Swingers 3 Page 2

  The place was packed. There must have been fifty or sixty cars parked up. Some cars had formed small circles, shining their headlights on a couple screwing, a two girl show or a threesome. We drove slowly past these impromptu shows, with our mouths open in disbelief. Someone had lit a small campfire next to a fair sized tent. As we crawled past we could see the naked bodies through the open tent flaps, at least a dozen of them, intertwined and writhing, lit by the fire light. We could hear the moans and shrieks as we slowly weaved our way through the throng. There were at least three caravans with the doors open, seemingly for anyone to walk in and shag the occupants. There was even a Portaloo. This was more like an organised event, but it was buzzing and so were we as we parked beside a group sex session.

  I turned to Danny and said “Well mate, you’ve really come through for us this time.” Even Marie and Sue, who had both been the prophets of doom only half an hour ago, were now cooing at the prospect of getting amongst the action.

  We spent the next four hours having the time of our lives. We did the tents, the caravans, gate crashed a couple of orgies, let a couple of doggers chosen by the girls have a shag. Me and Danny even found a couple of decent looking lesbians and tried to show them the error of their ways, but they still ended up making out with Marie and Sue while me and Danny sat playing with ourselves.

  “Christ Baz” said Danny, “the only thing missing is a hot dog stand.” He was right, it was like being at a carnival. We had never seen anything like it and we milked it for all it was worth, it has to rate as the best dogging session ever. We found out later it was called ‘Farmer’s Field’ because, well, it was a farmer’s field. The farmer was the old fella collecting his fifty pences at the gate. He not only made a bob or two but also got in on some of the fun. It had to be better than milking the cows at six o’clock in the morning, or mucking out the pigs.

  It didn’t last long though, as we heard through the grapevine that some locals had got wind of it and managed to shut it down. Some said it was the chip shop owner who got suspicious, but we have never forgotten ‘Farmer’s Field.’ It was one hell of a good night and I took it as a sign that the swinging scene was showing the first indication of becoming more sophisticated.

  The journey home was in stark contrast to the journey there. We were all on a giant high and Danny was the hero of the hour, a job he took to like a duck to water. By the time we hit the A1, the girls had both fallen asleep on the back seat and were snoring softly and my mind began turning to more serious matters. Danny turned to me, “What’s wrong Baz?

  “Just contemplating tomorrow morning, Dan.” I answered softly, trying not to wake the girls. I turned to him “Am I doing the right thing Danny?” I asked. I was looking for reassurance rather than a yes or no. Danny cocked his head in my direction.

  “You’re walking into a minefield,” he said. “What choice do you have, there’s not a lot out there, at least nothing that will give you any kind of lifestyle. You could probably find some dead-end nine to five job, but could you settle for that, knowing you two that would be a living hell.”

  Danny paused for a moment and smiled: “No Baz my lad, it’s the minefield for you everytime.”

  “You’re a wise old sod, aren’t you,” I laughed.

  “Hey, less of the old.”

  “One last question, oh wise one.” What’s the best way to walk through a minefield?” Danny’s face took on a serious look, then without taking his eyes off the road answered “Very fucking carefully!”

  CHAPTER 2

  La Chambre is born

  The 5th of September 1997 was a warm sunny day, with a gentle breeze blowing from the west. It also happened to be the day that work on what would become the first and the biggest adult club in Great Britain began.

  Ultimately, La Chambre would be featured by all the national television companies, then gain world wide coverage via the American Playboy Sexcetera network. It would also attract articles and features from most of the tabloid newspapers and high-end magazines, even BBC Radio One, the bastion of conservatism, would run an hour long programme on La Chambre and swinging. It would eventually even be listed in the Sheffield Tourist Board literature; surely the ultimate sign of acceptance and success. But as I unlocked the old wooden doors and stepped inside on that late summer morning, I could never have dreamed how big this would become.

  Inside it was dark, gloomy and stank of urine. It had once been a thriving pub, ’The Robin Hood,’ but had been standing empty now for many years and time and vandals had taken their toll on the old place. Even with the piles of rubbish littering the floor and the wallpaper hanging like huge leaves from the walls it was still possible to envisage how grand and majestic this place must once have looked.

  There was a huge, solid oak bar three inches thick that ran the full length of what would have been the tap room. At the far end were the toilets, or what was left of them. The tiles were all smashed and the piping had been ripped from the walls. The cellar was full of all kinds of rubbish; chairs, tables, stacks of old newspapers and magazines, piles of old clothes, a worn out pool table and some ancient pinball and slot machine all just dumped down there. I remember we filled almost ten skips with the rubbish from the cellar alone.

  The builder I was meeting was late, ‘not a good start’ I thought to myself as I shone my torch over the mounds of debris on the ground floor. I made my way around the huge wooden bar to the old lounge. Everything was broken, glass littered the floor, the ceiling hung down in places and the electrics looked frighteningly old. My heart sank as I surveyed the scene of devastation; all three floors were like this, it was going to be a colossal task to get this place ready for opening in the four month time scale I had set myself. I had chosen four months because I wanted to be ready before Christmas, and I estimated the money I loaned would run out around mid- December. But as I stood and contemplated the task ahead, I began to wonder if I had set myself an impossible timetable.

  When Roy the builder finally arrived, he brought with him two brickies, a plumber and an electrician whom he introduced as ‘Death-trap.’ This worried me slightly, until Roy asked him what he thought of the electrics and after a quick check he announced “It’s all got to go, it’s a death-trap.” Roy clambered over the piles of rubbish followed by his crew. He was a small wiry chap, in his late fifties with a red complexion that bore testament to his many years battling the elements on building sites. He took notes as he went from the top floor to the cellar and back again. Eventually he came over to me, scratched his head, took a sharp intake of breath and announced in a broad Yorkshire accent.

  “Thas got a fair job on ‘ere lad.”

  “But you can do it?” I asked.

  “Tha wants it doin for December tha says.”

  “Mid-December or at least before Christmas” I said, trying not to let the desperation show in my voice. Roy rubbed his chin with a calloused hand. “Well, we’ve got three weeks just knockin’ out an’ clearing place, then the preparation, an’ all that’s afore we get started.” His hand went from his chin to the back of his neck, which he massaged.

  “There will be a bonus for you all if you can do it before Christmas.” I blurted out immediately castigating myself for breaking so easily.

  “A bonus tha says, what kind o’ bonus?”

  “I don’t know yet, but it will be a good one.” I answered. I didn’t have a clue what bonus and I doubted I could afford one, but at this point I just needed his commitment otherwise I was screwed. “Well lads,” said Roy, “what do yer think, can we do it?” The two brickies both nodded without showing much enthusiasm, the plumber said it would be touch and go but he’d do his best, the electrician was stood on a pile of bricks examining a broken junction box.

  “What does tha think?” asked Roy.

  “I reckon we could just manage it, but I’ll tell you what, whoever put this wiring in should be shot, it’s a bloody death-trap.” I’ve since learned that every electrician should be known
as death-trap. I have never heard one that has not said something akin to ‘it’s a death-trap’ of his predecessor’s work, but at least for now I had their agreement to begin work, albeit less than enthusiastic.

  By now it was lunch time and they all trooped over the road to a small café to have their dinner. But I didn’t have time for dinner, I wanted to get going immediately. I got on the phone to Craig, my son in law, and together we began clearing the cellar. We were still there at ten o’clock that night, long after Roy and his team had left. As Roy had said, for the first two weeks all we seemed to do was destroy the place, pulling down walls, knocking down doors, ripping out plumbing and wiring, but probably the hardest thing we had to do, both emotionally and physically, was to get rid of the old oak bar. It was so solid we had to smash it with lump hammers to break it up. I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of sadness seeing something once so majestic and imposing being destroyed, but it had to go.

  Marie and I had spent weeks drawing up plans on how the place should be laid out. We had no guidelines to follow, only our instinct as swingers. We worked on the theory that if we liked it, other swingers would like it too. Other than a few problems with building regulations and the structural layout of the building itself, I reckon we eventually got to around seventy percent of the design we wanted.

  As the weeks went on, we seemed to be falling behind the scheduled grand opening. The building team seemed to have slowed down and Roy the boss was not turning up for work at least two days per week. I suspected he had taken on another job and was trying to juggle them both. Death-trap was the most reliable of them all, never missing a day although his constant grumbling and griping about the state of the wiring drove me crazy.

  By the end of October, which should have been the half-way mark, I could see the work was falling behind schedule. Even with Danny and Sue, Dave and Rachel and two or three other couples helping us out at the weekends, it was obvious we were not going to make it before Christmas. Even more alarmingly, the money we had loaned for the project was over half gone.

  That night I lay in bed wide awake. In the morning I had to confront Roy and somehow get him to speed the work up. I couldn’t risk him walking off the job, I had to be diplomatic but if I couldn’t find a way to get the job done on time, we were finished, the money would run out, we would have no income, no way to pay the £70,000 back, the bank would foreclose on our mortgage and we would lose our home. I paced the bedroom floor, got back into bed, got out again; my mind was in turmoil. I looked at Marie, she was sleeping fitfully. I knew the strain was telling on her too, the grinding stress was taking its toll on us both. I had to find a way to get my team of builders to work to the deadline of a mid-December opening.

  I went downstairs to make a pot of tea; it was four o’clock in the morning. ‘Think Barry think’ I said to myself as I waited for the kettle to boil. I went to the back door and opened it, looking out onto the back lawn. I remember when Marie and I had just began swinging and had a huge row. We had stood on this same lawn seventeen years ago in the middle of a raging storm, holding onto each another. If we could survive that, we can bloody well survive this I told myself. I came back in, made my tea and sat on the sofa. Then, like a bolt out of the blue it hit me. The solution was there all along. How could I not have seen it when it was right under my nose. I fell back into the sofa and drank my tea with a smile on my face. Fifteen minutes later I was back in bed and immediately fell into a deep, contented slumber.

  After three hours of the best sleep I’d had in weeks, I jumped out of bed feeling more confident than I had in ages. I had to make three phone calls that morning, the last one to Roy. I arranged to meet him and his team on Friday, which was pay day and the only time I could be sure they would all be there together. My other two phone calls had gone exactly as I had hoped and expected they would. If my plan worked, I could almost guarantee the club would be ready and open in time for Christmas.

  Friday afternoon came and I assembled Roy and his crew in what is now the changing room. Back then it was still a jumble of studded walls and rough-cut timber joists. The two brickies whom we had nicknamed ‘Smash and Grab’ slumped down onto some make-shift seats, the plumber stood leaning against a door frame seemingly bored by the whole proceedings, and Death-trap sat next to Roy on a stack of cement bags.

  They had been on this job for over eight weeks and the enthusiasm of the first few weeks had now been replaced by an apathetic attitude, a kind of builders’ malaise, and my cure was radical to say the least.

  “Look lads,” I said “you all know the score, we have to get this job done for mid- December and work has slowed down to a snail’s pace.”

  “That’s as maybe but we’ve ‘ad a lot of problems tha knows Barry” interrupted Roy.

  “I know Roy, I’m not blaming anyone.” I had to be careful; I could not risk upsetting them too much.

  “I do understand that we all need an incentive to crack on and get this job done. You’re all good lads and I know if we all work together we can finish this job on time.” I could see the puzzled looks on their faces. “So I’ve come up with a unique incentive plan for you all, that I’m fairly sure has never been offered to you before.” I looked towards the doorway: “Death-trap, will you step to one side please.” As he moved from the doorway in walked Marie, Sue and Rachel, all wearing long coats. As the three girls entered the room I could see the stunned look on the faces of the building team, and I knew that if they looked shocked now, it was going to get a whole lot better.

  “Lads,” I said, “meet your incentive.” At that, the three girls threw open their coats to reveal the sexiest underwear you could imagine. Sue had on her favourite leather peep-hole bra and matching leather panties with the zip in the front open to reveal her luscious vagina lips. Rachel wore the skimpiest bra and panty set I had ever seen, it left nothing to the imagination. A nice touch was a stethoscope hung around her neck and a thermometer held seductively in her hand; well, she was a nurse. Marie finished the trio by putting on her frilly yellow panties and half cut bra. Smash and Grab jumped to their feet, whooping and hollering. The plumber had the biggest smile I had ever seen him have and judging by the bulge in his overalls, the biggest hard on too. Death-trap’s jaw just seemed to drop and hang there and all Roy could say was “By gum, thems nice titties.” Roy was definitely a tit man.

  “Girls,” I said, “give them five minutes as a taster.”

  The three girls sauntered seductively over to the guys and began stroking their dicks over their trousers and letting the guys fondle them. Rachel, bless her, had noticed Roy’s penchant for boobs and had pushed her ample mammaries into his face. He was loving it and even Death-trap was hooked. He was busy examining Sue’s panties zip.

  “Don’t think you’ll find any faulty wiring down there Death-trap” laughed one of the builders who was busy running his hands all over Marie’s naked midriff and beyond. The plumber was flitting from one girl to another, touching and rubbing. Sue gave his bulging cock a squeeze and he gave a groan and came right there in his trousers. All the other guys gave a cheer, the plumber just sank back on to the cement bags, still with a huge smile on his face. ‘He can’t be getting much at home,’ I thought to myself.

  After about five minutes I called the girls back. They put on their long coats and went out of the room waving and blowing kisses and wriggling their rear ends as they went. “Ok lads, your incentive is a full session with those three ladies, not just a quick fumble like you’ve just had, but a full sex session fucking, sucking, wanking, the works, but only if the job is finished on time, what do you say?” Smash and Grab were still bouncing around like men possessed.

  “You bet!” said Smash followed by a “Wahoo,” from Grab which I took as a yes. Roy looked over at Death-trap and said “Count us in, wats tha say Death-trap?” Death-trap could only nod emphatically.

  “Where’s Plummy?” I asked. “What’s he say?” The plumber had gone off to the toilet to clean himse
lf up, but as we waited a little voice echoed over to us from behind the toilet door. “We could get some halogen lamps and work through the night.”

  The following Monday everyone was there bright and early. Roy admitted to me that he had taken on another job, but he had now put it on hold to concentrate on mine. He was true to his word; his whole team turned up everyday and worked harder and longer to catch up. They all seemed to have a new spring in their step. We still had set backs; burst pipes flooding the cellar; the building regulations man going on holiday and forcing us to wait ten days before we could fit the girders under the pool; the plumber, whom we had now re-named ‘spunky,’ fell over at home spraining his ankle, but gradually we caught up and by the end of November it looked like we were going to make it. But, unknown to our builder, another potentially ruinous problem was looming.

  We were two weeks away from the grand opening and I still needed to finance last minute fittings and furnishings, plus two weeks wages for the crew. I estimated I would need £6,000 to finish the job. The trouble was I only had £400 left from the £70,000 I had borrowed. I was in deep shit. If La Chambre and all we had battled for was not to go under, I had to find another £6,000 and fast.

  I couldn’t go back to my own bank, or the one that I had borrowed the second loan from. If they had found out what I had really used their money for then they would have had me arrested. None of my family or friends had that kind of money and even if they had I wouldn’t have asked them for it. This project was far too risky to involve anyone else. As I walked the streets of Sheffield trying to clear my head, I found myself outside NatWest, a bank I had never used before. On instinct alone, I went in and asked to see the manager. After a twenty minute wait I was shown into a bright, airy, modern room full of glass and brushed steel. It was a million miles away from the one at TSB that I had sat in only four months ago when I had signed mine and Marie’s life away for £50,000 on a wing and a prayer.