Confessions of a Rust Belt Swinger 07

Note: This stand-alone story is part of our continuing adventures in swinging. I hope you find at least part of these adventures humorous.

Chapter 7: The Stripper!

So, one time we almost got together with a stripper.

Well, a stripper and her husband.

Almost.

Again, we met through one of the swinger websites. I made contact with him first. He seemed nice enough. Good guy. They had some kids.

And she was a stripper.

Wow! Jackpot!

That's what I'm thinking on the inside. She's a stripper so she's got to be stripper hot and stripper crazy and wear stripper clothes and have a stripper name like Candy or Busty Labelle.

I think it was Cindy. Or something like that. Cindy.

Cindy the stripper.

Ok. I can work with that.

When I approached Anne about meeting them, she was a bit less enthusiastic.

"A stripper?" she said with that voice that was really saying, "A stripper? What are you, insane?" But, to her credit, she was willing to have an open mind about meeting them.

Cindy the stripper and her husband.

One Friday night we met them for drinks. At a strip club?

No.

Friday's.

I always find it a bit odd to be sitting in a public restaurant like Friday's talking about private stuff like fucking someone else's wife. It's just a bit, um, off to me.

Call me old fashioned.

So there we were. Two couples. Two guys. Two wives. Two beers. Two glasses of wine.

One stripper.

Now, don't get me wrong. There was nothing wrong with Cindy the stripper. She was friendly. Pleasant face. Not a bad body.

But she was NOT stripper hot.

She didn't have huge stripper breasts.

She didn't have a tiny stripper waist.

She wasn't even wearing any ridiculously high stripper heels.

Jeans, tight top and some non-descript shoes.

And her husband? Pete? Ralph? Gary? I honestly don't remember him other than as "Stripper husband."

He was a bit thick in the middle and was wearing a bowling shirt. What is it with swinging and bowling shirts? With real gaudy designs on them. Like dragons and shit. Why the need to feel like you're part of a team? Team Fuck My Wife! Wooooo!!!!!

Cindy stripped at a club in a somewhat seedy part of town. I'd never been there. That was probably a good thing. She told us that she was trying to get hired by a better club. I took that to mean one with more than one sad looking dude sitting there and leering at her without slipping her a dime.

They also had a website. Cindy the stripper and husband. It seems that she would strip, fuck guys, and do who knows what over the internet. I never went to the site to see what it was about. I wasn't sure that I wanted to see what she was doing and to whom.

And we were supposed to swap with these two. Cindy the stripper/internet porn star and Bowling Shirt.

I knew Anne wasn't into it.

I knew it before the chicken wings arrived.

But, we sat and chatted. Then Cindy began talking about being with another woman. Anne was curious about other women, but had never tried anything. She told Cindy and bowling shirt. Cindy got that look in her eye.

You know that look.

Fresh meat.

I looked over at Anne. I thought I imagined her sitting there. On a butcher block.

Bowling shirt was all relaxed. Hell, he probably filmed shit like this on a daily basis. He probably had a whole series of stripper/virgin wife with other women videos on his web site. I bet it was even called the fresh-meat series.

Anne was cool and collected. I was proud of her. Hell, I started picturing her rolling around in cooking oil with Cindy the stripper. It looked pretty good to me.

In my head.

Then Cindy said that she needed to go to the ladies room. And she wanted Anne to go with her.

What?

Is it getting hot in Friday's or is it just me? I watched them walk away. Bowling Shirt watched them walk away. The waitress with flair watched them walk away. Were we all thinking the same thing?

THEY'RE GONNA GET IT ON IN THE LADIES ROOM!!!

WOOOOOO!!!!!!!

I didn't really have a lot to say to Bowling Shirt.

When you realize that you are not going to play with a person or couple, you just kind of disengage. Start thinking about other potential couples or other people. Or work. Or how much that goddamn babysitter is costing you. Or whether you left the stove on at home.

Whatever.

Oh, I chatted with Bowling Shirt. We talked about swinger clubs. Which ones to go to. Which ones were good. Not so good. Stuff like that. But I knew. I knew that it wasn't going to happen. At least not for the four of us. I didn't need to even ask Anne. This one was, unfortunately, a gutter ball.

Then the ladies came back to the table.

They were smiling. Like the cat that ate the canary.

Or perhaps the stripper that ate the pussy?

They sat down and proceeded to tell us that they were in the ladies room. Chatting.

And then they made out.

Score!

They made out!

They made out?

Where was I?

Where was Bowling Shirt and his camera?

Where was the cute flair waitress?

Not in the ladies room where the stripper and Anne made out!!

Fuck!!

Sadly, that was the extent of our adventure that night. We left not long after the make-out session. With promised plans to get back together and perhaps go farther.

We never did.

Bowling Shirt and I chatted online for a while. More discussion about all of us getting together. But it never happened. The conversations became less frequent. Soon they stopped altogether.

We almost got together with a stripper.

Almost.