Let me first respond to the feedback about my previous stories posted. The responses were, in fact, all positive, which filled me with a lot of pride. "Jy praat soos 'n boek," my husband Martin keeps saying-meaning "You speak like a book" in Afrikaans. That is his other manner of telling me that I have a way with words, but in Afrikaans. Writing in English, however, is quite another matter. It's a dance I'm still learning, and sometimes the syntax snags my feet. The beauty of it, though, is within that: with every misstep, one improves, and every sentence is a new step.
All my stories are true; it really happened. That is all I ever catch myself saying to the raised eyebrows that scan my tales. They think I embellish, that I weave a web of fantasy to entertain, but every word is as true. Each character represents someone I've met, each plot a twist from a moment lived.
I do not use our real names to avoid exposing our identity or those people we are likely to interact with. But in some instances, I did change the situation and add spice so that it would keep the story interesting. But the essence is all true: characters, conversations, feelings, fears, laughter, regrets. All that's the tapestry of our lives here in the heart of South Africa.
This is Martin's fantasy about me, for the most part: dressing more adventurously than I usually do and having sex with other men. I knew he'd been thinking about this for some time, given the way his eyes would linger on specific scenes from movies, by the online stories he was reading, and the not-so-subtle hints he'd drop during pillow talk. I had my own reservations, but his desire had turned into this curious itch that I just couldn't scratch. Plus, I thought, if it makes him happy and we can keep our communication open and honest, why not? So, we decided I should seduce Geoffrey, a contractor we use on quite a regular basis. He is in his mid-thirties, quite fit, and always flirted with me. That bad boy charm that would make any woman's heart flutter, he had it.
Once I had sex with him, and it seemed all like a lifted steamy scene from those romance novels which I sometimes do during my quiet moments. The forbidden thrill was an effective aphrodisiac-first time in long while that I'd feel alive. It had been such an intense, such a passionate encounter with Geoffrey, and afterward, the guilt was this weird cocktail of exhilaration and regret. That did light afire in Martin's eyes, though, as I recounted all the details to him. We had great sex afterward, the kind that left us both panting and smiling. Like, it was as if we'd crossed this invisible line together and pulled each other closer.
He wanted me to push the boundaries further. The thrill of my maiden encounter with Geoffrey had barely worn off when Martin brought up the idea of involving someone else.
I had done it alone, but the next time around, I wanted Martin to be a part of it. I couldn't think of any ladies that I knew who would agree to take part without causing some drama, so we turned to the online world. We find this discreet website for such encounters, and after some days of searching, we find this swinger site. We have done our profile, and before I knew, my heart was running as we received messages from various couples interested in meeting. So, the two words which could describe us then would be excited and nervous, much like teens who planned their first rendezvous. We were invited for a meet-and-greet session to the club.
The idea initially was to find adventurous couples, just like us, to see whether we can find anybody who basically spoke our language. We decided to meet on a Friday night. The club, though easy to locate, sat in plain sight between a shopping center and quiet office park. It was that kind of place that you drive by a hundred times and never know what is behind that nondescript door.
We had dressed with care, weighing the right amount of unknown against the security of the known. I wore a dress more revealing than my usual wear-the color of the sky at night's break. Martin chose something at once elegant and casual: in the black shirt to his thighs, the top two buttons undone. We entered, and thumping bass hit us like a wall: the smell of faint perfumes and cologne mingling with it. In general, the club inside was dark; moving red lights gave it a warm feeling, with a polished bar beside the leather couches.
The host of the club was a female, Tina; she greeted us with a knowing smile and gave us a tour of the dance floor, play areas and basically the rules of the club. One of them stated there was to be no sex or nudity on meet and greet nights, which did a little to slow my racing heart. Kissing and fondling is allowed.
First came Rachel and Thomas. A couple in their late twenties, this was also their first time in the club.
Rachel was a small blonde with sparks of green eyes matching her playful personality. She was bright red and curvaceous-looking; Thomas was as thick as a rugby player, with one of those smug little grins that spoke volumes to his bedroom prowess. We sat down at the bar with them, sipping drinks. The conversation flowed, but with a lot of nervous laughter and exchanged glances that spoke volumes of excitement simmering just below the surface.
Later into the night, our bodies danced in perfect rhythm to the music. Stronger, the electricity emanated from each touch-from each stroke of skin upon skin-more insistent. It wasn't until then that Martin's hand settled at the small of my back, tugging me closer as Rachel's hand slid up my thigh. The dance floor was a blur of bodies-a tapestry of want and curiosity. The air was heavy with arousal, my heartbeat racing with every pulse of the bass.
Thomas huddled in close to her, murmuring something in her ear. She tittered back-the flash of mischief in her eyes-before turning back to me, her cheeks flushed with excitement, and whispered something back.
We danced and stopped, moving to the quiet corner of the club. Though there was a pulse, it was not too loud to talk intimately. Rachel sat down beside Martin; that nudged me to sit beside Thomas across from them. With the tension mounting with each sip, Rachel leaned into Martin and whispered something. Martin looked questioningly at me.
Under the table, Thomas' hand found mine, his thumb tracing circles into my palm. The skin-on-skin contact was light, yet it coursed a spark of excitement through my body. Leaning into Martin, Rachel's hand began to play with the material of his shirt, sending another weird thrill through me as I watched them. It was some kind of adult game of truth or dare, where none of us knew who was going to make that next bold move.
"Well, have you guys ever done this before?" asked Rachel, and that was like cold water to wake me out of some dream.
