Seattleites Make Their Own Fun at a Miami Swingers’ Club
Like two nervous middle schoolers, we took a deep breath and walked through the velvet curtain. The place was plush, with deep hues of reds, wine, and burgundy, chandeliers of crystal. There were couches and loungers that couples were sinking into, getting comfortable with their newest connection.
A charming young woman took us on a tour to see the shower area and playrooms. “Your first time?” she asked us. “Well, ya, um, first time. Here, I mean. First time here.” I said, tripping over my words. How could she tell we were first-timers? Were we giving off that ‘what the heck are we doing here’ vibe? “Uh, cuz we live in Seattle. So that’s why it’s our first time here.” I went on. My husband squeezed my hand and reassured me. We’re cool. We got this.
People Were Already Playing!
Men and women were already in the showers, laughing easily with each other, kissing, saying ‘thank you — so nice to have met you.’ Wow. We had only been there for 30 minutes. And it was early. Some people were already onto their next hook up. They made it look so easy. My eyes were filled with sleek-wet-bodies-lingering-kisses. I snapped my attention back to our nice tour guide. I think she asked me a question, “Do let us know if you need anything. Anything else I can answer for you?” “Thank you so much. It is a lovely facility,” I responded. Facility?? What the heck. I look like an amateur. She smiled warmly, and her boobies bounced away from us. We were on our own. “Let’s get a drink,” I said to my husband.
Trying to Look Natural and Ready
He took my hand, and I made an effort to look effortless, attempting to not fall over on the way to the bar in my 4-inch stripper heels. These heels were not made for walking. We ordered drinks and remembered to position ourselves so that we looked open and inviting to conversation and… what-not. Smiles on our faces, eyes looking over the rim of our glasses, open body language. We were in receiving mode. Except no one was receiving our message. A few glances and smiles, yes, but no one was approaching us to make conversation. What were we doing wrong? There were couples to the right of us, to the left of us, all around us, chatting and stroking arms and rubbing backs. Do we just go up and start rubbing? Maybe another locale.
We moved to the area of the loungers. I sat down, carefully, so as not to stab myself with the boning in my hot pink brocade corset. I clashed with all the ruby red tones. Ugh. My husband started to rub my thigh, and I brushed his hand away. “God, Doug, not here.” He looked at me, “Then where??” Oh, right. This is a perfectly perfect place for rubbing of the thighs and nether regions. I think I needed another drink, but I was afraid I would fall like a giraffe off my skyscrapers and end up on the floor of the jungle, eaten by wild animals. I needed to loosen up. After several more hours of me attempting to sit provocatively with a hopefully not too nervous smile plastered on my lacquered lips, we went back to the hotel, empty-handed.
The Second Night
We debriefed the next morning over spicy Bloody Marys and eggs benny. “Maybe we just need to set something up beforehand — make a connection online, like a date, and meet up,” we queried each other. We decided it was mos def not because of our lack of game, but rather our lack of pre-planning. All those people that hooked up the prior night must have swiped right. We bought the weekend pass for the club, and we were determined to take advantage of every moment.
After a light dinner and some bubbly, back we went again the following night. I felt more prepared — I knew what to expect — and I looked good. So much of the lifestyle for me is the ritual of preparing for the evening. Bathing, lathering up with a subtly scented lotion, a hint of glitter, a bold lip, stockings and pretty things, and the heels. Of course, the heels.
We made a connection right away. And talked. And talked. Talked some more. We went back to our hotel and had sex with each other. Again. Sigh.
Third Time’s a Charm?
Last night. We were feeling uber-confident this time. And I looked good. Again. We walked in and strolled around with our beverage in hand. Tonight seemed a little different. Maybe we arrived too early. Not many couples here tonight. In fact, none. Lots of men. A ton of men in white bathrobes wandering around, eyes lingering on… me. Seemed I was the only female ticket in town.
After two nights of little to no connection, we got what we wished for. And be careful what you wish for. It was a bloody onslaught. Gentleman after gentleman approached us, complimenting me on my stockings, my heels. Everyone was very friendly. Very. This was our last night. Our goal earlier in the week was to explore and have an adventure with another couple, but by the end of the weekend, we had adapted to at least having sex in front of another couple. Okay, adapted again, in front of someone. Here we go.
We picked a room with a window. And a lock. As my husband lifted my little skirt and slowly started to enter me, we heard the doorknob behind us rattling, in a ‘let-us-in’ kinda way. We looked up and saw what seemed to be a million bath-robed men at the window, doing their thing if you will, all eyes on us. Doug and I finished up, got dressed, satisfied.
We did it!! Mission accomplished — kinda. Although we did not have sex with another couple that weekend as we had envisioned, we did have sex in front of other people. Hot damned. Look at us go! Whoop whoop! We got this! We were on our way to becoming pros. We were sure of it. We found out as we were leaving that it was single men night. Huh. Interesting. Let’s explore that further… one day.
This story was submitted to our SDC Erotic Writing Contest:
"Our First Swinging Experience" by one of our members.
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