The question remains, though. Am I still madly in love with Drew—a man with a completely different view of life than my own? Or am I just settling because I’m comfortable?
And to make it ten times worse, I hate the fact that it’s taken another man—someone so fitted to my personality—to make me doubt my relationship.
Chapter Seven
Drew
I should have known that Troy had elaborate plans to make this a memorable night. To be honest, I thought strip joint downtown or a road trip to Vegas. Never in my wildest dreams did I think we’d be spending the night in a sex club.
“I had to pull a lot of favors to get us in,” Troy discloses.
“Dude, I don’t care how you did it.” Isaac, a good friend of mine, rubs his hands together with a pleased smile.
“What does this mean?” Robert, another friend asks. “Do we get to fuck the women? And does everyone have to watch?”
“You don’t fuck anyone. You’re not a member of the club just a bystander. So, don’t get us kicked out, okay?” Troy warns the three of us.
Troy quickly explains the rules, and the most important rule is no cell phones allowed. They are to be ‘checked in’ like a coat restricting perverts who come in to take photos and blast them all over the Internet. We also aren’t allowed to participate in any activities. It piqued my interest, a much-needed relaxation after a very stressful day at work. I’m more than happy to watch other people have sex and lose myself in their inhibitions rather than think about the man who died on the operating table or the fact our bank statement arrived, and our balance has taken a massive hit with all the wedding costs.
The club is in an upscale part of town down the street from expensive townhouses and neighboring restaurants. From the outside, it’s a simple brick building with a few trees and a sconce against the wall. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if the clientele are locals, money to be splashed around to feed their fetishes.
Troy enters a passcode on the keypad which opens the door into a compact lobby. It’s the size of a cloakroom—small and tight—as we pack ourselves in at the mercy of the large bodyguard standing in front of an iron door. Troy hands him his cell. We all follow, the guard handing Troy a ticket explaining to him that if he loses it, there will be no other way to retrieve our cells. With the ticket like gold in his hand, he squeezes it into his sock sliding it down until it’s tucked securely into his shoe.
The guard leans into Troy whispering a few words before opening the door. I don’t ask Troy what he said nor do I care. We follow Troy’s lead which ends just a few short steps later at a bar area. It’s quaint with a few occupied tables. There’s a small dance floor with soft music playing and a couple dancing the tango gracing the dance floor with their moves. Taking a seat at the bar, Troy orders us a round of shots.
“To Drew, get ready to lose your balls. Marriage is many things, but lots of sex isn’t one of them,” he roars, clinking glasses with the three of us.
The smile on my face covers my growing fears. I have quite a sexual appetite and a partner who feels the same, I hope. But last week taught me many things I have yet to learn about Zoey. Aside from the wedding planning and her so-called busy work life, she’s quick to push aside our intimacy in exchange for what she called a ‘special’ wedding night. I thought it was one of her silly jokes to tease me relentlessly so I would take her hard and fast, giving her a mind-blowing orgasm. But I was wrong. To boost my dampening confidence, I tried many things to entice her, things as simple as walking around the house naked or wearing my glasses more often because she has a thing for men with glasses.
Nothing.
Nada.
Then, I took the matter into my own hands jerking off beside her, hoping she would succumb to her desires and ride my cock like a wild cowgirl while realizing her ideology of the perfect wedding night was pure rubbish.
She just sat there unaffected while typing an email as if no one else was in the room. I managed to finish, but afterward, I was even more frustrated than when I began. I turned over and ignored her. The next day, I avoided her like the plague, kissing her cheek and wishing her a good day, keen to go to work and keep my mind occupied.
Rob interrupts my thoughts telling us a story about his ex-girlfriend and how she almost cried after they had sex every time. It was comical and urged us to drink more before Troy tells us we should visit the rest of the club.
Behind the second iron door is where the action happens. We’re forced to go through another checkpoint, and this time, the guard’s a bit friendlier. Walking through the door and down the hallway, we see a sign on each door. Troy leads us to the first room, and much like an operating theater, we sit on these leather benches watching through the glass window as two ladies are eating each other out. I didn’t expect it to be so forward, hell, I didn’t really believe these places existed. I can’t peel my eyes away from the girls gawking like a hormonal teenager. They’re going at it pretty hard, the petite one leaning back with her head hanging off the table. The voluptuous woman with the nice big tits is running her tongue along the tip of her clit teasing her slowly while sliding her finger in and out of her pussy.
Fuck me.
Inside the room sat an older couple holding hands and watching intently. Trying not to appear obvious, my eyes wander sideways to catch a glimpse of them. Definitely in their fifties and dressed impeccably. On the other side sits a man—alone. He watches the girls intently, his facial expression no more than a blank stare.
Back when I was single, this would have been a treat. I’ve been with two women before, and it was a great experience, but sitting here with the boys left a different feeling.
Somewhat awkward. Like watching porn in a group. Hilarious but not a turn-on.
The boys mumbled something to me about visiting another room. I tell them to go ahead as I stay here watchi
ng. Despite the salacious act happening behind the glass window, my mind drifts to Zoey. I’m kind of glad that Mia switched the party to tonight. I can hang out with the boys in peace knowing she will be equally busy probably watching some gay guy play straight on a stage dancing to Madonna.
With Mia pregnant, they will hardly get up to much mischief. I miss Zoey, though, and want to text to her, but without my cell—combined with my stubborn attitude—I brush it aside and enjoy my surroundings.
Surprisingly, I lose interest rather quickly and join the boys in the threesome lesbian room. It’s mildly entertaining, but my head isn’t in the right space. I rarely drink but feel the urge to loosen my tense muscles. Something which could easily be fixed by Zoey blowing me off.
Oh, that’s right—she’s off-limits for another few weeks.