'Bee-rother, what am I doing here?' thought Beth eyeing the obnoxious guy who wouldn't take no for an answer.
"Come on, baby, I got what you need, don't play hard to get," the man shouted.
They were in the center of a milling crowd at a night club the size of a shopping mall. It had been years since Beth had been in such a loud bar. The place was three stories high, stairs going every which way, lights flashing, all accented by the thump thump thump of too-loud dance music.
She looked for Linda, the friend who insisted Beth join her on this special ladies-night at the club. Beth had to admit the place was impressive, and it was filled with hot babes of both sexes.
But the noise and commotion had unnerved her, and it got worse when the jerk attached himself to Beth and wouldn't let go.
"Beth! I've been looking for you," Linda screamed, coming out of the crowd of pretty 30-somethings. "You've got to see the pool."
Time to escape. "I'd love to see it," Beth hollered as she took Linda's elbow and walked away.
"Sugar babe, I can show you the pool," the man shouted.
"Maybe later," Beth said over her shoulder as she and Linda got lost in the swarm.
They found a quieter place. She hissed in Linda's ear, "What happened to you? That guy was an asshole."
"I saw James and we had a drink. He's a total stud, you've got to meet him," said Linda. "Honey you've got to lighten up. It'll get better. Besides, you know how to brush off losers. Sometimes you have to be a bitch."
"I didn't want to say the wrong thing. He'd think I was a racist," said Beth.
"Honey, put that aside. This is like any singles bar," said Linda. "Treat the black men like any other guy. If you're not interested, tell them. If they can't take no, take off."
"I know. I'm still getting into the swing of things," said Beth.
"Swinging is right. That's why we're here," Linda said. "You've been to swingers clubs. It just happens that tonight this is for white women and black men to meet and get it on."
It was the early 1990s and the Palm Springs swingers bar was all the rage in Chicago's south suburbs. Palm Springs made up one small part of the boisterous complex that Beth and Linda were wandering through. Two Fridays a month it held Black and White is All Right nights to attract interracial swingers.
Beth and Linda were good friends who lived about 30 minutes away from the club. Both were conservative, middle-class white ladies in their mid-thirties with teenage children. They attended the same church, and both swung with their husbands. They were of the generation that felt it was ludicrous that their husband would be their only sex partner for their entire lives. Their husbands agreed.
Five years ago the two women knew each other enough to say hi at church or the grocery store. One night they bumped into each other at a swingers club. They became best friends and discussed their families, marriages and life in general.
Recently something had changed. Beth told Linda about her experience with a black man at work. She and the guy were alone in the office working late. They got to talking. Beth was lonely and horny, and Reggie was charming. He had been caught in the rain and his pants looked they were painted on. They soon were screwing like there was no tomorrow. For Beth it was a fantastic, life changing event.
Reggie had taken her high sex drive to the next level. Beth loved looking at his dark body, muscles and, yes, his crotch. And when they came together rockets went off.
Reggie and Beth became friends, but she had a rule -- no affair with a co-worker. That's what swinging was for, to let out her pent-up horniness. She didn't get her meat where she got her bread.
Beth discussed her secret with Linda. Linda had a solution.
"Honey, I never told you, but ... I've gone to bed with a few black guys over the years. Some are great in the sack, some aren't," said Linda.
"Why didn't you ever tell me? I wouldn't have thought less of you," said Beth.
"Angel, you're a good friend. I didn't want to jeopardize that. And this town ... this country is filled with racist assholes. I know you aren't but ... you never know," said Linda.
That was when Linda told her about Palm Springs' interracial nights and Beth insisted they both go. Now they were there.
They walked up two floors and down an empty hallway to a pair of dark-green padded-leather doors. They rang the bell and the doors silently opened inward. Soft music played, the lighting was muted, and black and white folks in casual dress stood in groups or sat on couches and talked. It was the opposite of the frenetic downstairs.
The two white women paid the night's entry fee, took several towels and went to the sparkling clean locker room. Beth got into her one-piece swimsuit and loungewear and looked in the full-length mirror.
She saw a mid-size, slim, blue-eyed, big-haired blonde with creamy white skin who could pass for 30 (she was 36) with an intelligent face and friendly smile. She had a tight firm bod, long legs leading up to a great bubble butt and mid-size boobs with no droop.
She took a breath and walked out of the locker room. She was drawn to the huge picture windows that looked down on a big pool, several whirlpools, a sauna and a steam room.
There were several dozen fit men and women in swimsuits lounging in and around the bar and whirlpools. There was laughter and small talk and here and there couples pressed together and danced to soft rock. The people were black, white and a mix of other ethnicities and colors. Beth loved it.
"Excuse me, you look thirsty, would you like a drink?" a man asked. Beth turned and was face-to-face with a tall, good-looking dark-skinned black guy.
"I'd love one. What are you having?' she asked, looking over the man's sculpted arms, large hands and liquid eyes.
"Vodka tonic."
"That sounds wonderful. I'm Beth," she said.
"I'm Kenneth, call me Ken. I'll be right back," Ken said.
She watched him walk to the bar, checking out his wide shoulders and butt in form-fitting slacks. It felt good that a guy as delicious as Ken was checking her out.
He returned with the drinks. "I know it's a cliché but, first time here?" Ken smiled.
"New to the club, not the lifestyle," she said.
Ken nodded. "This is a nice place, and they attract a smart crowd," he said in his deep, soft voice. "They keep out the con men and oddballs you see downstairs."
When Linda arrived, Beth noticed she stared at Ken with awe, and thought, 'This guy must have something going on.'
Ken excused himself. "I'm changing into my suit for swimming, and other things. Maybe I'll see you two downstairs," he said.
After he left Linda turned to Beth and whispered like an excited schoolgirl, "That man is one of the hottest guys here. But he's careful who he hooks up with. Don't let him get away."
Ken was thinking about Beth. She fit all his desirables. She was a young-ish white woman, blonde, lovely, long legs -- a sexy housewife looking to bust loose. The big hair told him that. It was clear that Beth was smart and enjoyed holding a conversation with him, a tall, educated and accomplished black man.
Ken was a lawyer with powerful Chicago-based corporate law firm. He had been brought up to marry a church-going black woman with a degree from a historically black college, to have two or three kids, attend NAACP fund raisers, and coach youth sports.
Ken tried it. For eight long years. He hated the regimentation. He hated going to church every Sunday with the phony pastor who condemned adultery while banging half the women in the pews.
Ken was also bored as hell with his sanctimonious, arrogant wife. He was her trophy, the perfect black male to be showed off to her shallow girlfriends, half of whom had made it clear that Ken was welcome to 'visit' them. Ken stayed in the marriage for his two sons until he realized they were being emotionally damaged by the tension in the house caused by their parents.
He took a hit financially from the divorce but got his freedom, generous visitation rights, and a peace of mind he hadn't had in years.
