The Scarlet Letter Scandal (11 page)

“That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t do it,” said Wes.

“Oh, shit,” said Maggie. “If you’re worried, I’m worried. I’m still having a hard time seeing you in a subdivision, especially not the one where they’re talking about the Scarlet Letter Society and allegedly running some swingers’ club.”

“Ohmygod,” said Wes. “I’d have to write a whole play. I smell a Tony for
that
musical.”

Jim Swain, husband of the baker Lisa Swain, sat in a shadowy corner of the strip club on East Baltimore Street in downtown Baltimore. His wife, of course, didn’t know he occasionally came to the seedy clubs downtown after work to stare at the stripper heels of the dancers. He’d made an effort to keep his relentless foot fetish out of the suburban house since Lisa wanted a family so badly. He thought he had overcome the issue, but her desires were different from his, and he found himself here several times a week, struggling with a raging boner in his navy suit pants as he watched the dancers’ feet. He had never had sex with another woman in this setting, so he didn’t consider it cheating. But many times he had paid handsomely for lap dances that involved one of his favorite strippers taking him to a VIP private room, removing her shoe, and teasing him while he masturbated (and sometimes didn’t even need to) until the always-explosive release.

Jim often felt ashamed as he drove home from these encounters, though he figured it wasn’t his fault his wife refused to indulge his fantasies. He’d been obsessed with women’s shoes and feet since he was about twelve and had caught a glance of his teenage sister’s friend in the hot tub with her pedicured feet propped up, sticking out of the water on the edge of the tub. The early experience had locked in a lifelong foot fantasy; people called it a fetish, though he hated that word.

From the day he saw the girl’s feet on the edge of that tub, he’d begun masturbating to pictures of women’s feet. Thankfully there was now Internet porn, giving him plenty to see online. But nothing was the quite the same as experiencing a real foot job. Only one woman he’d dated in his forty-plus years had done this for him, and it wasn’t his wife. The woman, met online while he was traveling, had applied baby oil to her feet and used them to pleasure his naked body, stroking his stiffening rod gently until he almost died from pleasure.

The memory of this encounter was something he still used in his internal “spank bank” (a term he heard in college and still used in his head) on a regular basis. Thinking of that first encounter now, the unimaginable pleasure of someone finally understanding and making him not feel like a freak for what he wanted, Jim decided he’d ask his favorite stripper, Kristinah, to take him to the private room tonight. But first he’d visit the bathroom; he was too aroused now for the one-on-one.

As he walked toward the bathroom, Jim saw a notification on his phone. He typed in the password, and the spyware app opened. In a moment he saw the screenshots from Lisa’s phone. He’d installed the software before giving her the smartphone, and now had access to everything that came up on her phone screen. For months he’d been waiting to see if things were going to heat up between her and that cocksucker graphic designer of hers, but everything had been oddly quiet.

His phone screen showed the first message:

Lisa: You won’t believe it. There is a newspaper article Zarina gave me and it calls out our “adulteresses” club.

As he began to boil and lose focus with anger, Jim caught only phrases from the exchange: “mentions the swinger club in my neighborhood too…” “I just don’t want it to get around that it’s us…” “extreme whores.”

Jim shut the phone off and shoved it into his pocket, his former level of arousal at the stripper show now diminished.
That whore
, he thought.
I knew it
.
I knew she fucked him.
All these months of coddling her, getting rid of all those perfect shoes, decorating a nursery. Who knew if that baby had even been his? He seethed. After composing himself a bit, he decided there would be no more guilt about his foot
fantasy
. He would indulge his desires with or without her. He texted Lisa, telling her that he had a late meeting today and an early one in the morning, so he’d be staying in the city tonight.

He walked out to the strip club with a new level of confidence. He sat at the table directly in front of Kristinah, her long, tanned, oiled perfect legs just a few feet from him. She wore a midnight blue sequined set: bra, panties… and the pièce de résistance: 160mm meridian blue Swarovski crystal platform heels. They were $6,000 shoes. He happened to know this because he had given them to her right before the show. A tip, really. (If Lisa knew how he’d hidden money aside from his real estate development company—hell, if
his company
knew how much money he’d “tucked away” for his fetish hobby?—everyone would be extremely unhappy with him.) And now, the shoes were also perfectly timed as perhaps a bit of bribery. Though he had never asked, Jim knew for a fact that Kristinah would meet him at a hotel later that evening. He’d book it right from his phone and text her the address. Previously, they’d only really texted about her work schedule; he’d made sure to get there early enough to give her the new shoes. For the first time, he was going to get to see her outside the walls of this club. She knew him and his needs and she wouldn’t care if he wanted to massage her feet all night long. He wondered if he could orgasm just from touching her naked feet. The thought made him grow hard.

She worked the pole, grinding her hips to Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love a Bad Name.” Her long layered bleached blond hair, not a far stretch from those original ’80s videos by the big hair band, whipped around as she slid up and down the pole. Occasionally she would dance over and smile at Jim. He held up his phone, pointing toward it to indicate he’d texted her. She winked and nodded at him, slipping her foot out of one of the heels and sliding it up and down the pole. His dick grew as hard as the metal pole she twirled on, as he envisioned what it would be like to have that gorgeous foot of hers in his mouth.

September 2013

Rocksprivatefitnessclub.com

COME ONE, COME ALL.

Join us tonight for
Anything Glows
night! No need to hide in a private room. Wear your blacklight neon pasties and come on over as we enjoy sexy dance music, nude swimming under the stars, light-up drinks and glow-in-the-dark hands-on FUN!

About

Rocks Private Fitness Club is a membership-only lifestyle club. We don’t give our location online because no walk-in memberships are accepted. If you’ve heard enough about us to check out our website, you already know where we are in a neighborhood near you! We hold special events most weekends and you can find more information about them by checking our main page. COME ONE, COME ALL.

Rules

Basics
: All club members must fill out an application in-house and await approval. No single men, but single women are allowed. We host singles nights once a month where single men can come for a $75 cover. Single women are ALWAYS FREE. Nudity accepted anywhere inside the club and inside the fenced pool area. Bamboo is planted around the pool fence for privacy; please don’t leave this area without clothing on. Don’t forget to RSVP for each party using the link on the main page.

Special Events
: From Tiki Bar Toga night to Masquerade Mystery parties and Swinger Swing Dance night to Stripper Poker, we always keep it fun so check the main part of the website to see what calendar events are COMING up.

$
: Drink mixers are provided, BYOB. Tip jar on bar is used for membership DONATIONS, cash only when attending parties and to help cover house costs, condoms, tissues, blow job throat numbing spray, hand sanitizer, etc. Minimum $40 per guest per party is expected. Remember that this place costs A LOT OF MONEY to run - pool towels, linens, electricity, etc. We will not be able to stay open without your donations so please stay home if you don’t want to pitch in.

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.