Like at the cypress swamp. It was easy to follow Tara’s order to stop thinking of sex and soak in the spectacular nature. Often, we stopped paddling and let our canoe drift in the waterway, so that we could listen to this world without the noise of our paddles sloshing.
The dark water caressed our canoe, like the ocean caressing the sand on the night of my proposal. The gentle wind fondled the air plants and cypress trees. Bird calls came from various directions. We strained to hear every little thing, to lose ourselves even further into this wildness.
I had to agree with her: Our immersion didn’t need to go into the water-up-to-our-thighs level. Still, though, maybe we’d try a walking tour on a return trip here. That would give us another perspective on this breath-taking place.
Since quitting Strathmore, we pushed ourselves to take more of these trips. To do things we normally didn’t do and go to places we’d never been before. That led us to driving across the state to this western part of the Everglades, so we could see the wonders of the cypress park.
South Florida is perfect for these kinds of day trips, since it has so many destinations like this. Of course, there are beaches galore. Ones that astonish you with their beauty. And then there are tropical gardens and roadside attractions with themes of jungles, pirates, mermaids, and any number of oddities.
Not that we went to these places every weekend. Wedding planning took up a lot of our time, and we traveled around Miami searching for just the right spot to have our wedding. As with day trip attractions, there was no shortage of these, either. A few of our weekends were filled with checking out potential wedding sites.
We settled on Livingston Mansion, an old estate built in the early 1900s by the spectacularly wealthy Livingston family. It had everything we wanted, as it was on the ocean and had a lush garden around it that would have plenty of space for our ceremony and reception. In the case of rain, we could always head inside the mansion.
The place actually reminded me of Strathmore. It was the idea of creating a private paradise for yourself and the ones you allow into the inner circle. And there was a high wall separating your beautiful paradise from everyone else.
Not that I didn’t like Strathmore’s paradise. I had loved it for many months. But it took Tara to show me that we were getting too accustomed to the club, that it was becoming our home away from home—and that was unhealthy for our relationship.
We felt better after leaving the club. We felt stronger as a couple. Doing things just by ourselves helped immeasurably. We’d be simply hanging out in our apartment, talking about wedding locations over waffles and scrambled eggs, and it felt great. There was no need to be jealous and upset because your girlfriend was riding some other guy’s cock in view of everybody.
Not that I didn’t miss some parts of it. I’d never have my dick sliding between Julie’s tits again. Or have those tits in my face as she humped my lap. Or have Claire’s gorgeous face below me as I pounded into her. Or have Betty’s ass clutched hard in my hands as I drilled her from behind. Or have the kind masseuse smile at me while she massaged my cock to a spurting orgasm.
Leaving Strathmore worked both ways. I didn’t have to deal with other men fucking my girlfriend, and I didn’t have the treats of other women.
We had called our good friends from the club and told them of our decision to leave. They understood clearly once we explained ourselves. None of them went Kiefer’s route in trying to re-sell us on the wonders of the place. Maybe Kiefer liked fucking Tara and didn’t want her to go. Maybe he hoped we’d bring some friends to the club, so he’d have new pieces of ass to fuck.
Maybe that was mean of me to think those things. And I could’ve been way off base. Maybe Kiefer just liked us being a part of his private paradise.
He and Tiffany were the only ones from Strathmore whom we invited to the wedding. After all, we had been friends since before we became members of their club. I was the first to be friends with them, and I brought Tara on board when we started dating, and she started going to Kiefer and Tiffany’s parties with me.
Since they had been friends with me for several years, I felt that they deserved a wedding invitation. They RSVP’d as a yes, and Tara had mixed feelings about it.
“They better behave themselves,” she said on the day their RSVP arrived in the mail.
I asked, “What, do you think they’re going to start an orgy at our wedding? C’mon, they’ve got more class than that.”
“But they have orgies at other places, not just Strathmore. Don’t you remember their holiday party?”
“I’ll never forget it,” I said. “But that was a fluke. It was the only party I ever went to that turned into an orgy. Tiffany and Kiefer didn’t start that orgy. It was that drunk guy who stuck his dick in a punchbowl of eggnog and waved it around.”
Tara, with an eyebrow raised, asked, “Don’t you remember who was the first to blow him?”
I thought back, then took a pretty confident guess: “It was Tiffany, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Tara confirmed with a smirk.
“But that doesn’t mean she’s going to blow every dude at our wedding. I think they’re going to be on their best behavior.”
“They better be.”
It was settled that we would keep a close eye on them at the wedding. Which, I figured, was going to be impossible. Since there were going to be so many family and friends, I was going to bounce from one person to the next in chatting and being congratulated. I’d just have to count on Kiefer and Tiffany minding their manners. At our lunch, Kiefer had relaxed somewhat after we politely turned down his re-sell pitch.
“Sorry your good friends won’t be there,” Tara said, not sounding sorry at all. “Julie and Claire and all the rest.”
“That’s fine.”
She put her forearms on my shoulders, with her hands clasping the back of my neck.
“Sorry you’re not going to fuck them any more,” Tara added.
“Would you drop it? I’ve got my hot fiancé to fuck.”
“Oh, really?” Her eyes glittered with mischief as she flashed a smile at me, and then turned around and rubbed her ass against my crotch. She asked, “What makes you think you’re going to fuck your hot fiancé?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Because she’s doing a bump n’ grind on my dick.”
She looked like a stripper dancing on stage—except that she had all her clothes on, and she was rubbing herself against a customer, instead of simulating a lap dance.
“Mmm,” she hummed. “And what’re you gonna do about it? Just stand there and stare?”
“For a minute, yeah.” It was too bad she couldn’t see my face, since I was lit up with delight. “I want to enjoy my hot fiancé’s dance.”
“So you’re gonna make me work for it?” Tara asked.
“Yep. Work hard for it, baby. Show me how bad you want to turn me on.”
It was also too bad we didn’t have deep, thumping music to go with her sexy grinding. She was doing an amazing job, and I was good and hard because of it.
Then I was done just watching her. I clutched her hips to stop her swaying. I reached around her and unbuttoned her shorts and pushed them down.
As I did the same to my shorts, I growled, “Get your shirt off.”
In a flash, we were naked. I gently pushed on her upper back, so that she leaned forward. I wanted to fuck her from behind.
“Wait,” she said. “I don’t think I’m wet enough yet.”
“Then suck my dick and rub yourself.”
Clearly, she was impressed by my command. She said, “Yes, sir,” and followed my orders.
She got into sucking and rubbing so much, that she probably would’ve kept going if I hadn’t put a stop to it. I held onto her head and eased it backward, so that I slid out of her mouth.
“Now bend over the couch” I ordered.
She purred while she did as told. And I finally got t
o sink my cock into her pussy, just below those ass cheeks that had teased me with her bump n’ grind. I held on tight to those taunting ass cheeks and drilled her sweet pussy.
Her forearms lay on the couch’s armrest, and she moaned out her enjoyment of my heaving cock. While I thrust into her, I reached around and finished the job that she had started, by rubbing her clitoris for her. Didn’t take long at all until she cried out in a beautiful orgasm.
But I wasn’t done yet. With both of my hands back on her butt cheeks, I eased one of my thumbs into her asshole. She groaned in pleasure. I kept right on going in both holes: pushing my cock into her pussy and sliding my thumb in her snug asshole. She swayed her head, making her long hair swish about, and she cried out how good all of it felt, how hot it was that I was fucking her pussy and ass at the same time.
Eventually, I caved to her charms, and I spurted my come into her.
It was deliriously good. And we did it without any luscious woman or big-dicked stud joining us. Without needing to be at Strathmore.
So, yeah, she was more apt to do those naughty things after Strathmore than before we got mixed up in the wildness of swinging. She wouldn’t have been so eager to take my thumb in her butt before Strathmore. Back then, the naughty stuff was saved for special occasions. Now, it was brought out just because she was feeling frisky. Which was a lot. I supposed that part of her friskiness was that we didn’t have to deal with those crazy emotions any longer that Strathmore brought up.
Now, canoeing in the cypress swamp, I wondered if we had become more like animals. Swinging had helped free up our inhibitions. As a result, we talked openly, and we did things much more freely than before. We were more comfortable with those things we used to consider vulgar. And those things were damn exciting.
*****
I hoped Tara was going to be home when I arrived, but she wasn’t in our apartment. Fuck! I so needed to get off. It wasn’t an emotional want for lovemaking, like we’d been doing frequently.
No, this time was animal need. I needed to unload the lust that throbbed inside me like a tiger pacing behind the bars of his cage. And I needed my girlfriend, my fiancé, my lover to help me unlock the cage and let the beast out to run.
I’d have to wait. I poured a Jack Daniels and Coke and turned on the TV. But all the programs on TV were shitty, and they didn’t distract me from my lust.
The music from the strip club still pounded in my skull. Lights of all colors flashed before my eyes. One sexy stripper after another had danced on stage, throwing off pieces of clothing, sliding down the pole, twirling around it. Leaning down for me to slide dollar bills in their thongs. Flashing brilliant smiles at me. Glitter on their tits sparkled in the kaleidoscope of colors.
All the guys in my wedding party cheered me on. “Dollar! Dollar! Dollar!” they chanted as I paid each stripper with several bills. When the stripper would cup her tits and squeeze them for me or blow me a kiss, the guys would cheer louder.
The excitement pulsed in us like the bassy, upbeat music. Everyone’s eyes were wide with the thrill of being in this cool strip club, of drinking booze and seeing the lovely ladies naked.
“Oh my God!” one of my friends would say. “Did you see her? Did you fucking see her? She was so fucking hot!”
Over and over, the comments like this flew around the group as the strippers kept arriving on stage.
One friend asked, “Have you ever seen this many hot babes at once? It’s fucking heaven, man!”
You had no idea, buddy. I had seen that many hot babes at once. In Strathmore. But in Strathmore, they didn’t dance on a stage. They danced on cock. Or sucked it. Or lay down and got pounded by it. Or they simply swam in the pool or worked on their tans.
And I’d seen all of those hotties without being drunk. I was stone-cold sober and eating a salad for lunch. Getting energy for jumping back into the pile of pleasure.
Yeah, my friends had no idea. And I wanted to keep it that way. I didn’t want to spill the beans about Strathmore. The members of that paradise deserved to keep it their secret. Unless, like Kiefer did with me, they wanted to invite someone there. I didn’t want to offer an invite to any of my friends. It just didn’t feel right.
The strip club was enough fun for me. The strippers teased us with the allure of flesh, but we weren’t allowed to touch. If you touched any of those tight asses, the muscle-head bouncer was going to punt you to the sidewalk.
I touched absolutely none of the strippers. In rushing home, I most certainly wanted to touch the hell out of Tara. But she wasn’t in our apartment. So, I drank some Jack and Coke and watched TV and hoped she was coming home soon. Very soon.
Julie.
The name sounded in my brain like a bass line from one of the strip club’s songs.
Julie. Julie Baird.
She called to me: Come and get me, Steve. I’ll do what your fiancé can’t do. Why isn’t she there for you? Why isn’t she helping you in your time of need? She should be opening her legs and letting you in. Call me, Steve. It’s easy. You never deleted my number from your phone.
We had traded phone numbers with our good friends at Strathmore, to text each other about which times everyone was heading into the club, in case we wanted to meet up.
I could meet up with Julie again. One last time. A dip back in the water. Just a quick dip, that’s all.
I could nearly feel her tits in my hands. Big and cushy and wondrous. I could feel them as I squeezed those beauties and sucked hard on her nipples. All while thrusting away inside her. Just like I did on the bed-stage in my first day at the club. We were the entertainers back then. Like the strippers were on stage for me and my friends earlier tonight. Being on stage with Julie, I had shown the club members what I was made of. I had given tons of pleasure to the beautiful Julie.
I needed that pleasure now. Julie could’ve helped me with my savage need. Julie to the rescue. I could’ve squeezed those ripe melons of tits again and drilled her like crazy.
Julie. Wonderful, friendly, voluptuous Julie. Julie of the epic tits. Julie of the best tit-fuck I’d ever had before—and will ever have again.
Julie was the answer.
I yanked my phone out of my pocket and jabbed the buttons to get to the contact list and her name. There was her phone number, and next to them was the tantalizing button Call mobile.
That line of digits in her phone number stopped me. Black digits on a white screen. All lined up, neat in a row. Like the line of eager men waiting to get into the strip club tonight.
A person was on the other side of those numbers. Julie. Possible relief. But that wasn’t a guarantee. She might’ve been out on a date. Or on a girls’ night out, like Tara.
Tara.
I couldn’t do this to her. I couldn’t drunk dial Julie and ask her if I could come over to her house and fuck her. I didn’t even know where she lived.
But that was beside the point. The point was if I touched that Call mobile button, there was a very good chance it was going to set off a chain of events that would’ve led to me eventually sitting in another apartment.
Alone.
Sitting alone in my own apartment. Not in our apartment.
I stared hard at the line of numbers and the button. Pressing that button might’ve led to Julie, with her cute face and big tits and warm personality. It might’ve led to unloading my massive arousal and build-up of come inside of her. And that would’ve been tremendous relief.
But that also would’ve led to Tara finding out and getting pissed off and throwing me out of the apartment. No wedding, no walking down the aisle in the lush gardens of the Livingston Mansion. Back to being alone, like I was before moving in with Tara.
Maybe I’d renew my membership at Strathmore. Live the party life as a swinging bachelor. Having as much pussy as I could manage.
But there wasn’t love in that life. There wasn’t Tara.
I jabbed the button on the phone to retur
n to the main screen. Away from Julie’s contact page.
Fuck it. No Julie. No Tara. I was going to take matters in my own hands.
I downed a long swallow of the Jack and Coke, snagged the tablet computer, found some big-tit porn video on a website, dropped trou, squirted lotion onto my hand, and went to work jerking my desperate cock.
Release, oh sweet release! My bottled-up lust was shot into the toilet in thick, majestic spurts. I wished Tara was there to witness this tremendous come-shot.
Mixed emotions swirled in me. Strongest was the relief after being aroused for so long, with all that time at the strip club. Then pride over the amount I had spurted. Then a pang of sadness that I was masturbating into our toilet. Which also made me feel frustrated that I had to resort to my hand. But I knew that was unfair. Engaged couples and married couples still masturbated. It happened.
I also knew that Tara deserved to have time to herself, and spend time with her friends. Just like I had spent time with my friends at the strip club. Tara wasn’t at my beck and call to serve me whenever I needed to get laid.
After I washed off my dick and threw on pajama pants, I made another drink.
Then Ms. Fiancé stumbled in.
“Pajamas already?” She laughed. “Take ’em off. Let’s hit the bedroom, baby. I so need to fuck you.”
“Too late,” I grumbled. “I already took care of myself.”
“You already took care of yourself?” she echoed, in the way a booze-sluggish brain forces you to.
“Yeah. I waited for you.”
“But I figured you’d be gone much longer, seeing all those boobs bouncing around.”
Shrugging, I replied, “I saw them, then came home. Just like you saw a bunch of dicks bouncing around.”
She frowned. “Wait, are you mad? Like it’s a bad thing I went to a strip club, too?”
“No, not at all. It’s fine you went. We already talked about that.”
We had asked the members of our wedding party to schedule my bachelor party and her bachelorette party to happen on the same night. It seemed like a good way to take care of them. And, truly, I didn’t mind that she saw male strippers—not after all the crazy shit we did at Strathmore. We were doing what lots of other people did in bachelor and bachelorette parties. Evie Stevie.
Tara & Steve: A Tale of Swingers Page 27