Bette's face turned solemn. She said slowly, "I may not have been around like you and Louise, but I am curious. I'd like to see what a swing club is like. Who knows? I'd probably like it."
The next day, Wednesday, I called the Ten/Thirty club across the river in Portland, and made dinner reservations. I told Bette what I had done that evening. Her initial response was, "What shall I wear?"
I explained that having dinner at the club was a highly stimulating sexual appetizer because the women in the dining room usually allowed their exhibitory instincts free rein. Almost invariably, they wore the most revealing and suggestive clothes they and their partners could devise.
Bette did not lack suggestive and revealing clothing. The day after Louise left, we had come back to the apartment to find a suitcase in the foyer packed with her things. Louise obviously had selected garments she knew would appeal to me.
Friday afternoon, I left the office early. When I let myself into the apartment, I saw immediately that Bette was taking this night out very seriously. The bathroom was still steamy when I stripped down and stepped under the shower. When I came out, Bette was standing in profile, leaning forward in front of the mirror over the dressing table, applying her make-up.
I paused, absorbing the sensual profile Bette unconscious ly presented. She wore only her garters and patterned dark hose, which accentuated the beautiful sweep down her back, around her tight little bottom, and down the backs of her slender thighs. I ad mired the shape of her bottom almost as much as I did the incredibly sweet curve of her young, upswept breasts.
I could almost see the moist mat of black hair covering the mysterious delta between her thighs. Despite myself, I felt my manhood twitch. What the hell am I doing taking her to a swing club, I asked myself. She saw my reflection in the mirror, and swung around.
She had shaved herself. "Do you like it?" she asked shyly.
I gawked like a school boy. I've seen more than my share of female genitalia, but her tiny slit looked almost obscene, framed as it was by her garter belt and stockings. I felt a sudden wave of desire, and I stepped toward her, but she laughed and held up her hands.
"I know what you're thinking, tiger. Save it for tonight. I think you're going to need everything you've got."
She was right. Reluctantly, I pulled on my shorts and went back into the bathroom to shave, but instead of facing the mirror, I turned so I could watch her dress.
First, she powdered and daubed a musky scent between her breasts, on her softly rounded belly, behind her ears, inside her elbows, and inside her thighs. Then she carefully pulled on a loose, gauzy black blouse that ordinarily would have been worn over a conservative black brassiere. Her pink nipples looked like stop signs under that thin, almost transparent material.
The last garment she selected was a leather miniskirt. The skirt was about 14 inches long and reached to mid thigh. Watching herself in the mirror, she leaned forward, backward, turned, raised her leg. Only when she bent deeply forward did the skirt pull above her stocking tops.
Then she sat in the boudoir chair and crossed her legs. A narrow strip of white skin peeked from beneath her skirt. She was a voyeur's dream. Satisfied, she stretched and turned to me, just before applying the last coat of lipstick, "What's taking you so long?"
Nothing, except the performance she had just put on. "I'll be right there, dear," I said, deliberately mimicking a henpecked husband. Minutes later we were in the car driving through the early evening traffic to the club.
The Ten/Thirty was housed in an old mansion at 1030 North Davis St. in a quiet neighborhood on the north side of Portland. You had to know about the place. Even after you rang the bell, and the doorman answered, there was no way you could have known this was a sex club. Everything a visitor could see from the foyer was as you would expect an old but well preserved home to be.
A certain gentile decorum was observed in the dining room. Under the soft hum of conversation and the occasional clink of tableware, gentlemen and their ladies sat, ostensibly enjoying a quiet repast. In reality, of course, each couple was surreptitiously eyeing the others, speculating about their sexual prowess. The women responded by attracting as many admirers during these preliminaries as possible. For instance, if you looked more closely at that blonde in the corner, you might notice that her off the shoulder blouse was unusually far off the shoulder, and in fact cradled a bare breast. At the next table, a very young woman with dark hair sat demurely eating her salad. She wore a man's shirt many sizes too large that was open to the waist. It sagged open, exposing her nipples every time she moved her arms. I couldn't see her partner clearly, but he also seemed young and was wearing what appeared to be an exquisitely cut sports jacket, which seemed incongruous compared to the casual, inexpensive way the girl was dressed.
I wasn't nearly as surprised seeing them as I was in the way Bette reacted. As she entered the room and saw the other women, she began to strut. She pushed her chest out, and began swaying her hips, almost as if she were walking to a silent stripper's beat. She immediately caught every male eye. We were shown to our table by a perky young waitress in a tight tee shirt and very short skirt.
When I was returning from the men's room, from clear across the room, I saw the way she squirmed in her seat, crossing and recrossing her lovely legs. She was giving a show as good as any of the others. I noticed especially a tantalizing little strip of white skin at the top of her stockings that was teasingly empha sized because of the color of her stockings and the dark leather of her skirt.
Everyone was now frankly ogling everyone else. There was no longer any pretense. The demure young lass was flapping her shirt open and shut as if she were trying to cool her body. The girl with the off the shoulder look was now displaying both breasts. And Bette was signaling every man in the room that a hot, moist, eager female was there waiting to be taken.
I signed the check, earning a grateful smile from the waitress with my tip, and we went into the locker room. We had received our locker keys when we signed the guest book before dinner.
Each locker contained two large bath towels. I smiled encouraging at Bette. "The management won't hold you responsible for that towel," I said. "There are stacks of them piled in each room."
Two other couples were in the changing as we began taking our clothes off. I watched one couple in particular. He looked like a bookkeeper. He was about my age and build, a little heavier maybe, thinning dark hair, and he wore heavy horn rim glasses. A fellow who needed glasses that thick at a swing party was at a serious disadvantage. Methodically, he folded his clothes and stowed them in his locker. Naked, he wrapped the towel around his waist and waited for his wife to finish.
She was shy. Although she managed to disrobe under neath her concealing towel, I realized that she was a heavier, fleshier version of Louise. Her eyebrows nearly met over her strong nose. She had a dramatic streak of gray hair falling on the left side of her face. She looked as if she might be Greek. Even concealed by the towel, I saw an outline of pendulous breasts, a big bottom, and caught a glimpse of a heavy dimpled thigh. She wasn't built for speed, but when it came to heavy duty sex, I thought she might be right there with the best of them. She snuggled her towel around her breasts and very reluctantly, I thought, followed her man out into the main hall.
Instead of wrapping her towel around her breasts as the other women had, Bette wrapped her towel around her waist before we drifted into the social room where we were supposed to meet new friends. I was relieved that Bette seemed to be quite comfortable standing bare breasted in that room. She was quickly engaged in conversation with a young man about her age. They soon drifted off to the bar, and were lost to view.
I saw the young girl who had worn the man's shirt in the dining room. She was now topless, standing in the corner talking intently with a man old enough to be her grandfather. I didn't see anyone else I recognized, except the Greek looking woman I had seen earlier. She was standing quietly by herself against the wall. She was one of the more interesting looking women there, and I decided to introduce myself.
"Hi," I said, "how do you like the party so far?"
She looked thoughtfully at me for a moment, then decided to reply. "How do I like the party?" she said thoughtfully, "I don't know. I just got here."
I thought that was an encouraging response. "Can I get you a drink?"
"Sure. Anything with alcohol."
Oh, oh. One of those. I guess I better just keep on going, I said to myself. The room was getting crowded. I squeezed between two groups of people, and wandered into the next room. This was one of the three mattress rooms. A couple were already bouncing on a far mattress. I joined the ring of voyeurs, two of whom were naked men slowly stroking themselves.
As I stared at the happy bouncing couple on the mattress, I realized that the one on the bottom was Bette! It hadn't taken her long to get her feet wet.
Strangely feeling somewhat sorry for myself, I went back into the social room and fixed myself a drink. I turned around, and the Greek lady said sharply, "It took you long enough, thank you very much," as she snatched the glass from my hand.
