Swingers 3 Page 8

  “Ok, make a wish.” I said. Just then a deep, soft voice said, “I hope I’m in your wish.” We turned to see a huge black guy.

  “Sorry if I disturbed you,” he said, “only I heard you guys wishing on a star.” He held out a huge hand.

  “My name is Max.” For all his size he had a gentle handshake, I’m sure if he had wanted to he could have crushed every bone in my hand, but he was careful not to squeeze too hard.

  “Sit down Max and join us.”

  “Only if you’re sure I’m not intruding?”

  “Not at all,” said Marie. I could already see the glint in her eye and knew this was going to be Max’s lucky night. He was a big muscular bloke but very gentle too and his deep, southern American drawl had already assured him of Marie’s favours.

  He sat on a sun bed opposite us and after only about five minutes conversation Marie got up, went over to him and said “Max, have you ever had an English girl?” Max immediately looked over at me.

  “Go on mate, fill your boots.” He looked puzzled. “You can fuck her.” His eyes lit up and in a deep molasses voice answered “Why I do believe you two are just about the nicest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” At that, Marie pushed him back onto the sun bed, straddled him and was soon bouncing up and down like a jack-in-a-box. There was no time for foreplay, she had done all that with me; she just wanted to ride this big, black stud. Max was groaning so loud a small crowd had stopped to watch. I had to smile to see this giant of a guy being ridden by a small fiery blond. Marie had him totally under control, when he came close to coming she would slow down, only to start pumping enthusiastically on him again when he had calmed down. She did this about six times and Max was almost begging her to make him come.

  “Ok big boy,” she said, “are you ready to explode?”

  “Oh God yeah, I’m ready, I’m ready.” Marie let go again, bouncing on him up and down, up and down, this time not stopping, not slowing down. Suddenly Max’s whole body seemed to go into spasm. His legs went rigid, his arms seemed to lock out, and even his fingers went stiff. For a moment he just lay there, rigid and quivering, then after what seemed like an eternity he let out the most enormous bellow. I’m sure they would have heard him in Kingston. The small crowd clapped and cheered, hooped and hollered as he lay twitching on the sun bed while Marie slowly climbed off him and bent down to give him a kiss. But Max could not respond, he was still jumping and jerking back down to normality.

  It was only later that we found out from some of the Yanks that Max was a famous grid iron football player for a big North American team. He was known nationally as one of the best quarterbacks around. They were quite impressed that Marie had fucked him. I kid her about it to this day by calling her ‘touchdown.’ If you see her at the club, just shout ‘touchdown’ and you will bring a smile to her face.

  When we met Dave and Rachel and the others at breakfast the following morning we told them of our meeting with Max and his celebrity status.

  “Very impressive,” said Steve, “but we’ve got that beat; me and Amy have shagged the Grand Master and Mistress.” It turns out some of the Yanks had got together and voted a Grand Master and Mistress of sex. They robed them up, put false crowns on their heads and sat them on the main stage in front of a huge crowd of cheering Yanks. Then someone had shouted “Would anyone like to shag the Grand Master and Mistress.” But if they did, they would have to come onto the stage and do it. So, Steve and Amy being Steve and Amy promptly jumped up onto the stage and proceeded to shag the Grand Master and Mistress silly in front of about 200 cheering people.

  “After that,” said Steve, “we took on all comers, we’ve still got the robes and crown in our bedroom, mind you, mine’s a bit bent.” Amy said her fanny felt like a barrage balloon, so we decided to go down to the pool to cool off.

  “Keep up the good work!” I said. “Remember, we’re British and must maintain a certain standard.”

  “I think my fanny has maintained that alright!” laughed Amy.

  That night was the pyjama party. You were supposed to wear what you wore in bed. Me and the rest of the guys played it safe and just wore boxer shorts, but the four girls surprised us by tying the bedroom key round their necks and going naked. It turned out that a number of the American women had done the same. The party was really rocking, I remember the song ‘who let the dogs out’ was blasting from the speakers because that’s when we met Meryl, an outgoing single lady from New York. She was dressed as a sexy Rip Van Winkle, complete with droopy cap and candle holder. Although around the fifty mark she was an extremely attractive lady with a trim figure. She had had a boob job, but then so had about ninety percent of the women there and they had no qualms about showing their scars or discussing what they had had done.

  American women seemed much more at ease with cosmetic surgery; they seemed to view it as normal, just another form of make up and Meryl happily displayed to us a fine pair of upstanding boobs. As the night wore on, Meryl asked us if we would like to go back to her room with her.

  “Lead the way,” I said, without okaying it with Marie. I reasoned that she had had her fun with Max the previous night, so now it was my turn. Of course in reality Marie, by nature of being bi never gets left out, so there was never any question of her saying no especially as Meryl was now dancing seductively with Marie and rubbing their boobs together.

  When we got back to Meryl’s room it felt cool; she had had the good sense to leave the air conditioning on. It was a hot night outside and we were glad of the chance to cool down. Meryl poured us some cold drinks and sat on the side of the bed.

  Now, as much as I love American women, they all tend to have one thing in common: they never stop talking, and Meryl was no different. I don’t think it was nerves, perhaps she was on something, but she was rabbiting ten to the dozen. We found out she was a successful business woman in Manhattan. She came to Hedo twice a year to chill out and have fun. She had been married twice, divorced twice and had three grown up kids. She’d had her boobs done to increase her confidence. We even found out that her mother had once met Tom Hanks and her best friend was on speaking terms with Sylvester Stallone.

  After about forty minutes of this I looked at Marie, we nodded to each other and then got up, walked over to the giant double bed and sat either side of Meryl. She was halfway through telling us about a guy she had once been out with who had three nipples, when Marie raised a hand to her mouth and put a finger on her lips then gently whispered, “Meryl don’t talk, fuck.” At the same time I had slipped my hand under her skimpy Rip Van Winkle top and began caressing her breasts. She took a sharp intake of breath as Marie held her head in both hands and kissed her long and slow. She responded by wrapping her arms around Marie and falling back onto the bed where the two women began to fondle each other. ‘ Here we go again,’ I thought to myself, ‘two bi girls going for it, leaving poor old Barry no mates to play with himself.’ Well not this time ladies, I’m getting in there.

  I saw my opportunity as they lay snogging on the bed. Meryl’s legs opened and I was down on her quicker than a jack russell on a rat. She was already wet and I mean soaking wet. I began to perform all the oral techniques I had learned over the years on her. The old tongue clit flit really got her squirming as did the dart and suck method. Marie was really working her over up top and I was doing the same below and Meryl was screaming with pleasure. Something had to give and it did. I was blasted in the face by a warm burst of water.

  Now I’ve seen a few squirters in my time, but Meryl was a true squirter and a bloody good one. It was time to come up for air. Marie reluctantly rolled to one side as I climbed my way up Meryl and slid inside her as she gave a gasp and squirted again. I could feel it squelching out and running down my balls. She reached her arms back, grabbed the base of the head board and began to thrust her hips upwards, trying to get maximum penetration from my cock. It worked. I bottomed out in her a few more times, but it just seemed to spur her on. She was
like a woman possessed as she bucked wildly on the bed. Her eyes focused on the mirror on the ceiling, watching herself being fucked by two strangers from a foreign land. Marie was sucking on her tits as I felt a third gush of liquid engulf my balls and the top of my legs.

  “I… Want… You To… Come… In my face.” She gasped as she felt me tighten. I pulled out just in time to unload onto her face. She was still looking up at the mirror and caught an eye full of spunk. Now, as many of you will know, molton lava is nothing compared to semen in the eye. Her screams of pleasure turned to screams of pain as she frantically tried to wipe it off. My immediate impulse was to pee in her eye in an attempt to dilute the spunk, but I refrained from doing it for fear it may seem a tad ungentlemenly. Marie came to the rescue by wetting the corner of a towel and wiping the dreaded semen away.

  After a few minutes Meryl was back to her old self although she did have one very red, runny eye. She made us all a coffee and resumed talking none stop, “Did you know that Central Park was all man-made and that Sylvester Stallone’s mother used to be his manager…”

  As the week went by, we hardly saw our little British gang. We were all in such demand just by being British that it was difficult to get everyone together and when we did, we all had stories to tell. It was a fantastic time for us all and as we went into the second week it got even better. Steve, Amy, Alan and Joy had hired a Jamaican guy to take them out on his rowing boat to a reef line about 200 yards off shore where about five or six small boats always seemed to be anchored. The Hedo guards would not let them come any closer. When the two couples came back we found out why. Alan rushed over to us.

  “Here you two, try some of this.” He handed us some brown cake.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Brownies,” replied Alan.

  “It’s just brownie buns,” said Joy munching on one, “we got them from those boats out there.”

  “Hash brownies, they’re called” laughed Alan.

  “Cannabis buns!” I said.

  “There may be a bit of cannabis in there,” said Joy.

  I looked over at Marie, she had already broken a bit from Joy’s bun and was eating it.

  “In for a penny...” I said and took a bite out of one. It tasted sweet with a bit of a tang to it and in no time at all we were all munching away merrily. Two hours later, Dave and Rachel found us all giggling and laughing.

  “What have you lot been up to?” asked Rachel “As if we didn’t know!”

  “Sorry, all the brownies are gone,” chuckled Joy. That night we slept like logs.

  Towards the end of the second week we were on the beach when we saw a camera crew arrive and begin setting up their equipment on the sand. It turned out to be for a Jerry Springer show, which was to be shot at Hedonism. A couple of the Americans we had met told him of the British couple who owned a swingers club and he eventually came over to say hello. He asked us about the club, about swinging, he even said he would like to use the club for one of his shows when he visited England next time. We were up for that and told him he would be welcome anytime. When filming began he asked Marie if she wanted to be in a food fight on the beach and would she mind if her bikini top fell off during the mêlée. Marie thought about it for a milli-second and said yes. The show involved a midget, a big fat woman and a fake wedding on the beach, which all ended up in a free for all food fight. So, if you see the Jerry Springer episode shot at Hedo, watch out for the food fight and you will see Marie. She will be the one covered in cream cake with her tits out.

  On the last day of our holiday we decided to throw a huge party for all our new American friends. We made loads of cucumber triangle sandwiches and got the kitchen to make us some English muffins. We had toast and marmalade and pots of Earl Grey tea on the go. As our rooms were all in a line we decided to spread the party across two of them. We were expecting about fifty people, but over one hundred turned up including a group of college students from Baltimore.

  Dave made a speech about the Americans not running the world as well as we had and asked if they wanted to come back under British rule. The Yanks loved it and in no time at all we were laughing and singing and making out. It all got a bit chaotic really, with people going in and out of the two rooms. Both beds were just a sea of bodies. The bathrooms were full, even the floor.

  Alan and Joy were both being well screwed by a succession of couples. Steve and Amy were out on the veranda with at least a dozen people, playing a sort of drinking game that involved taking a mouthful of rum or vodka, then giving someone oral and not spilling the alcohol. It looked fun and very messy.

  Marie and myself got it on with a couple from Florida, then a couple from Ohio, then a single guy from Texas. Yes, it’s true what they say about Texas, everything is bigger. While Marie was finding that out I was receiving a blow job from a black haired beauty from… er… well I don’t remember, but it was a bloody good blow job.

  As the evening was winding down I came across Dave and Rachel on the bed in the second room and low and behold they were shagging the group of college students we had seen earlier. They were all about nineteen or twenty and well fit. Dave was on his knees doing it doggy style with a gorgeous young blond. When he saw me he shouted, “Not bad for an old un, eh Baz?“ I gave him the thumbs up.

  “Not bad at all mate.” Rachel was being spit roasted so couldn’t talk, but I knew her well enough to know that she was enjoying every minute.

  The following morning we awoke in a sea of bottles, cans, paper plates, panties, shoes, bras, boxer shorts and used condoms. There was even a big, black strap-on and a rubber mask. It took us two hours to clean up, but we were not leaving until teatime so we still had time to go around and say our goodbyes. We still keep in touch by e-mail with some of the couples we met there. We have been back to Hedonism since and this time the place was half full of Brits. We still had a good time but we no longer enjoyed the great novelty value that we had the first time round, we are still proud to say we led the very first British invasion of Hedonism.

  CHAPTER 10

  From No Listers to ‘Z’ Listers

  Over the next year or two we did more television shows, radio interviews and magazine articles. It seemed that every media organisation in the country wanted to court us, a Channel Five executive even offered us a consultancy job advising them on the best way to portray sexually related topics. It was all getting a bit too much. It was fantastic having all the free publicity and having people come up to us in the supermarket asking if we were that couple off the telly with the sex club and even had people wanting our autographs, it was crazy. We were just Barry and Marie, ordinary swingers who were trying to make a living from something we loved.

  Our high profile and the La Chambre brand also brought some well known people to our door. Now it’s no good asking me because I’m sworn to secrecy, but over the years we have had politicians, actors, sports stars, people high up in the Civil Service, even a popular TV presenter. The music industry actually seems to breed swingers and you would be shocked if you knew just how many popstars are into the lifestyle. In the past we have held private parties for big named stars and a few have even dared to attend our normal nights. It does not happen as much nowadays, the risks of getting caught in a swingers club are too great financially, but not so long ago it was almost fashionable to be seen as a swinger, especially if you were a musician.

  Dave Courtney, the ex London gangster, is a semi regular at the club. He does not mind his name being mentioned, as he says in his broad cockney accent, “I’ve been in the dock at the Old Bailey, I’ve been in prison, I’ve even been in a porn film, so being seen in a swingers club ain’t gonna worry me much.” Tony introduced me to him years ago and we have become good friends. He does speaking engagements all over the country and when he is nearby, he will call in. “Where is that northern twat?” he will bellow from reception, to which I answer, “Is that the southern bastard?” I dread to think what the greetings would be like if we
didn’t like each other.

  Another very good friend of mine is Robin Coalville of The Grumbleweeds. Many of our younger members won’t remember them, but in the seventies they were huge with their own television show, playing to packed houses everywhere. Sadly, over the years ill-health has decimated their ranks and now only two of the original five remain. But Robin is still as funny as ever and has recently impersonated Ali G, Julian Clarey, Jimmy Saville and Cher on stage at the club. A true professional and, a great bloke too.

  For a time we basked in our so called celebrity status, but ultimately we had a club to run, so we began turning down requests from producers and editors and concentrating on keeping La Chambre ahead of the competition that was increasing by the week. By 2005 there were probably five or six other clubs that had sprung up around Britain. We knew from a friend who worked in the town hall that other authorities would contact Sheffield Council to enquire as to any problems La Chambre caused, as they had someone in their area who wanted to do the same. Of course the Sheffield Council told them that there were no problems at all, so new clubs would open up on a watching brief from their council. They did not have to jump through the hoops of fire that we had to.

  We put our heads down and worked hard. We ripped out the old bar which was far too small and replaced it with a fourteen foot long ornate one that we had bought from a grand old hotel that was closing down in the city. We also obtained all the intricate wooden fretwork from the walls of the hotel’s brassier and purchased ten eight by six safety mirrors to sit behind the fretwork. It took six weeks for the shop fitters to complete the job. We didn’t close, we just worked around everything. The members were great, no one complained, they knew the club would be immeasurably better afterwards.