[John] no dice, babe. I’ll be here late. You should go see them anyway
[Me] are you sure? Feels risky.
[John] it’s a drink. In a bar. They aren’t going to attack you. Nothing will happen if you don’t want it to. and I’ll be there next time you see them
[Me] you want something to happen
[John] I’m just along for the ride. It’s all about what you want babe
I feel that mild annoyance again that John won’t just tell me what to do. I hate it in real life, but he knows I want it in these situations. I take another stab.
[Me] what does daddy want me to do?
[John] daddy wants you to be as naughty as you like. If you’re really bad I’ll take care of you later
[Me] ok daddy
I smile wickedly and squeeze my thighs together as I consider this. I guiltily glance around and there is a woman standing just beside me in the cereal aisle. Her sour look makes me think she was reading the texts over my shoulder. My cheeks go red, but I want to defiantly stick my tongue out at her or something. I’m not that brave, so I push my cart rapidly down the aisle, where I almost ram another one turning the corner. The man pushing it smiles and we stumble over ourselves apologizing to each other. His apology might be more meaningful if he wasn’t staring at my chest. My cheeks flush more deeply when I notice my nipples are plainly showing through my tunic. Having this stranger stare at my tits—even though he’s not my type—arouses me some more and I swear my nipples get harder. He finally looks me in the eye as we disengage our carts. I smile awkwardly.
“Nice running into you. I’m Dave,” he says.
“That’s okay. I’m Carol.”
“You should let me make it up to you.”
“Sorry, Dave,” I reply, waving my wedding rings at him.
“Doesn’t mean you can’t have a coffee,” he says, and shows off his own ring.
A lunchtime quickie with this married man flashes through my mind—a sweaty encounter in a cheap motel room where I slink away afterward with my eyes cast downward—and I grip the handle of my shopping cart more tightly, pushing the tempting scenario away from my mind. It’s not about Dave, but the situation, the chance to misbehave. Luckily, I don’t have to go to those extremes because my husband allows me to be as slutty as I want to be. No sneaking around for me. I doubt Dave’s wife feels the same.
“Can I bring my husband?” I ask.
Dave cracks a smile. “If that’s his thing.”
If only you knew, buddy, I think. “And your wife?”
“Not her thing.”
“Sorry, Dave. But it was nice running into you.”
I leave him in the dust, certain in the knowledge he’s staring at my ass in my tight black leggings. I pause to give him a longer look and text my guys, telling them I’ll meet them for happy hour, stressing it’s just happy hour.
Five
I make the guys pick the place because I sure as hell wasn’t going to meet them at one of the brew pubs John and I regularly haunt. I also insist it must be out of the way so there was no chance I’d run into anyone we know. I have no idea how I would explain to our friends why I was meeting two fit, younger men for drinks while my husband was nowhere to be found. They send me the address for a place called The Squire, promising there is no chance I’d run into anyone I knew there.
After I put the groceries away, I draw myself a steaming bath and freshen up my grooming. No, the guys won’t be seeing it—at least not this evening—but I enjoy the ritual of preparing myself before I see them. I used to keep a neat, slender landing strip down there, but I shaved it bare for John for an anniversary—the night he first shared me with the guys. I’ve kept it smooth and clean since then, like somehow I always knew I’d be seeing the guys again.
All this attention to my pussy gets me pretty worked up, and I close my eyes and think about Dave from the supermarket, who had the audacity to flirt with me even though we’re both married. I think about the cart boy checking me out, and then I think about the evening to come and I bring myself to an easy, gasping, moaning orgasm. I could slip off and take a nap in the tub after that, but I need to get ready. The bar where the guys want to meet is about forty-five minutes away, and I still need to make myself pretty.
I want to look good for the guys, but I don’t want to be obvious, and I don’t want to look like I want them to take me home. I also don’t know what kind of bar this is, so I try to keep it tame. The sleeveless, white mock turtle neck is clingy and flatters my figure without highlighting my flaws, while the right bra makes sure I have all the right curves. The top is paired nicely with a black A-line skirt. I’d normally wear tights with the skirt—it’s not slutty short, but it doesn’t reach my knees—but I skip that for the boys and pull a pair of black suede over-the-knee boots from the back of my closet. I love them, but never have an excuse to wear them. A thin belt at the waist, a chunky silver pendant on a black ribbon, and a sweater complete the outfit. I brush out my honey blonde hair and leave it down. A turn in front of the mirror makes me smile. I look good, but not like I’m going out to score. I hope my guys will agree. I scoot out of the house just before the kids arrive home from school.
I shake my head when I pull the family minivan into the parking lot of The Squire. Noah was honest when he said I won’t run into anyone I know here. He neglected to mention that’s because Squires is a gentleman’s club, at least that’s what I infer from the two silhouettes of women on their sign and an announcement posted for an upcoming Amateur Night. I also note that it’s Ladies Night. Did Noah know or is it a lucky coincidence? I almost back out of my parking space as soon as I’m in it and turn around for home. This isn’t what I bargained for. It’s not my first time at a gentlemen’s club, but it has been a very long time. The last time may have been John’s 40th birthday. We went a couple times before that when we were dating, and he was trying to help push my boundaries. It was always fun, but I felt protected with John on my arm. I don’t know that I’ll feel as safe with Noah and Mateo as my companions. I’m already nervous about seeing them again, and now I’m expected to do it at a gentleman’s club. I text my husband: Did you know this place is a strip joint? I nervously tap the steering wheel as I wait for a reply.
[John] no but that’s awesome!
[Me] is it?
[John] yes?
[Me] not so sure about this
[John] you’re a big girl. You can handle yourself
[Me] I’m daddy’s big girl
[John] yes you are. And don’t forget it. Daddy wants a full report when you get home
My texting with my husband is interrupted by one from Noah, reading: We’re here. I look over toward the front door and see my guys waiting for me—minus Conner. I wish he was here. I’m comfortable with Conner now, and he’d be the next best thing to having my husband with us. But as I look at them, I see Noah and Mateo also look anxious. That relaxes me. I don’t really have anything to worry about, do I? They were perfectly behaved the last time I saw them—given the circumstances. John is right, they aren’t going to push me into anything. We’re just going to have a drink or two, chat, flirt, and I’ll be out of there. Besides, I’m sure they’ll be distracted by all the half-naked girls walking around. I need to school these guys that having lots of other women around doesn’t make a girl feel special. I pull my sweater on, firm up my resolve, and hop out of the minivan to meet my guys.
The guys see me and smile and wave. It doesn’t relax me any further. My ease upon seeing them is evaporating with each step I take closer to them, and my stomach floats higher into my rib cage. I realize I barely know these guys. I’ve gotten to know Conner by spending time with him, but that’s not the case with Noah and Mateo. They surprised me in a club, we chatted briefly, danced, and went back to our suite. There was very little talking after that, they kept my mouth quite busy. Our texting has mostly been flirting. I want to get to know them the way I know Conner. Lusting after them is fine, but it’s more
fun if I like them, too.
Noah is on the right, lanky, but as tall as his friends, with blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. He gives me a goofy smile that makes me think he’s stoned, but he’s looked that way every time I’ve seen him. I used to be scared about his using power tools when they were all working on our house. Mateo, beside him, is his polar opposite. Mateo is taller, stocky and dark, with olive skin and thick, black hair shaved on the sides and gelled back on top. He’s so handsome he’s almost pretty, with padded, sensual lips. Those lips felt incredible on my body—and seeing them—I want to feel them again. Much like Conner, I imagine Mateo could rock my world one-on-one, but he’s still impressive working with his friends.
“Are you guys serious?” I ask, standing back from the guys. It feels safer to keep my distance.
“What? You said you wanted to go somewhere no one would recognize you. Are you a regular here?” Noah says. “What time do you go on?”
“Haha,” I reply.
Mateo elbows Noah and says, “I told him you’re too classy for a strip club. This isn’t your kind of place. We can take you somewhere else.”
“I didn’t say I’m too classy, but it’s not the kind of place I usually hang out.”
“Have you been to a strip club before?” Noah asks.
I smile. “Maybe. Not ready to give all my secrets up yet.”
“Damn, Mamá. You look sexy as hell,” Mateo says, nakedly eyeing me up and down.
“How do you always look so fucking hot?” Noah asks.
“You guys are just saying that to get into my pants.”
Mateo closes the gap between us and slips an arm around me. He plants a slow, warm kiss on my cheek and breathes, “I want to get into your pants because you’re sexy as hell, Mamá.”
I catch my breath and kiss him back, my lips lingering on his neck.
“You’d like to go in then?” Mateo asks.
“Sure, let’s get a drink.”
Mateo lets me go and I give Noah a hug and kiss, so he doesn’t feel left out. I think of how I’ll have to balance my attention between both of them for the night and wonder if I’ve got it in me.
I walk inside the club between the boys. It’s not a dive, but it’s definitely a local bar, not one of those big, fancy gentlemen’s clubs, like John took me to. It looked larger from the outside and the circumference of the bar takes up most of the space, ringing a stage. The bar is crowded with men just off from work and we have to squeeze through along one wall to reach the back, where there’s some open space. I’m overdressed for the place. It’s a lot of guys in their work clothes, like my guys, who are wearing well-worn sweatshirts and jeans. Every man in the bar eyes me hungrily as I pass them and the braver ones cop cheap feels, brushing against my butt or forcing my breasts against them as I squeeze through. Tables are set up in the back, but they’re all taken. Mateo finds an open space at the bar and uses his bulk to part the crowd and gets us there. The bartender, a pretty girl with jet black hair and a nose ring, in a see-through top, comes right over and Noah orders us three beers.
The bar is dimly lit except for the stage, so it takes several moments for my eyes to adjust. I finally see I’m not the only woman in the bar who isn’t working, but there are only three of us, and the other two look like they’re a couple. Most of the guys who aren’t looking at the girls onstage or are milling around, are looking at me, not them. All this attention gives me chills, and I know this is a dangerous environment for a woman who likes attention as much as I do.
“Look at you,” Noah says. “You’re glowing.”
“I guess I am. You guys must have that effect on me.”
Noah is right. My top, under my black sweater, is glowing like a beacon. Splashes of white paint on Noah’s sweatshirt are doing the same. I recall my husband telling me strip clubs use black lights because they help hide the dancers’ flaws. One of the girls onstage is wearing a fluorescent bikini, and that thing glows even more brightly against her dark, tattooed skin.
“You guys work hard today?” I ask, grasping for small talk. I have to be loud to be heard over the dancers’ thumping soundtrack. It feels odd to try and build a rapport with these guys after they’ve already fucked me.
“We were finishing a kitchen remodel, that’s why we finished early. There wasn’t much left to do,” Noah says.
“Yeah, don’t mind getting off early on a Friday,” Mateo adds. “You were off?”
I answer, but Mateo has trouble hearing me, so I must press my face close to his and repeat myself. He smells masculine, with a hint of sawdust, and I remember how much I enjoyed watching him work. Mateo isn’t rock hard like Conner, but he knows his way around a power tool, which is sexy.
“I usually work one or two twelve hour shifts and then have a couple days off. I just did three twelves, so I’m off until after the weekend. I’m used to the long shifts after all these years and I like the extended time off.”
“So, you do have some free time? You’ve been avoiding us?”
“It’s not that easy, Mateo. I have a lot of responsibilities. It’s difficult.”
“I think we could make it easy for you, Mamá.”
“I hear you and Conner have been having fun,” Noah chimes in from my other side.
“I’ve seen him a couple times.” I give him a discerning look. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the jealous type.”
His arm goes around my back and he pulls me closer to him. I have to adjust myself on the stool and I pull my skirt lower, lest I flash too much thigh. His hand caresses my side through my sweater and my top, and it feels nice.
“I’m not jealous. Have all the fun you want with Conner, as long as I get to have fun, too.”
“But there are two of you. I need twice the time to see you and Mateo.”
“You can see me alone if you like,” Noah says.
“I should just jump from bed to bed to bed? I couldn’t keep up with that.”
“I’ve seen you in action, Carol. I know you could.”
I try to picture what my life would be like if I did as all these guys wanted. Would I be able to work, or would I be kept too busy as their concubine? How slutty would it be to jump from Conner’s bed to Noah’s to Mateo’s? And John’s too, of course. We’d have to work out some kind of schedule, so I’d know where to be when. There are worse lives. I wouldn’t mind being a kept woman, pampered by the four men in my life, but that assumes they’d all be equal, which they can never be.
“Well, we’re starting with a drink, and we’ll see how that goes.”
On cue, the girl brings our beers and I hold mine in both hands, sipping it as I turn my attention to the girl onstage closest to us. The stage is actually two stages, with a short runway in between, like a compressed barbell. The girl near us is short but jacked up by insanely high Lucite heels. I envy her ability to dance in those things. I’d break an ankle if I tried to move like that in stripper heels. I’ve got some nice heels in my closet, but nowhere to wear them. Maybe I need to go onstage. Ha!
The dancer is Hispanic and thick, but she knows how to move those curves. Like many of the girls, she has a lot of tattoos, which seem animated on her smooth body as she moves. She grasps the pole in the center of her small stage and spins violently on it, her hair a dark cloud around her head. I’m afraid she’s going to land in our laps, but the men around me cheer. She locks her thick, muscular thighs around the pole and hangs upside down, her hair cascading to the stage. She holds her arms out and the men cheer again. I can’t believe how long she hangs there by her thighs. I do yoga and hit the gym several times a week, and there’s no way I could do that. I remember when stripper pole dancing workouts were a thing. I didn’t have the nerve back then, but now I feel like I missed out. The dancer unhooks her bra while hanging upside down, and lets it fall to the stage. Her breasts are huge, and they hang down. She cups them and pulls her nipples. The men around me are throwing money at her, and I reach into my purse to find some single
s. She’s earned it. I’m impressed. When she sees me throw her a crumpled-up bill, the dancer gives me an upside-down wink and blows me a kiss. I’m glad people can’t see my flushed cheeks in the dim lighting. She plants her hands on the stage, releases the pole, and swings her legs down to stand. Impressive.
“Think you could do something like that?” Noah asks.
“I’m pretty flexible, but I don’t think so.”
“You’d be hot up there,” he continues.
“Haha. No one wants to see a 40-year-old mother up there, believe me.”
“You forget, I’ve seen every inch of you, Carol. I think these guys would love to see a real woman like you, up there getting down.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I reply, patting his leg and taking up my beer.
The song ends and the onstage girls cycle. The girl at the other end of the stage steps down while our dancer moves to that end. A new girl, a skinny blonde who looks barely legal, steps onto the stage in front of us. She waves to all the guys watching her but saves her biggest smile for me. Obviously, women get all the attention here. I recall also being very popular when John took me to that gentleman’s club.
My attention is pulled away from the stage when a hand brushes across my shoulders. I know right away it’s not one of my guys. I turn on the barstool to find a tall, African American dancer with heavy, pendulous breasts swaying freely under a loose camisole top. She’s pretty, but she looks tired. I can tell her smile is forced, and I wonder if I’m better at seeing through her act because I’m a woman. I can see she just wants to get her tips and move on. Noah and Mateo on either side of me don’t seem to see it.
“Hey, Sugar, what’s your name?” the dancer asks, putting her hands on my hips under my sweater.
Carol’s Trinity 3 Page 5
