisfaction. Mark had come in Sue’s mouth and was now finishing what was left of the cheese flan. We were all just laying there exhausted when the bedroom door slowly opened. It was Marie.

  “Come and look at Maria,” she whispered.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Just come and look at her.” So we all crept out of the bedroom across the landing to another bedroom, and there was Maria, fast asleep sucking on her thumb with her legs tucked underneath and her arse in the air.

  “Oh my God she’s just like a baby,” said Alan.

  “Yeah and just look at the position of that naked arse,” said Danny. “It’s just at the right angle for fucking.”

  “You wouldn’t,” said Marie.

  “I fuckin’ would!” said Danny.

  “Go ahead,” said Mark, “it’s too good to turn down.”

  Now, what happened next is best left to the imagination, but just to put the record straight Maria had more sex than anyone that night, but does not even remember it! Little Sue was the last one to abuse her, Alan was sat on the edge of the bed. “Oh, you dirty little bitch Sue, do it again.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Back to the Present

  We’ve had some truly memorable entertainment at La Chambre over the years from 2001 to 2008. There were magicians, hypnotists, erotic dancers, mud wrestling, fire eaters, comedians, drag acts and even a five piece rock band called the Diamond Dogs. The lead singer used to jump up onto the tables and bound from one to the other while blasting out ‘All The Young Dudes.’ I was always terrified he would slip and fall on someone, but he must have been part mountain goat because he never did.

  Another extremely popular act was a guy called Rob Lambarti who impersonated George Michael. He would be dressed in an American policeman’s uniform, complete with mirrored shades and designer stubble and when he began singing you would have thought we really had booked George Michael, he was that good. We also had an excellent Elton John and Neil Diamond, but I think the best laugh we had was when our good friend Robin Colville of The Grumbleweeds appeared as his alter ego Jenny Talia, the transvestite hypnotist. Robin is in fact a qualified hypnotist who has cured many a migraine sufferer and helped people stop smoking. But this night was just for laughs as he came onto the stage wearing the most exotic white catsuit complete with stockings, suspenders and high heels. He took about ten volunteers from the audience, sat them on chairs in the middle of the dance floor and worked his magic. Phil, a regular of ours, was confident he could not be hypnotised and boasted that no one could make a fool of him. Within fifteen minutes he was pole dancing naked on the stage and wiggling his backside at everyone. Robin told another guy that his balls were as big as melons and when he walked around he had to lift them with both hands, so for the next half hour he lurched round the club holding up his imaginary massive balls. He did the same to a lady called Jenny, only he told her that her boobs were so big she had to ask other people to hold them up for her. I’ll leave that one to your imagination.

  One act that nearly caused a riot was a comedian who I had booked after I had seen him at a rugby club dinner. He was really funny that night and I thought he would go down well at our place. But when he eventually got on stage he started making jokes about swingers, and I mean bad jokes that belittle the lifestyle, then he went on to make fun of gays, lesbians and bi-sexuals. I think he must have had a death wish, because nobody was laughing but he still continued to tell his offensive jokes. It was only when the crowd began to whistle and boo him that he finally realised he wasn’t going down too well. I had told him beforehand that if our lot liked him, then he stood a good chance of a fuck. As it turned out he was very nearly fucked, just not in the way he would have wanted. Luckily for him I managed to pay him up and sneak him out of the back door before anyone could get to him.

  The methane man was one act that never actually appeared in front of our members, but he did perform an audition for me and Marie one evening. His skill was to fart to music. He could do ‘We Are The Champions’ by Queen really well, but he struggled on the faster tracks like ‘Bat Out Of Hell.’ How he did it I don’t know, but Marie refused to book him because she thought he was too crude and that the smell would offend people. I for one considered him an artist, in fact I think only a man can appreciate the delicate control and the level of skill needed to fart in such a way, but Marie stood firm and we never booked the methane man. He went on to appear on television on a talent show, he didn’t win and I don’t think he ever got on the telly again, but he did make a decent living on the working mens’ club circuit and at stag parties etc. Just shows you can earn money at anything if you put your mind to it, or in his case his arse.

  Dame Agnes was a drag act that used to have people rolling with laughter. Jim was a bloke around sixty but scrubbed up pretty well when he put on a wig and a dress. His repertoire was a cross between Dame Edna Everage and Lily Savage and his blond wig used to slide around his bald head. It wasn’t part of his act but everyone would be in stitches when it happened. He would get people up on the stage and have a laugh with them; the blokes especially suffered at his hands and would usually end up receiving a big sloppy kiss from Dame Agnes. Everyone loved him and we must have booked him at least ten times over a five year period.

  La Chambre was the only club to offer this kind of entertainment, other clubs would put on mud wrestling and exotic strippers etc, as did we, but none went further than that. We on the other hand took the view that nonsexual entertainment also had a place in an adult club. We felt that swingers would respond to mainstream fun just as much as they responded to sexual fun and we were proven right. On the nights we had singers, comedians, hypnotists, drag acts and the like, we were usually packed to the rafters.

  We wanted La Chambre to be an all round adult club, incorporating all aspects of pleasure and offering our members so much more than sex, sex, sex. Not that sex isn’t great, sex is our business and we have had some fantastic sexual entertainment too.

  Denzel and Joline were a very popular black couple who were regulars at the club in 2005. Denzel was a personal trainer and had a magnificent physique, six pack, broad shoulders, trim waist, muscular legs, bulging biceps, the works. Add all that to a nine inch dick and you can see why the ladies loved him. Joline was no slouch either; like Denzel she was toned to perfection with legs that went on forever and a pair of boobs you could hang your hat and coat on.

  Anyway, one day Denzel came up to me. �
��Hey Baz, what do you think about me and Jo doing a show on stage?”

  “What kind of show?” I asked.

  “A sex show,” said Denzel.

  “We’ll make it all arty and stuff, and then have sex on stage, we saw it when we went to Amsterdam.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  “It will be good,” said Denzel, “me and Jo could do what that couple in Amsterdam did, probably better.”

  “How much would you want for doing it?” I said.

  “How does fifty quid sound?” he answered.

  “Okay, let’s do it” I said. Now Denzel was a great bloke, but his ego did run away with him sometimes and what he could not do was not worth doing anyway. True, his reputation in the play rooms was close to legendary, so great things were expected from him and Joline when they performed on stage for everyone. As the saying goes ‘cometh the hour, cometh the man,’ but not in Denzel’s case. When he finally climbed on stage with Jolene, he froze. He was like a rabbit caught in the headlights, Jolene was writhing around all sexy like, but Denzel just stood there staring out at the packed audience like some sort of zombie, no idea what to do, no movement, and even more worryingly no hard on.

  His pride and joy, the appendage that had served him so well upstairs in the playrooms, now hung limp and lifeless like a dead snake. Jolene, like a true professional, was doing her best to snap Denzel out of his trance. She took hold of his dick and started rubbing it between her breasts, but it was a forlorn hope, nothing happened. She then knelt down in front of him and gave him oral but his dick was just bending and flopping about in her mouth so she gave up, pushed him down on to the stage, sat on him and simulated sex, but people near the front could see there was no penetration and began shouting ‘fake.’ Denzel just turned his head to the baying crowd and grinned a sorrowful, almost pathetic grin, that’s all he could do. The banter from the crowd was good natured, but poor old Denzel had learnt a bitter lesson. What seems easy in the relative privacy of a playroom is almost impossible in the bright lights of fame, however fleeting.

  We have seen all kinds of people at the club over the years, outgoing couples, shy couples, kinky couples and party couples. Perhaps the greatest party couple of them all are Roddy and Debs, now these two know how to have a good time. Roddy is a patriotic Welshman with a great sense of humour and no holds barred quest for fun, Debs is a gorgeous, genuinely nice person who is game for anything and has the most outrageous and erotic outfits I have ever seen. Boy can she dance; when the music takes her she can literally dance all night. As a couple they are definitely party people. I remember them helping to set up a white night at the club a few years ago. Roddy brought loads of white material that we covered the walls with, Debs helped blow up hundreds of white balloons and we all dressed in white outfits. Roddy even dyed his hair white and bought some white contact lenses. Debs wore a white wig to go with her white shoes and white bodysuit. It was an amazing night, over one hundred couples, an electric atmosphere and some outrageous action. It still rates in our memory as one of the best nights ever.

  When I got to this chapter of the book I got around to as many people as I could and asked them if I could use their real names when mentioning them. The vast majority said yes. I only ever mention first names, never surnames, so their identities are safe. So these are just a few of our current members who don’t mind their first names being used. This list is quite small as I only had a two week time slot to hopefully meet them at the club and gain their permission. So if you’re not on here then I haven’t forgotten you, I just did not see you in time: John and Christine, Clive and Debs, Mark and Maria, Keith and Sandra, Amy and Michael, Ian and Linda, Alan and Sue, Trevor and Charlie, Dave and Jackie, Pete and Jill, Derek and Pauline, Tommy and Arlene, Steve and Mandy, Roddy and Debs, Andy and Sarah, Alex and Sarah, Pete and Bridget, Mark and Beverley, Phil and Louise, Malc and Nadine, Nigel and Heidi, Dave and Alison, Debs and Steve, Chris and Nads and finally Malc and Debs.

  The last couple mentioned are like chalk and cheese. Malc is a quite laid back sort of guy, whereas Debs is always on the go and up for anything, but Malc was telling me that when they’re at home the roles are reversed. It just goes to show the effect La Chambre has on people. The list could go on and on. In fact, one of the joys of this job is meeting so many wonderful couples, not just couples of course, singles too. Over the years we have met lots of single guys, many of whom have become friends as well as members.

  Perhaps one that stands out for us is Farmer Dave, a really decent bloke who knew how the club worked and became a very popular guy. He respected the couples and took time to talk and get to know them. I think I’m right in saying, that Dave never had to ask if he could join a couple, because he was always invited first. A true gentlemen and living proof that patience and respect beats pushy everytime. It’s a pity more single guys don’t take a leaf out of Farmer Dave’s book.

  It used to be that single girls were like gold dust, they believed they would be considered common or slutty if they came unattended. In fact, nothing could be farther from the truth in La Chambre; they are revered. It takes guts to walk through those doors for the first time and for a single girl it’s doubly hard. But thank God the mould has been well and truly broken. We have over sixty single ladies on our books and rarely a week goes by without us getting at least seven or eight single girls in. At this point I have to mention Viv, Angie, Tracy, June, Jill, Delise and Carol, great girls: every single one of them. I also have to mention Dean and Julie and Jade and Gill; without their help we could not run the club; Dom also who helps keep the club from falling apart and his partner Julie, who typed this book, proof read it and managed to decipher my writing. Last but not least, Steve, our DJ, who has been with us for five years and was a member before that.

  Running a club like ours you know we see a whole range of emotions. Life in its raw state is sometimes spread out before us. Very occasionally, a couple or single will come in who really should not be here. Swinging is not for everybody. Some people cannot get over the jealousy, some just can’t bear the thought of their partner being with someone else. It’s often a lack of confidence in their own relationships, but whatever the reason we all try to tell them, the best thing to do is to go home and decide if swinging is for them.

  Another very common problem is couples being jealous of other couples. For instance, when two couples get together and have a fun time, it often happens that if one of the couples then has fun with another couple, say a week or so later, the original couple they had fun with feel almost betrayed. It’s something that you need to come to terms with very quickly, as if left it can and has ruined relationships. You have to understand that swinging is, by definition, about experimentation and change. Imagine if we had been jealous of Danny and Sue or Dave and Rachel, we would never had been able to maintain a friendship with them and would have missed years of pleasure. The bond we had with them was strengthened by the knowledge that they swung with other people, but still wanted to swing with us for all those years.

  So, all you young swingers out there beware, don’t let the green eyed monster take control; live free, experiment, push your limits, spread your wings and dare to fly as the saying goes ‘The price of liberty is eternal vigilance.’

  CHAPTER 14

  One Hell of a Ride

  It was the early hours of Monday morning and I had been sound asleep. As usual we had managed about five hours sleep over the weekend and were exhausted. Monday was the night we usually caught up, but something was wrong. I was tossing and turning, I couldn’t breathe. It was a cold night but I was drenched in sweat and my head was pounding. I managed to get up and sit on the edge of the bed; my heart was beating fast, much too fast, it must have been about 200 beats a minute, I was dizzy and lightheaded. I managed to stagger to the bathroom where I splashed cold water over my face, it didn’t help, the sweat was still dripping off me. I opened the bathroom window and leaned out to gulp in the cold night air. There was no pa
in, just the rapid bang, bang, bang of my heart against my rib cage. I sat down heavily on the toilet, trying to figure out what was going on.

  Slowly, my heart beat began to slow down, 150 a minute, 100 a minute, 90 a minute then around the normal 70 beats per minute. I could breathe normally again. I stopped sweating and began to feel the cold next to the open window. My head stopped spinning and I now splashed warm water over my arms and face. The whole episode had lasted just under half an hour. I went back to bed and slept fitfully until morning.

  The next day I felt washed out, drained. I didn’t mention it to Marie, it would only worry her and anyway, I had put it down to stress. We had been working hard and not getting enough sleep. We were also not getting any younger and I just thought it was my body’s way of telling me to slow down, so I carried on and put it to the back of my mind.

  This was around February 2009: the recession had just started to bite, people were spending less on recreational pleasures and prioritising by first putting food on the table and paying the bills. I was fifty nine years old and at a time when I had hoped Marie and I could take it a little easier, we found ourselves working even harder just to maintain what we had.

  Three weeks after the first incident it happened again, same scenario. I woke up around three in the morning with my heart pounding at an incredible rate again. I dragged myself to the bathroom for some air and sat on the toilet waiting for it to subside, but this time it didn’t. Two hours later I was still sat there soaked in sweat and on the point of passing out. I had to wake Marie and get help. With what little energy I had left I stumbled back into our bedroom and shook Marie awake. I could barely speak but I didn’t have to; as soon as she saw me she was out of bed and on the phone for an ambulance. Within half an hour we were racing through the dark streets to hospital, sirens blaring and lights flashing. The ambulance men thought I was having a heart attack, Marie thought I was having a heart attack, but I knew I wasn’t. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew instinctively that it was not a heart attack.