This story grew out of a tale of a very unexpected encounter in a sex club, which largely remains to be written because as I got into it I realized there was a back story that had to be written first. Much to my surprise, that back story took, for better or worse, 12 chapters and over 60,000 words.
Many of those words are talk - yes, the people who populate this story tend to talk and talk and talk, in the process of which they make themselves known to us. But, while this is not intended as a stroke story, the also fuck and fuck and fuck, along with some other things, all in the name of uninhibited sex. Hence, Literotica.
My story takes place in and around Chicago - but not the Chicago that you will find on a map. This Chicago, along with the other places that I mention, exists in my mind or, if you prefer, in an alternate universe. So, when I get around to mentioning certain people in a less than positive light please, anyone who is connected to their counterparts in the real world, keep in mind that this is all a fantasy, intended to amuse, not describe, defame or injure anyone real.
Part 1
Hi, my name is John and I'm a sex addict.
To make a short story longer, let me give some background. I was born into what seemed to me to be typical, upper-middle class WASP family. I was your typical semi-fit (JV but not Varsity, baseball and soccer), semi-bright, aimless teenager. Not having any better plan, I fulfilled the family expectation of going to college, where I ended up with a business degree.
After working for a year and seeing how much more the MBAs made, I got motivated enough to go back to school for one of those. I graduated in a good year for Finance MBAs and I secured a plum banking job. Somewhat to everyone's embarrassment, I started out at about the same salary that my father was making after 25 years working for one firm.
Throughout my college years I was quite the cocksman as a result of which (with a lot of help from a busted condom) I ended up with a pregnant girlfriend, Gloria, who became my pregnant wife right after I got my Masters. Gloria and I bought a comfortable house in a comfortable neighborhood in one of Chicago's western suburbs, about 10 miles away from where I grew up. Just perfect, right? Well, actually, not by a long shot. After Little John was born, in spite of her premarital enthusiasm, the girl that I married had become a near-frigid woman. I, on the other hand, had not forgotten the joys of casual sex that I had discovered and indulged in so frequently throughout my high school and college years.
After over a year of trying to get Gloria to open up again in the bedroom (the only place she'd consent to even plain vanilla sex), I started looking elsewhere. I started "having to work late" to accommodate a series of after-work quickies. I even entered into a brief affair with a co-worker.
Gloria's semi-frigidity didn't make her stupid. She became suspicious enough to hire a private detective to get the goods on me. When he'd gotten them she insisted that if I wanted to stay in the marriage, I had to start going to meetings of Sex Addicts Anonymous. I agreed (thus becoming an official sex addict) on condition that she try to loosen up and help return our married sex to something approaching its premarital excitement. After all, we had a son who I loved, and once upon a time we had had some pretty decent sex involving flavors other than vanilla - occasionally approaching even the banana split level, though without the cherry; she'd given all of hers to other boyfriends before we met.
It was actually my attendance at SAA meetings that led to the end of our marriage, though her failure to uphold her end of the bargain was also a big factor. Those meetings changed my life; just not the way they were expected to.
Our group met every Friday evening and usually had about 30 people, not always the same, at most meetings; about 3 to 1 men to women. Most, like me, were in their late 20s, plus or minus about 5 years, though there were a few older. Maybe due to its location in one of Chicago's wealthier northwestern suburbs its membership was almost all white and, based on clothing and demeanor, well above-average financially. Nobody claimed to be gay, though several said that they were bi or bi-curious.
After my first dozen meetings, it became clear to me that as much as half the group members' hearts just weren't in it. Like me, they indicated that they had been more or less forced to attend. Like me, it turns out that most were going though the motions, with little hope of achieving recovery, or "sexual sobriety" as the program called it.
By this time it was also clear to me that my wife had the same attitude toward her own sexual "recovery" as I had to mine. Yes, when I asked she started giving me head again, and once she let me bend her over the kitchen counter and take her ass, but all without enthusiasm. In fact, even the plain vanilla bedroom sex had gone down hill, with her now just lying there and enduring whatever I was doing rather than participating. So, after nearly four months, I was ready to chuck everything.
Before the fateful meeting I prepared some little cards, like business cards only they said "I have a better idea. Please meet me at the Starbucks on the corner after the meeting tonight. John." I had picked out other members of the group who seemed as consistently unhappy with being there as I was. During the meeting I gave one of my cards to 5 men and 3 women. They'd all introduced themselves by other names, but for the sake or protecting the guilty I'm changing those here. There were another man and woman I'd wanted to invite, but they weren't at that meeting. Too bad. I really liked their looks and they were certainly giving off "get me out of here" vibes as strong as my own.
About 15 minutes before the meeting was due to break up, two of the women to whom I'd given cards, Mary and Martha got up and left quietly. I saw them stop on the way out and hold a brief whispered conversation with a third woman who shook her head and stayed seated. Oh well, I thought, maybe I'd scared them off. On the other hand, nothing ventured, yadda yadda.
Right after the meeting broke up, I headed for Starbucks. I knew that Gloria knew the usual meeting time and that she expected me to come straight home. But my Rubicon moment had happened when I passed out those cards, and I was prepared to risk the little that I had for the lot that I hoped to get.
To my pleasant surprise, when I entered the shop Mary and Martha were already seated at one of those round tables. They were both looking at the door when I came in, and I was happy to see at least one of them, Martha, smile and wave me over.
When I got to the table Mary pointed at a seat and said, "So far this has been the most interesting SAA meeting I've attended. Please see that you don't disappoint me."
I appreciated the fact that she was willing to call me out up front, but I wanted her to know that she could not push me around. "I hope not to, and the feeling is mutual, by the way," I said.
At that, Martha just leaned back, kind of snorted and said. "Right. Hackles down. Let's call Round 1 a draw; and wait awhile before starting round 2, shall we."
While Mary and I had been sparring, Matthew, Luke and Thomas drifted in and came over to our table. Fortunately the meeting had broken up at about an hour before the Starbucks closing time, so we had no trouble adding more chairs to our table, and there were only a few other customers, all seated far enough away that none of them were likely to be able to listen in on our conversation.
Once everyone had their drinks, Mary got things going with "John, you have about as long as it takes me to finish this Frappuccino to give me a reason to stick around."
