The Scarlet Letter Scandal (6 page)

A
new music mix played at the private Rocks club in the overly finished basement of the suburban Maryland subdivision. The “Jock Jams” Pandora channel had just finished “The Humpty Dance,” which brought a few Hump Day references and much gyrating. “Let the Music Play” by Shannon now boomed from the surround ceiling speakers. Kellie, Brandon, Felicia, and Mycah worked the LED-lit dance floor and its built-in stripper pole like nobody’s business. The Watchers stood at the bar, sipping drinks and doing what they did best.

In the small swingers’ club, there was a clear appreciation for the natural, harmonious relationship between voyeur and exhibitionist. There were those who liked putting on a show, and those who liked to see it. The two groups rarely interacted, but each was an integral and accepted part of the club.

“Girls, you’re hot today,” said Kellie to the other women, as they grasped the pole and groped each other during the song.

Felicia grabbed Kellie, pulling her into the center of their sultry dance around the pole. The three of them moved to the music, hands sliding over cleavage and under short dresses; the pole provided balance for their sky-high heels as they worked the pole high and low to the beat of the pulsing song.

Brandon grabbed a beer from the fridge, moving to the music, and looked on, sporting a rock-hard erection in his khaki shorts. What more could you ask for than three sexy women dancing together in front of you on a Wednesday afternoon? It was almost enough to make him thankful he worked on Saturdays delivering packages in a brown UDS truck so he had this day of the week off.

And then there were tongues. Felicia had her back against the pole and her hands on Kellie’s boobs while Mycah slid down the pole and playfully licked Kellie’s thigh on the way back up. Kellie lowered her head to lick Felicia’s ample cleavage. Mycah pulled Kellie gently by the waist, motioning to one of the private rooms.

The three rooms were as private as the club members wanted them to be. Two of the rooms featured large windows with curtains; members could go in, close and lock the door, and draw the curtains if they wished, or choose to leave the curtains open for others to watch. The smallest of the rooms was known as “The Vault.” An old, heavy antique bank vault door with a shipwheel-sized spinning dial was hung on steel strap hinges at the entrance of the room, and locked from inside. No windows, no décor other than steel chains bolted to the wall, a swing bar hanging from the ceiling, and a specially designed piece of leather equipment that resembled a gymnastics vault; it was referred to as the “Pummel Horse” and had hand and ankle cuffs attached. What happened in this room remained among the few private goings-on at Rocks.

The largest of the three rooms was the group sex room nicknamed the “Eyes Wide Shut” room after the Stanley Kubrick classic erotic thriller featuring a secret swingers’ club. Mycah entered the room, holding Felicia and Kellie by the hands. Brandon followed, asking the women if he could watch. Everyone knew he could, but the question was asked out of respect; the women were the ones who decided how most things went inside the rooms.

Mycah walked over to the bed. It was larger than a California king, custom-built round in shape, and situated in a high position, with small stepladders on either side. The height of the bed created comfort for giving oral pleasure. There were alternating mirror tiles on the ceiling walls, giving a somewhat dizzying visual effect. The floor tiles, walls, and remaining ceiling tiles were all painted black. Recessed lighting was subtle and on a dimmer switch. In one corner was a cabinet containing folded sheet sets, towels, a basket of condoms, and a box of tissues.

Felicia climbed onto the bed, removing her tight purple Spandex dress, the only thing she’d been wearing besides matching four-inch heels, on her way to the platform. Kellie turned to Brandon, slipping her tongue inside his mouth as she unzipped his shorts and reached for his throbbing hard-on.

“Are you gonna watch us play, baby?” she whispered into his ear, licking it playfully.

He didn’t need to answer. Mycah had joined Felicia on the elevated bed and they were fully making out, exploring each other’s bodies with eager hands.

“Get up here,” said Felicia to Kellie, “and get on in.”

Mycah reached over while Kellie began her ascent of the stepladder, removing her dress. The women had all chosen to go braless with ruched Spandex and no panties; they all knew nothing was staying on for long. Brandon picked up the three dresses and tossed them on one of a pair of small pleather armchairs, sitting down in the other.

“And the Watchers are okay?” he asked the women.

“Yeah,” said Mycah, speaking with most of her lover’s left nipple in her mouth.

Brandon reached up and slid the curtain open as the Watchers sauntered over with their drinks and sat on barstools just outside the room in a small lounge area. He’d changed the Pandora to “shuffle.” A Beyoncé song finished, and a Ray Charles song came on: “I Got a Woman.”

Things began to heat up on the bed. Felicia lay across the center of the bed facing up, with Kellie and Mycah facing the opposite end of the bed, face down so that they formed a “W.” Hands teased nipples and slapped asses while tongues explored crevices and smooth skin.

Brandon had unzipped his shorts and was masturbating. It was clear these ladies were going to be enjoying each other, so he was just planning to enjoy himself while he watched. Kellie glanced over at him, enjoying the view of his arousal.

Kellie moaned as Felicia used her fingers to arouse her; Mycah’s soft cries followed as Felicia’s other hand did the same. Leaning up on their elbows left free hands for Kellie and Mycah to tease Felicia’s most sensitive places together.

Brandon moaned softly as he stroked himself slowly; it wasn’t going to be a very long show as far as he was concerned. The scene before him was far too hot for him to last very long.
No pressure in this situation to stay hard for long anyway
, he thought. He’d have popped a pill from the kitchen area if he’d thought he would have needed it. Inside the cabinet, hardening cream was available as well.

As odd as some thought it was at times, there was little response to the ladies’ threesome from the Watchers. Once in a while the wife, B, would walk over and stand facing away from her husband, grinding gently toward his lap, and he’d maybe caress her nipple or kiss the back of her neck. Clothes never came off; they never played with other couples. This was a lifestyle they enjoyed visually in a group, but physically and privately at home. Other club members often wondered how amazing their sex life must be when they got home, a few blocks over on Birch Avenue. No one at the club had ever asked what they did for a living, but maybe nobody would’ve been surprised to learn they ran the technical side of a fetish porn website that was filmed, of all places, on little old Matthew’s Island. They came here to watch the action live versus on computer screens.

Felicia was now on all fours in the center of the bed, with Mycah lying on her back beside her, enjoying Feesh’s tongue. “You taste good,” she moaned softly, as Kellie licked her from a different angle. There was a seamlessness to the movements of the three women; a choreography orchestrated only by their instincts and pleasure. Few words were spoken; only mostly soft moans and occasional louder cries were heard as they enjoyed their time together easily and naturally.

Brandon climaxed and relaxed, sitting back to take a breath. The women didn’t seem to be anywhere near wrapping things up, so he cleaned up, got himself back together, and went out to greet another guest, a single woman by herself (known as a “unicorn” at the sex club because it was rare for a woman to arrive there alone). He looked around the private Rocks swingers’ club, proud of the custom build-out he and a few other guys had completed. The large-screen TV showed porn movies on a loop, though channels could be changed. Liv, who’d just walked in, had changed the channel to a live Internet feed of two gay men. That was the thing about swingers:
anything goes
. All lifestyles are supported when it comes to swingers, and most realize that gay porn is often filmed with exponentially higher production quality.

The Watchers poured themselves another drink and drifted over to watch the TV. Throughout the course of the hour, the club members each dropped cash into the large glass jar on the bar: for today’s discounted afternoon session fee of $20, and for any drinks they poured from the bar ($5 each, though club members supplied the bar’s stock). Snacks like bags of pretzels, or protein or candy bars, were $2. The Watchers dropped three $20 bills in to cover their expenses for the day.

Around 2 p.m., Kellie and Brandon ushered out the last few of the Nooners Club guests with waves and smiles. The club generally went from 12–2 on Wednesdays; most people had jobs to get back to and had finagled the occasional (or regular) midweek excuse for a long lunch. Some club members used the showers before returning to work; for people who worked at home, it didn’t matter so much.

“We didn’t make as much today as I’d hoped,” said Kellie, counting out the $20 bills from the tip jar on the bar in the lounge area.

Brandon took a laundry basket out of the closet and started throwing in sheets and towels. “Yeah, the Hump Day gathering can be kind of inconsistent,” he replied.

“We need another hot Saturday night,” said Kellie. “Maybe time to bring in a really good stripper to draw a crowd? I hate worrying about covering my grocery money.”

“Me too,” said Brandon. “Maybe we should cut back on some expenses around here.”

“What the hell does that mean? It’s not like I’m out buying high-end Egyptian cotton sheets over here.”

“I know,” he said. “But if the sheriff shows up and gives us thirty days to get out, it will be too late to worry about the money.”

“Like everyone in the neighborhood isn’t in fucking foreclosure,” said Kellie. “There are fourteen Honduran immigrant landscapers living next door, and nobody even knows who owns that house.”

“I know. We’re only two years in on not paying the mortgage,” said Brandon. “There are people who are at least four to five years in.”

“Well, I hate living like this,” said Kellie. “I want to have a baby at some point and I can’t bring a kid into a world where I don’t even have stable housing.”

“You know there’s only one way to do this,” said Brandon, sitting down on a lacquered red barstool.

Kellie finished sweeping up and sat down on the couch with a loud sigh. “Well, what is it?”

“We have to think about giving people what they want,” he said.

“Are you kidding me? We give people what the hell they want every day: sex.”

“It’s not enough anymore,” said Brandon. “We have the same regulars week after week and it’s tough to market a business that’s already illegal anyway…”

“Yeah, well, running a suburban swingers’ sex club out of my foreclosure-bound cookie-cutter basement isn’t exactly something I listed on the ‘when I grow up’ essay in school,” said Kellie. “And what do you mean we’re already ille…”

She paused and looked up at him, reading something in his expression.

“Drugs,” she said.

“Look, growing up to be a UDS driver drug dealer wasn’t on my future plans list either, babe,” Brandon said, raking his fingers absentmindedly through his disheveled hair. “But we need to make some bank if we ever want to be in a position of getting caught up with the actual bank.”

“Fuck the bank,” said Kellie. “When I lost my job at the gym and we missed a few payments, it wasn’t our fault they told us to fork over fourteen grand or nothing. It’s like they want to foreclose! They could’ve just refinanced. Idiots.”

“Well, they won’t talk to us, so we need to figure out a way to dig out,” he said. “It’s not like we’re going to start selling heroin, but you know people bring different party drugs in here and we have to look at how much more we’d be making if we were getting a cut of all that.”

“If we got busted…” Kellie began.

“We’re already in a world where if we get busted for any number of things, we’re screwed,” he said. The stress lines between his eyes were deep for someone in his early thirties.

“True enough,” she said. She stood by a mirrored wall at one end of the small dance floor, adjusting her dress and setting her long hair in place.
Appearances are important
. Seeing fingerprints on the mirrored wall, she grabbed the Windex and a roll of paper towels from the bathroom cabinet.