Blind Date And The Sex Club

 Blind Date And The Sex Club


The hypnotic techno music surrounded me with the acoustic thump of a porno flick. Naked from the waist up, I looked at my date ― clad in a towel from the waist down. Then, flush with anticipation and a little fear, I put my hand in his, and together we stepped into an exclusive sex club for couples in New York City.
The taxi stopped at a tall, gray, office-like building, and we took an elevator straight to the penthouse. The guys paid cash to the bouncer at the door, and we were in.
I saw two signs. One said “Men only allowed with women” and another said “No touching without permission.”
“Um, what kind of club is this?” I asked.
“Don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said gamely as if he were a chivalrous knight of yore.
I felt blindsided by my blind date, who was apparently motivated by his groin more than his heart. I worried about what we’d do ― what he’d want me to do. But his smile glowed brighter than the neon lights of the room, and it was a public place. I figured I’d make a quick exit if anything went wrong. As I got psychologically ready for an adventurous evening I’d never counted on, I decided to also check my caution at the door.
Everyone got a locker to store their clothes in.
“Wait, I have to take off my clothes, too?” I asked.
“It’s OK. We can leave our underwear on It’s like going to a topless beach. You’ve done that, I assume?”
 “Of course,” I said, pulling my dress over my shoulders.
I took off my dress and bra, leaving my thong on, It’s just like going to a topless beach, I repeated to myself.
Then he entered the room. He had stripped off all his clothes, and I saw his toned legs, tanned chest and muscular arms. He had slung a small white towel around his pelvis.
As he took in my half-nude body, still in high heels, I noted with pleasure the admiration ― and lust ― reflected in his gaze.
He held out his hand and, taking a deep, shaky breath, I gave him mine. It was an adventure, I kept repeating to myself. It’s good to expand your boundaries. He smiled at me, and appeared so comfortable that I wondered how often he’d been there before, and with whom?
 “Whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand,” I cautioned him.
“Don’t worry, you’re with me,” he said.
Holding on to his hand tightly, we walked into a lounge area stocked with free condoms. Most of the people milling around were in fairly good shape, though I didn’t notice any bodybuilders. I also saw a deserted buffet table, laid with fruit, veggies and slices of ham. I wasn’t hungry for sex-club crudités, and apparently nobody else was either. Must Reads
Pausing at the entrance to one of the private rooms, he took my face in his hands and kissed me deeply, his tongue exploring my mouth with a fierce passion.
I closed my eyes, as the sounds of sweaty flesh slapping into flesh on the huge water bed nearby and the participant’s orgasmic groans laid the soundtrack to our make-out session. I tried to stay in the moment as we kissed. As he tried to maneuver me to a settee, my wine buzz started to dissipate, and I was petrified I would sit or lie down on someone else’s bodily fluids.
“Do you want to stand and watch people fucking?” he asked in a conversational tone, like he was asking me if I wanted to watch TV. I nodded, mesmerized by the scenarios surrounding us.
We watched six couples cavorting on a huge water bed in one room, while neon lighting illuminated patches of the graphic action. In another room, a strangely silent group was playing a party trick game of naked Twister. He let go of my hands and his fingers probed me while we watched.
Though the action was explicitly sexual, I didn’t find it sexy. It seemed so mechanical and impersonal, like a male porn fantasy. I personally prefer my sex with dialogue, eye contact and a bit of teasing. This just felt surreal.
I startled, as a large, hairy hand cupped my butt. I felt a man’s heavy breath near my ear. “No,” I yelled, throwing my body toward him at the crude intrusion. “Stop I don’t want to be touched.”
Dude, didn’t you read the sign. Back off, she’s with me,” he said, casually slapping the guy’s hand away.
Shocked out of my reverie, I’d had enough.
I’m ready to go,” I said.
“Sure, let’s get out of here. We can go back to my place.”
In the cab, I was dying to talk about my experience. “That jerk should have been kicked out for breaking the rules.”
“It happens,” he said.
I tried again.
“The people having sex seemed so detached.”
Though he was a man of too-few words, we jumped each other when we got back to his place, both of us fueled by fantasies.
The next morning, over breakfast, I was proud of myself for stretching my limits ― but I didn’t find him particularly interesting or exciting in away but from the steamy incubator of the sex club.

By nutbuster