Touching: Although our lifestyle is by nature permissive and liberal, this doesn’t mean you can just touch whomever you want whenever you want. ASK. If someone says no, THEY MEAN NO. Violation of this will result in permanent dismissal. Watching is ok if the curtains to private rooms are open or if action is happening in common areas. DO NOT enter a private room with a member unless you are invited to do so.
SECRECY: The most important rule of the club is that we don’t talk about the club in public. Your vanilla friends don’t need to know what’s going on so keep it to yourself. We are known as a FITNESS CLUB in our community and we don’t want to ruin what we have with news reports or neighbor complaints so remember that this is a PRIVATE CLUB and legally a private party in a private home.
NO PHOTOS OR VIDEOS. REPEAT NO PHOTOS OR VIDEOS. We prefer no cell phone use in the club areas. Anyone found videotaping or taking photos will have phone confiscated and will be banned for life. No exceptions! If you need to check messages, etc., please do it in the restroom or in your car. No smoking anywhere on property. NO DRUGS.
COME ONE COME ALL and have fun and enjoy our relaxing carefree lifestyle in private.
Jeannie sat in front of the computer in the office on the first floor of her house (which had been the model home), waiting for the kids to come home from school.
She could not believe her eyes when her sister had sent her the link to the Rocks Private Fitness Club. It sure was a small world—a woman who used to live in the neighborhood was a friend of her sister’s and had passed it along with the Keytown Mouse blog post. The newspaper sat beside Jeannie on the desk. She was flabbergasted.
Moments ago she had been preparing the monthly bills for her husband’s landscaping company, updating the change in the hockey schedule on her calendar, and visiting Facebook. She loved keeping friends and family up to date with what was going on with her kids and she knew people loved seeing family photos. She’d uploaded a new photo album, “Hockey and Gymnastics,” with pictures of the kids.
She noticed one photo of her son with another boy whose mother was constantly missing practice or bringing work to practice and not even paying attention to her son. He is working so hard out there, thought Jeannie, and all that woman can do is sit there on her phone, even during games. She tagged the woman in the photo and wrote “I know you’re busy so I thought you might enjoy seeing this picture of your son doing his best!” Maybe it was time to start letting some of these moms know on social media that they really needed to pay more attention to their kids.
She scrolled through her news feed and “liked” some other people’s kids’ photos to be polite. It seemed like the numbers of “likes” on things had gone down lately and she figured that now that school was back in, people were just busy. The “back to school” photos had scrolled down for what seemed like forever. She had posted the obligatory photo of her kids on the front porch holding small chalkboard signs declaring “First Day” of their respective grades. She knew someday she would frame all those photos. She missed the days when families had printed photos everywhere, something that didn’t exist in today’s digital age.
She was distracted, flipping back to the screen showing the Rocks “rules.” This was going on right here in Stony Mill! She couldn’t wait until Chaz was home to update him on the shenanigans. Obviously there would be an emergency meeting of the homeowners association and clearly they wouldn’t rest until this disgusting operation was shut down. Jeannie thought about calling the police, but realized there was nothing on the website identifying the location of the club and reasoned that she should discuss it with Chaz first.
She tried to get back to her computer chores. She went to the PTA page and uploaded the membership information again in case anyone hadn’t seen it. She never understood parents who didn’t join the PTA; it was like they didn’t care what was going on with their own children. Everyone was busy so she didn’t think there was any excuse not to participate in the fundraisers that collected much-needed money for new gym equipment and toward the teachers’ new smart boards. She would get the list of who hadn’t joined this year and start putting links on individual Facebook pages. After all, as a leader in the community, wasn’t it her duty to be sure parents stayed involved with their children’s activities both on the playing field and at school?
Jeannie sent an email to Chaz, asking what time he’d be home. It’s important that we speak right away! she typed.
With a sigh, she turned her attention to the homeowners association. She had taken over as Welcome Basket Committee Chair when Chaz became president, around the time Betsy Shackleford had moved out of the neighborhood because the sheriff had finally visited her door with an eviction notice. What was wrong with these people who couldn’t do the right things and pay their mortgages? With Chaz as leader, she really thought it was time to start trying to make some changes in Stony Mill. The association’s vice president, Hank, that fat jerk, was always in the way of her getting anything done. She had tried to add a simple piece of language in the bylaws about parents keeping kids’ toys off the lawns and sidewalks (and those basketball nets in the cul-de-sacs! Why would anyone let their kids play ball in the street?) and Hank’s reaction had been obnoxious.
“Well, Jeannie, kids play,” he’d said. “We can’t outlaw that!” She could still hear his stupid annoying jolly chuckle. Like the safety of children wasn’t the most important thing. Elderly people visiting the homes in this neighborhood shouldn’t have to trip over skateboards left on sidewalks! And was it too much to ask for kids to put their bikes in their over-crammed, sloppy garages? It was common sense that kids shouldn’t be allowed to play basketball in the road while their own parents were driving down the same road, probably texting on their phones.
I just don’t understand what is wrong with this community and what is wrong with people, Jeannie thought again, as she often did. But this time her rage was fueled by the existence of swingers in her own backyard. She looked out the window at the surrounding houses, wondering how close this aberration was to her own children’s home.
Jeannie hated the poor quality of most of the homes that had been constructed in Stony Mill. Builders came into the newer section of the neighborhood and slapped together a hundred homes in a few months, and the problems with them began immediately. Leaking roofs and windows, drafty interiors, shoddy decks with nails sticking out, and weathered boards from cheap lumber. Splinters were a common problem. There were sinkholes in yards from where proper grading around stormwater ponds had not been used, and nearly every home had green mildew on the vinyl siding. People couldn’t be bothered to power wash them.
It was yet another thing Jeannie had tried to add to the bylaws, yet she had been rejected. Once again, Happy Hank didn’t think it was a priority. “You can’t force people to spend money like that,” he’d said. “Many of ’em don’t have it.” We can, actually, Jeannie had said, trying to explain that the entire purpose of the homeowners organization was to maintain the curb appeal of the community. She couldn’t understand why Chaz was constantly siding with Hank. Things like landscaping and home maintenance mattered. Saving that eyesore wretch of an old mill building was not, as one ad hoc committee had claimed it was, an issue or priority. So what if the neighborhood was named after the mill? It was dangerous and would have become a hazard for unsupervised teens looking to party. It had needed to go, which was exactly what she’d told the town government at the hearing before the developer had thankfully torn it down.
Darned if she was going to watch this place turn into a slum—there were already far too many renters in the neighborhood and she had proposed a bylaw amendment to outlaw this. Wasn’t it obvious to everyone that allowing renters to take over the neighborhood would be the worst thing they could do? It devalued all the homes!
She felt alone in her crusader efforts and even though she prayed often about the challenges in the neighborhood, she knew God would want her to take matters into her own hands. She checke
d her calendar, looking for the election date—maybe it was time for her to run for vice president and let that dumb Hank sit on the sidelines for a while so she could actually take action with her husband by her side and preserve their community.
She changed her computer desktop background to the photo of her children with this year’s school grade chalkboards, new back-to-school outfits, and fresh backpacks. She closed the ridiculous sex club website on her screen and stood to open the door as she heard her kids come up the driveway.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
posted by F. Ritchie
Looks like things heated up over the summer in Keytown’s underground swinger community. A certain member of the Stony Mill subdivision royalty was seen having a heated exchange with a local shop owner who may or may not be involved in the “Scarlet Letter Society” of women who meet secretly to discuss their extramarital affairs and clandestine private meetings! Wouldn’t you have loved to be a fly on the wall of that conversation between the former high school classmates?
Meanwhile over at Stony Mill, there are reports that the key into the regular swinger parties seems to come in the form of…a landscaping rock? Allegedly, homeowners who place large rocks (like the ones used for hiding utility boxes) near the front of their driveways are down to play, and play hard. Neighbor complaints about pool party noise and late-night gatherings have been surfacing at the Keytown County Sheriff’s office, prompting what may or may not be an investigation into the kinky goings-on. No word on whether the swingers actually put the “key” in Keytown by having everyone throw keys in baskets and go home with whomever’s keys you pick up at the end of the night. At least one or two homeowners who bought properties in the neighborhood have had landscaping rocks removed after accidentally being approached about the group sex parties.
Word on the street is that the UDS man may be delivering more than boxes in Stony Mill.
And once again, folks, the Keytown Mouse is there, silently watching, and hearing everything.
Rachel sat back at her desk, checking the clock on the wall out of habit, even though the time was displayed on both her laptop and her phone in front of her at the accounting firm. She swallowed three Adderall and sipped her caramel latte, the first of the season. She felt an odd rush of adrenaline that came not from caffeine and the pills, which were having less effect and requiring higher doses, but from hitting the “publish” button on her blog post. She loved being the undercover journalist, the shit-stirrer, some might say.
It wasn’t just the reporting aspect that made it fun, though. It was the power that came with distributing information. Her anonymity, the thousands of hits that post would have in the next hour or two, it made her feel more powerful than any other aspect of her life. Raising a preteen son was exhausting and thankless. Her real job was boring beyond words and she hated her boss. The prescription drugs, which of course weren’t her own prescription (she pushed aside thoughts of having stolen them from her son—that had only been a temporary situation until she’d found a better source), took the edge off her life. They made everything doable.
Kate: Hey, ginger.
As the text message lit up her phone, Rachel’s body responded. She immediately felt a Pavlovian response—sat up straighter, felt her cheeks flush, and felt a tightening inside her thighs.
Rachel: Hello gorgeous.
Kate: I miss you. Need ginger time.
Rachel: Mmmm I miss Kate time too. Can pretend to work late any day this week. Name it.
Kate: Today. Tomorrow. The next day.
Rachel: I wish it was every day, too. Let’s do tomorrow so I can get it set up with Martin having Jacob duty.
Kate: So far away.
Rachel: I will be thinking of you til then.
Kate: I’m thinking of you right now. I’m sitting in my office running my right hand over my right nipple, but it doesn’t feel the same as when you touch me.
Rachel: I wish I was there touching you now.
Kate: I’m so hot for you.
Rachel: I’m so hot for you right back. I’m throbbing just thinking of you.
Kate: Oh God, Rachel, I want you. I’m touching myself to ease the pressure.
Rachel: If I was under your desk I’d put my tongue there. I’m touching myself now too, my nipples are so hard just thinking about being with you.
Kate: I’m going to close my eyes and lean back in my desk chair, pretending this is you exploring me.
Rachel: I’m right there. I’m running my left hand across your amazing nipples, softly teasing one, then the other, while my right hand circles, circles your g-spot.
Kate: You’re going to make me orgasm just from thinking of you.
Rachel: I’m with you. Sooo good.
Kate: Best sexts ever. Panting at my desk…
Rachel: In person next time.
Kate: Yes please.
Rachel pulled herself back together after the unexpected chat. She was flushed. She opened the window for some fresh air, got a bottle of water from her purse. She ignored the bottle staring her in the face; she had just taken them and would not take another! It was amazing what Kate did to her with even just words on a screen. These sexually charged experiences, the energy of it was so different than what she had at home with her husband.
Just last night Martin had once again come to the bed uninterested in sex, and she cared less and less about that with each passing day. It had been nearly a month (or more?) since he’d touched her. She thought back to her devastation in accidentally discovering that Martin had been in a threesome with Kellie and Brandon. The tiny camera she’d placed at the Rocks sex club in her neighborhood had only been to keep an eye on the proceedings for her blog, but when she watched the proceedings live from the Nooners Club a few months back, she’d cried. Even though her affair with Kate was well underway, she hadn’t known her husband had been with her friends, which may have been fine (they’re swingers after all), if any of them had bothered to tell her about it.
She sat back in her desk chair, physically spent, allowing her thoughts to wander.
And Kellie? She’d thought Kellie was her closest friend. She couldn’t believe, week after week as she waited for Kellie to tell her about Martin (and the other guys she’d watched him hook up with since that time at the club), that her “friend” cared more about making money than she did about telling the truth—about friendship and loyalty.
So Rachel waited. She didn’t even let Kellie know she was mad about the betrayal. What was that saying about revenge being a dish best served cold? Cold she could do. She’d continue their fake friendship as long as necessary until she’d one day get to watch Kellie’s world fall apart in front of her. It was already teetering on the edge. Besides, once she’d found out from a neighbor that Brandon was supplying pharmaceuticals, she’d begun fueling her pill habit with regular visits from the UDS man himself.
And that Maggie Hanson. She was another bitch Rachel would like to see leave town. How dare she break Kate’s heart? I guess I should be thanking her, thought Rachel, but I hate her attitude and her celebration of adultery. I guess that makes me a hypocrite, she realized; after all, I am technically cheating on my husband with Kate. But somehow Rachel’s discovery that she was a lesbian, which hadn’t come easy, had been such a relief and had made her marriage feel like the lie, not the other way around. She couldn’t come out while her son was a tween, so she didn’t really think of her relationship with Kate as much like an affair as a natural realization of her true self, a beginning of her future.
She would not let Maggie jeopardize that. Maggie, who slept with whoever she wanted and didn’t give a shit about anyone’s feelings but her own. Maggie, who left two (or was it three?) husbands in the dust at the same time she was crushing Kate. Rachel had found Kate’s journal by accident one day at her apartment while waiting for Kate to come home from the college. She’d innocently looked in a side table drawer in search of a ponytail holder, and there it was. She couldn’t
not read it. The busybody in her wouldn’t allow it. Thinking she’d read just a few pages, she ended up devouring the entire book and finding herself so upset as she read through the relationship. Maggie had just tossed Kate aside like a one-night stand. Kate thought the relationship was so much more. And regardless of what she’d seen in the journal, Rachel would be sure Kate forgot about Maggie.
Damn the both of you, Maggie and Kellie, thought Rachel, closing the blog’s screen and her laptop. They both deserved whatever hassle the Keytown Mouse posts had in store for them.
Eva got off the train at Penn Station and hailed a cab to her office. She hesitated as the doorman held the door for her. Walking into the building for the first time since her leave of absence from her mother’s death so many months ago felt like an enormous task.
“Ms. Bradley?” the uniformed worker asked.
“Yes, hello, Pete. Good to see you again.” Eva plastered on a smile, gripped the handle of her leather Coach messenger bag more tightly, as if for strength, and walked with a false sense of confidence to the elevator.
“Shall I send your suitcase over to your suite at the Plaza Hotel?” he asked.
“Yes, thanks, that’s so thoughtful,” she said, rummaging for a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet. She smiled again and then couldn’t stand all the fake smiling and headed past the vast glass entryway and down the hall to the elevators.
The Scarlet Letter Scandal Page 8
