Sherrie stood in the doorway of my bedroom. Her jet black hair was matched by the thin black nightgown she wore. It covered her, and concealed nothing: She had a perfectly formed body.
She stood not more than 5 feet tall, her skin like alabaster, her dark eyes flashing. She looked like a three-quarter scale Venus
"My husband said to make you feel comfortable, you know," she said in a slight voice, her Cajun accent so strong it took me a few moments to register what she was saying. Her beautiful face brightened into a smile.
"When he said anything in his house is your...he meant anything."
And she moved across the room toward me, languidly, sensually, a female creature too good to seem true.
It was a complete surprise when, for the first time in my life, I met a Hotwife. It was her husband who gave her to me, and it was such a delightful sexual time that I remember like it was yesterday.
It was, in fact, a little over 40 years ago, when I was in my early 20's. I had never known about Hotwives. I doubt if that term was used back in those days.
Today, the Internet and a generally more permissive view of sex has made the term much more well know. A Hotwife is a married woman who has sex with other men, with her husband's knowledge and permission.
A Hotwife does not consider herself a cheating wife, and neither does her husband. There is no "affair." The husband not only knows of her sexual adventures, he likes the fact that she is a sensual creature, enjoying her female sensuality.
I did not even think for a moment that such a thing existed. It was the mid 1960's. I was in Louisiana, doing a series of stories for the Baltimore newspaper where I was a reporter.
The town was called Houma. It was then a smaller mostly fishing community in the Bayou country. I checked into a smaller motel and made it a point to ask the desk clerk where I could hear some good Cajun music. She mentioned a nightspot within walking distance, and added a warning: "You better have you dancing shoes on."
It was a rustic spot, rather unpretentious. There was a bar along one side, and one big open room. To my surprise, there were no individual tables for two or four people. All of the tables were communal ones, seating probably a dozen or more. Several of the tables were half or mostly full.
The music had apparently begun earlier, but the musicians were on a break. I moved to one of the empty tables and sat down. I was aware that I was out of place. I was the only man in the room wearing a jacket and tie. All of the other men seemed the rugged he-man type. Jeans, and not very new ones, and open shirts, mostly flannel and mostly patterned. The women were of a wide variety...all size and shapes and ages.but dressed fancier than their men.
If there was on thing I noted about the physical appearance, it was that the general height of those there was someone shorter than I was used to. At 6 foot even, I stood taller than any other man in the room.
I had not been seated more than a minute when a male voice boomed out from a nearby table.
"Hey, Yankee!"
I turned toward the voice, and chuckled. "I guess you have me pegged," I said.
The speaker was a man who seemed to be in his early 30's, if you judged by his eyes. But his skin was tanned and weathered. There was no gray in his dark, wavy hair. And he was smiling.
"Take that tie off. Take that jacket off. And come sit over here with some friendly people. No one here will eat you," he said.
I almost certainly would have joined him and his friends anyway, but the extremely attractive female sitting beside him was an added inducement. She looked a little younger, and not weathered at all. Her eyes were as black as coal, her hair also raven, and long, wavy, in a style like that of a 1940's movie star. She was very pretty.
I will not dally with the events there at the dance hall, except to say the music was fast and furious. Zydeco it is called these days, although I understand there are differences between Zydeco and more traditionally Cajun music.
The dancing was also fast, and so was the drinking. Herb was the guy who had called me over. Sherri was the pretty thing at his side, and his wife, he said proudly, for the last 7 years. Herb, like most of the men, was drinking beer. Budweiser. Sherri was having a Brandy Slush, which I was obliged to taste, enjoyed, and managed to finish a couple of glassful's of.
The dancing was, if anything, faster than the drinking.
Though they varied, each number seemed to have a specific step of steps, all of them extremely complicated and extremely fast.
I was made to try, and became the butt of good-natured kidding when I could not even begin to keep up.
There were some slower numbers, ballads. I could understand little or nothings of the French Arcadian dialect, but was informed each was about some form of love gone wrong, or a cheating man or cheating wife.
I had designs on dancing with Sherri, or one of the other attractive wives, but no such luck. Each of the husbands made certain that when a slow number began, they were the one holding their wife on the dance floor.
Well, friendly enough to a stranger, I thought...but not that friendly.
I was to find out differently.
It was toward midnight when Herb, having learned my life history and my reasons for being in Louisiana, asked where I was staying, and for how long.
When I told the name of the motel, he let out a whoop.
"Naw, buddy, you ain't," he said. "Lets go get your things. You're coming to stay with a Cajun fisherman!"
Herb said he lived in a little community named Cocodrie. "Just down the road a piece, closer to the water."
He turned to his wife and told her he was bringing me home. She looked over at me and smiled. It was a smile that would have melted an iceberg, and it certainly warmed places I like warmed.
We three drove to my motel in his car....I got my stuff loaded quickly in my car, and followed along a winding road through what looked like swamp country to their house.
"I built it myself," Herb told me. It was sitting on what looked like dry land, but it was raised on stilts. I could see the moonlit water very near.
Once it was determined that I was not hungry, or needed anything more to drink, Herb showed me to my room. I was asleep in moments, drifting off to the sound of bullfrogs and, I thought, the muffled sounds of two people making love in the next room.
The sun was not up when I awoke suddenly, being shaken by Herb.
"I'm goin' shrimpin'," he said. "You wanna come with me today or another morning?"
It had been maybe 4 hours since I fell asleep. I managed to say I would like to do it another day.
