Layover

I held my vodka-and-grapefruit juice in front of me, aware that I was closing myself off through body language, but unable to help myself. Perhaps when this drink is inside me, I thought, I can relax a bit more, but for the moment I held my glass like a shield in front of my 34D chest, which at the moment felt all too exposed by my low-cut dress.

And it was excusable to feel the need for a shield, because this was the first time I'd ever been to a swingers' event. My husband Patrick had finally talked me into trying it, just seeing what it was like, and had agreed to my condition that we go to an out-of-town party. So here we were on a whirlwind, last-minute trip in New York City, at a hotel swinger's party, and I felt as though I'd been set down in some bizarre alternate reality.

We'd talked about sex with other people, and about both of us with a woman, for years while in bed, spinning fantasies together to increase the already-intense heat between us. We both loved the idea of including others in our sex lives; I just wasn't sure about the reality. I'd always been shy, and particularly had always needed a connection in order to really relax and enjoy myself sexually with a partner.

That connectedness wasn't a part of swinging, as I viewed it. Swinging, in my mind, was faceless, anonymous sex, the ultimate in fucking for the sake of physical pleasure and nothing more. The image in my mind was a sad, tawdry one, glazed eyes set in bored faces, faces detached almost physically from their genitals that were being fucked by some stranger. I'd had a couple of one-night stands years before, before I was married, and I was amazed at that time that sex could be so on-the-surface, so unsatisfying, so lacking in intimacy. It always made me think of Benjamin Braddock's comment in "The Graduate": "we might just as well have been shaking hands." It made me feel so lonely and empty afterwards, frequently trying to fill an unnamed void with raw cookie dough or a tub of ice cream. I couldn't imagine that, for me, sex with swingers would be any better.

So, fantasies aside, casual sex wasn't something I was interested in pursuing; I knew it couldn't really be the stuff of the fantasies we wove for each other in bed. In bed together, we volleyed words between us until we worked ourselves into a sexual frenzy over the thought of delicious new partners tailored to our desires, stimulating us beyond the edge of our experience. But Patrick, more than stirred by our talking, wanted to live it out, wanted to experience in full the variety and novelty that I guess every man craves. I understood, and I truly wanted to let him have that. I even wanted to be a part of it. We were perfect for each other, a pairing that had made me begin to believe in soulmates, ideally matched in virtually every way: intelligence, interests, temperament, goals, certainly sexually. I didn't feel threatened by his interest in exploring with me; hell, most men would've simply cheated rather than suggest going to a swinger's party. I felt lucky that we were close enough to talk about these thoughts, in and out of bed. But I wasn't sure I could bring myself to repeat the empty sex like I'd had before, the handshake sex.

So we had decided to come to this party, a thousand miles from home, a thousand miles from our reality. We agreed that wouldn't touch anybody but each other, and there wouldn't be any pressure for either of us to do anything. We'd just meet some people, look around, see how it felt, perhaps find some fodder for our own lovemaking later. Patrick thought that my tawdry stereotypes might be mistaken, and I was willing to entertain that idea. After all, if we found that we could connect with a couple, or a woman, perhaps it could be a worthwhile experiment, even for me.

So far, the party had felt rather intimidating. I had dressed in a lacy black dress that looked more appropriate for lingerie. I was constantly aware of how it hugged my curves and crept up my thighs. I wasn't even one of the most skimpily dressed women there, but it was an unusual look for me, and the dress put my body on display for all to see. Also, the other guests all seemed to know each other, all comfortable and chatty. We'd been there for three hours, in the hotel that was closed for business to all but this swingers' group, and most people (other than me) were past relaxing, had moved on to seriously enjoying themselves. There were clusters of people laughing and talking here and there, body language loose and inviting, and a few people had started to move onto the dance floor. There were about eight couples out there now, dancing, smiling, enjoying moving their bodies against each other, grinding a little. A fluid group of women, sometimes three, sometimes five, sometimes more, were dancing together, occasionally moving in to kiss and touch. Watching a woman slide her hand over another woman's breast, her fingers circling her hard nipple through her blouse, I felt my panties growing wet in spite of myself.

"Are you doing okay?" Patrick asked, his arm around me, his face nuzzling my hair.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I said. "Just a little nervous. But this is not so bad." I took a sip of my cocktail that turned into more of a gulp.

"It's okay," he said soothingly. "Do you want another drink?"

I realized that I'd just finished my cocktail. My shield had melted.

"Sure," I said. "Same thing, okay?"

"Okay," Patrick smiled, and giving my shoulder a squeeze, headed for the hotel breakfast bar that, for tonight, was doubling as a wet bar.

Just as had happened every time I stood alone that night, the moment Patrick was out of reach, someone approached me. This time, it was a man, at least a foot taller than me (not that that is saying much, as I am barely over 5'0, even in the high-heeled boots I was wearing), with a shaved head, a goatee, and tattoos snaking up each forearm.

"Having fun?" he asked.

"Yeah," I smiled. "Just trying to get a feel for things."

"You guys new?"

"Yeah, we're not really sure about this yet. Just checking it out." I tried to relax and maintain eye contact, but couldn't help my eyes darting to the side, hoping for Patrick to come back.

"Well, it's a fun group," he said. "Good way to check things out, see if you're interested. You can always just chat and dance too."

"Thanks! Yeah, so far it seems really nice. Everybody's nice." I floundered. It's nice, everybody's nice, ugh.

"Here you go Honey," Patrick said, handing me a drink. "Sorry, it's cranberry and vodka. They're out of grapefruit juice."

"That's okay," I said, relieved to have him back to share the conversation, and to have a new drink with which to resume my isolating body language. "This is . . .?"

"Oh, sorry," the guy said. "I'm Joel. My wife's around here somewhere . . . . Let me go find her to introduce you guys." Joel headed across the hotel lobby.

"Making friends?" Patrick asked.

I laughed. "That's me, life of the party." I thought about conversations I'd had with my online friend Ryan, a kindred spirit in introversion, about events like this and the preferability of online chatting. Why couldn't everyone just type on keyboards instead, like a big chat room? People could still have sex if they wanted, but I was much better at conversation if I could do it on a computer screen. I smiled envisioning it, all of these party types hunched over laptops, bathed in the comforting screen light instead of the harsher flashes of the spinning disco ball that they'd somehow imported straight from 1978.

If only Ryan were here now. We had a rapport, a camaraderie, that had become a close friendship over time, in spite of the distance of three states and two Great Lakes. He was younger than me, with an incredibly sensual and erotic mind. His intelligence, his sharp sense of humor, the pictures he'd sent me, everything about him pushed all the right buttons for me, buttons I knew would likely gather nothing but dust among swingers.

Suddenly the D.J.'s voice boomed over the P.A. system: "all right, you guys, getting ready to warm up for the big lap dance contest! Everybody's welcome! The only rule is, no ladies can give lap dances to their own partner! Coming up here in fifteen!"

Patrick grinned. "Going to get in on that?"

I laughed. Lap dance contest . . . I couldn't imagine a less likely event for me to participate in. And who would be judging that? "I might give you a lap dance after a dozen more drinks. Not going to be in a competition, though."

"Sounds fun to watch, though," he said.

I nodded.

Joel reemerged from the crowd, leading a curvy blond by the hand.

"Hey, guys, this is Sara." Sara was taller than me, wearing a shiny strapless red dress. Her ample breasts looked like they might tumble out of her dress if she weren't careful. I liked the way her straight blond hair brushed her shoulders. I looked at her, thinking about what it would be like to kiss her, to slip my hand inside the top of her dress.

We made small talk for a few minutes. Sara and Joel were high school sweethearts, and had been swinging for 17 years. They were friendly. I drank some more of my cocktail, again too quickly, and started to relax at last. Now that we were talking to people, I was feeling more comfortable about being here.

"All right, ladies! Let's warm up! Lap dance time -- guys, find a chair and help get these ladies ready to rumble!"

Joel looked at me, questioningly. I shook my head.

"I'm sorry, nothing personal, I'm just not ready for that," I said.

"Understood," he grinned. "Just wanted to let you know that I'd be up for it if you were." He smiled and found a chair as "Imma Be" started playing. A redhead in a tight white dress who seemed to know Joel leapt on top of him with a big smile and started dancing. I watched as her short dress crept up, revealing that she wasn't wearing any panties. I shifted my weight, noticing again the wetness of my own thong.

"Honey?" Patrick was touching my arm, and I realized he'd been trying to get my attention.

"Oh, sorry, what's up?"

He leaned close to me. "Sara asked if she could practice her lap dance on me."

"Sure," I shrugged. We'd been to strip clubs before, had both had lap dances. I always enjoyed watching him with another woman, getting turned on, enjoying the attention.

"Are you sure?" he asked, clearly surprised. "I didn't think we were going to touch anyone else. . . . "

And as he spoke, I realized that this was indeed different. Sara wasn't a stripper who would be working for pay; she was offering the lap dance for fun, and because she wanted to, and maybe because she was attracted to Patrick. But while I was trying to decide if I was okay with that, my train of thought was derailed by something that made me check the bottom of my again-empty glass, made me want to check my eyesight, because it couldn't be so.

The lobby door had just closed behind a tall, lanky man who looked like, no, who had to be Ryan. He was unmistakable, his hair slightly mussed, his brown eyes soft behind glasses. My heart leapt.

"I'm sure, if you want to," I told Patrick. "Do you mind if I go talk to someone?"

"Really?" he asked. "Of course not. Joel?"

"No," I smiled, kissing him on the cheek. "Ryan."

Without explaining further, I crossed the room quickly, weaving through the legions of writhing women on top of happily seated men.

"Oh, so the hotel is closed?" I heard Ryan saying to Mary, the woman in charge of running the party. He was looking around in confusion; the hotel certainly didn't look closed.

"Yeah, there's another hotel right across . . . "

I cleared my throat. "Can I pay his fee and get him in?" I asked Mary. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ryan's head swivel toward me.

"Honey, he's just here by mistake," she told me. "He was looking for a hotel and didn't realize this one was closed."

"I just thought he might want to stay for awhile," I said, and turned to look at him. Did he recognize me?

And then he did. Ryan looked as shocked as I felt. Time seemed to stop as he stared at me uncomprehendingly. It was like a dream, a movie still, and for a moment I thought time was going to hang there forever, but then he nodded. I paid the "single guy" entry fee for him and turned to him.

"What on earth are you doing here?" I asked him. "I thought you were at a conference in St. Louis."

"I was," he said, "but there was an unexpected layover. My flight out is cancelled and I can't get another one till tomorrow. What about you? Aren't you far from home?"

"Yes," I asked, folding my arms across my too-exposed breasts. "And feeling far from my normal self . . . but I'm glad you're here."

"Uh, yeah," he said. "What's going on here?"

"Swinger party. Lap dance contest," I laughed. "But I'm not really the competitive type. Come on in."

"Okay." He looked utterly dazed, but he smiled at me.

His hand in mine, I grabbed an empty chair and pulled it across the room to where Sara was rubbing her body against Patrick.

"Honey," I said to Patrick, "this is my friend Ryan, from online. Remember me talking about him?"

"Oh. Uh, yeah," Patrick said. "Hi Ryan." The last part of his sentence was lost as his face disappeared behind Sara's breasts. She had lowered her strapless dress to expose her large round breasts, and her hard nipples were brushing against Patrick's face. He looked delighted.

"Drinks?" I turned toward the voice to see that one of the hosts was offering a tray of shots.

"Sure," I said. Taking two, I handed one to Ryan. We both downed the shots. I took two more, and we swallowed those as well.

Feeling pleasantly floaty, I turned and looked into Ryan's gorgeous eyes. I felt a jolt of electricity shoot through my body, and somehow I sensed that he felt the same thing. I was aware again of wetness soaking my panties, and suddenly I felt a little shy.

"You probably aren't comfortable with this, are you?" I asked. "You can leave if you want."

He hesitated, then reached out to take my hand. "It's weird," he admitted. "But I don't want to leave."

I smiled at him and squeezed his hand. "Are you sure?"

Ryan's grasp on my hand loosened, and he slowly stroked up my arm, and then down my back, resting his hand on my lower back. He looked into my eyes. "I'm sure." My whole body thrilled at his touch and the lust in his eyes.

"All right, ladies, start your engines!" the DJ said, and the first pulses of "Rude Boy" pumped through the room, animating every female in sight. Breasts jiggled, hips writhed; it was incredibly exciting just looking around. I looked at Ryan and couldn't help but giggle at the choice of song.

But then our laughter faded, and Ryan slide his hand down to my ass, as he slowly, inquiringly pulled me toward him.

In answer, I turned my focus completely on him. I would've thought I would feel silly, self-conscious, but I guess something--the alcohol? the delirious pleasure of finally meeting him?--made me feel uninhibited. We locked eyes, and I started to dance, my body incredibly responsive to his touch, his nearness. I put my hands on his shoulders, moving my hips in a circle, bringing my face close to his, feeling the warmth of his cheek against mine, then I pushed myself up and away, circling my hips around as I turned my back to him, and bent my knees, grinding my ass suggestively downward, and back up. Moving back toward Ryan, I rested my hands lightly on his knees, and moved close to him so that my hair brushed his face, then dragged my hair down his chest and across his lap, then back up.

He was smiling as I stood back up, and suddenly I couldn't help myself: I pressed my mouth on his. His lips were soft and warm, he tasted amazing, and suddenly we were kissing, our tongues circling around each other. All thoughts the party, the contest, of the people around us, washed away. My hands were on him, sliding over his shoulders, his back, his chest, unbuttoning his shirt. I found myself straddling him, and I could feel his hard cock pressing against me through his pants. I ground myself against him, my wetness so pervasive now that I felt sure he could feel it soaking through his jeans to his cock.

That thought, that slightly embarrassed amazement at the extravagant wetness of my pussy, faded away, the last bit of self-consciousness. I really can't explain what happened next. I was a woman possessed. I took his shirt off and dropped it on the floor, my hands roaming hungrily over his bare chest and belly, teasing his nipples and squeezing his shoulders, massaging his back. I stood up just long enough to tear off my dress, leaving myself wearing nothing but my black lace thong. Were people staring? I don't know. I didn't care. I fumbled trying to unfasten his jeans, so he stood up and pulled down his pants and underwear. He kicked off his shoes and brought his feet out of his pants, and I moaned at the sight of his gorgeous hard cock standing erect for me. I kissed his mouth again, slowly and firmly, and then I knelt between his knees and gingerly tasted his cock. He tasted salty and delicious. Moaning again, I took his cock into my mouth, slowly sliding my lips down the length of his shaft, thrilling at the feel and taste of him, and the sound of him groaning in pleasure. I looked up into his eyes as I sucked him, sliding my mouth firmly up and down his cock, tasting his precum as it leaked into my mouth.

Ryan reached down to touch my breasts, cupping them, caressing them, and playing with my nipples. God, I was horny. I sucked him harder, massaging his balls gently with one hand, pumping his shaft with my other hand while my mouth concentrated on the head of his cock. He tasted so good, felt so perfect in my mouth. I felt him start to buck against my mouth, and I could tell he was into it, so I let him dictate the rhythm, looking into his eyes, looking forward to feeling him cum in my mouth.

But Ryan had something else in mind. Moving his hands from my breasts to my arms, he pulled me upward and toward him.

"Would you be willing . . .?" he asked, and started sliding my thong down.

Suddenly my mind reeled for a moment. I looked over at Patrick. He was watching us. Everybody was watching us. "Honey . . .?" I wasn't sure how to complete the question.

"Go ahead," Patrick whispered, and I could tell he was almost as turned on as I was. "Whatever you want. This is wonderful."

So I turned back to Ryan. I slid my panties the rest of the way down, exposing my shaved pussy, so dripping wet that the air felt cold on me. But not for long. I swung my leg back over Ryan's lap, straddling him, rubbing my soaking wet pussy lips against the head of his cock, feeling as though the core of my body were a vacuum, aching to have him inside me. I reached down, took his hands, and moved them to my ass, and he guided me down onto his cock.

For a moment I thought I would cum instantly, just from the feeling of him inside me. His cock was so perfect in size and shape, filled me so completely that I had to pause to relish the overwhelming pleasure of him inside me, as I willed my body to slow down. His hands on my ass, Ryan started to move me slowly up and down on his cock, as I leaned forward to put my arms around him, to press my breasts against his chest, my legs wrapping around him, my whole body trying to envelop him as my mouth met his again and we kissed. Nothing else was in my consciousness but our bodies entwined, moving together,melding together. I felt myself start to climax, too soon but I couldn't help myself, and all at once he was cumming inside me too, his cock pulsing and exploding, filling me as I moaned out loud, screaming my pleasure, my pussy spasmed on over and over, gripping his cock tight inside me. Watching his face while he came, feeling the power of our orgasms fill us both together was so incredible, so overwhelming that for a moment I thought I would pass out.