Neighborhood Association (Swing)

This story involves male-male sexual action, and interracial action. So, Trigger Warning for those who are offended by it. Also, it starts in 3rd Person Omniscient to establish the setting/characters. Then, it shifts to first person through alternating narrators. Sorry if that's confusing, it helps focus on one person's thought/feelings, and there's a lot of bodies in the room.

*****

Mary had a single glass of wine. A nice shiraz, but unwilling to indulge, too much. She sipped it sparingly. Listening to the minutes of the last meeting, and then the first orders of business. Honestly bored with the property values, and taxes, she was there mostly to support her husband. A good business man, she was more content to take care of his house, their children, and schoolwork. So, merely savored the dry aftertaste before refreshing it with another sip of the sweet fruity dark liquid, and a purse of her lips.

Her neighbor, Alan Thompson was more indulgent. His wife serving the men from taps built into their private bar. Not always the location of the meetings, though by far the most popular. Comfortable with couches, a love seat to share with her husband, who stood to press some point of tax law before rejoining her, or returning with his stein for a refill. He usually had more inhibition, but tonight, with each trip, he appreciated the younger wife more and more.

Geraldine Thompson, or "Dina" for short was a looker, even stone sober. Tonight, with her hair down it covered her shoulders, and the open neckline of her dress. Walking back with a foamy refill, he'd seen it up, on her way to work, or returning with her briefcase. Typically in a smart suit, or pantsuit with a well tailored jacket. Buttoned tight enough around her noticeable hips to flare, and swing as she walked. Say up the steps to her porch after a long day, and made up. Whereas his wife, Mary sat there, hands folded in her lap, and her hair held out in a dome around her head.

Carefully brushed out, and sprayed to keep every hair perfect. Just as she would for church, or bible study, book club, or any of the other interests with which she occupied her time. He got used to the smell, but can't help wishing she could let loose, a little. Instead of looking "Presentable" when asked. She's almost obsessed with looking presentable. "How's the Shiraz?"

"Lovely dear." She hardly touched her glass. The money portion of the meeting over, she took his hand. His free hand, and listened. He took another long pull of moderate imported beer. German, but a lager, and honestly couldn't tell the difference. Expensive, though. Al bragged about the cost of shipping it by the keg, but blatantly proud of being able to afford it. On his wife's salary.

Of course he'd also seen her with her hair braided, in 2 tails to hold it securely for her runs. All except the bangs, which bounce with her steps, unlike her chest also securely contained in the lycra confines of a sports bra. As were her generous hips, but her rear. Muscular from her fitness regimen, and lightly hopping back up to her front door. Checking her pulse, glistening with sweat, and catching her breath. Putting her leg up to stretch, then switching out.

Unlike tonight, her cobalt dress doing as much to conceal her powerful looking thighs as accentuate her buxom bust, the half crack of her cleavage, and the tops of her hair, hanging loose.

"Oh," Mary got up to speak. Her nagging voice rising, to testify about the presents left by a dog, to be found by their youngest playing in the yard like easter eggs. Nagging, once again asked what they expect them to do about it, only for her to return the question of what's being done to find the culprit. Like a tennis ball, didn't Dina used to play tennis? Not professionally, but he seemed to remember saying something about enjoying it. Oh right, catching her by the mailbox, asking about her hair.

She'd learned to braid it like that for tennis, not cheerleading, but she might have been seen throwing a racket in the car, and driving off. There's tennis courts at the park, basketball hoops too, but more of a football man, himself. If anything, the tight white dress looked even more amazing than the uniform he'd admired from the stands, but he'd never dated a cheerleader, either.

Clearly seething in frustration, Mary took her seat, and sniffed loudly in her wine glass. Gulped, and calmed down. Forcing him to smile, but that was it. She had her say. "Another glass, buttercup?"

"No, I'm fine." She looked down, and finished it. "You can take this back for me, if you like."

The last order of business, but he still had half an Imperial pint. What's that, 10 or eleven ounces? Maybe a dozen, or so. He leaned up, and watched her rinse it. Reach up to hang it to dry, carefully with it's mates from the overhead rack, and securing the cork back in the neck of the decanted shiraz. "Oh, no. She enjoyed it, she's just. Reserved, she doesn't like to get too loose in public. In fact, who makes it? She might want to get some for the house."

"Berringer." 1999. She turned it to show them the label. Like a model before turning to slide it in the rack on one side, but she had noticed his interest. Her neighbor, as with any neighbor, no. He didn't ask, but she hadn't done any modeling. Considered it, even did some practice, the walk, emulating the beautiful glamorous ladies on the television, but it was a phase, that passed. Now a professional, journalist at a fashion magazine, and a swinger.

Christian men, with a christian wife. Admittedly, one of the better looking ones, but you know the type. Look but don't touch, then probably shamefully confess sinful thoughts on Sunday. Red dark burgundy, he checked. Matching set, bra, and underpants, he'd probably never get to see. She wouldn't mind, and neither would her husband, but his wife. Frowning as the after meeting naturally switched to the usual topics of conversation in this sausage party.

He gave up, returned to her, but the afterparty wouldn't really get swinging until the fuddy dudy frumpy prudes left. "Huh!" Wiping the spill from the counter, he's drunk, but probably not drunk enough. It's just, being the only man there who hadn't already nailed her, there was still a little mystery. Forbidden fruit? But, with the stein rinsed out, and set up to dry on the rim. She'd tended bar, and slept around through college. She wouldn't approve, if she only knew, what pleasures she would have in store for her tall handsome husband, with the reedy voice, green eyes, sandy blonde hair, and expensive haircut.

Dressed casual tonight, but she doesn't do casual. Does her hair to check the mail, or take her kids to school. Or church, of course, but Sunday best, every day. Breaking the tops off of another round of Warsteiners, the guys picked them up. Walking back without their wives. Leering and winking, promising the inevitable gangbang to come, once the good Christian couple left. "Huh!" Imagining the dent she must have molded in her pillow, she poured herself another shot, and downed it. "Ugh, huhH!" Shivered, and chased it with a healthy swig of her pilsner. Poured another, and topped off the Stout for Donald MacIntrye. No head, not yet. At least on his beer, but again, that would have to wait for them to leave.

If this was like any other night, Mary began to fidget as the topic changed, once again to the ever popular debate over who has the hottest wife.

;

Wives (FF NS)

"Could I trouble you for another glass, of that lovely Shiraz?"

"Oh, no trouble."

"I don't usually indulge, but I suppose I can stagger across the street. Mh!" A long slow inhale of the aroma, lipstick just smudging the rim, and closing her eyes to once again wash down the aftertaste. "Hhah!" Licking, and pursing her lips, with a smile as the sweetness gave way to the lingering bitterness, begging for another sip. "Beringer?"

"Yes, but the 99 is supposed to be the best year. More of a whiskey girl myself." Knocking it back, she held the longneck down for another shudder, then washed it down. "Whoh! Good for what alesya!" Laughing to herself. At herself, losening up.

"It's a shame we don't talk so much."

"I suppose being from such different worlds. If you don't mind me asking. How do you keep your hair like that?"

"It's high maintenance," patting the tips just over her shoulder, then turning to check the other side, "But worth all the effort. If you don't mind My asking. What's your secret? To maintaining your, figure. I know you run, but that can't be it. Honestly, you seem to be utterly immune to age, or gravity."

"Well," a grin, "It's high maintenance, but worth the effort."

"I must know, Yoga?"

"Well," another sip, "If you must know." Leaning over to lower her voice, then men laughing loudly, and patting her husband on the back. "I dance."

"Well, maybe if you could slip me the number of your instructor. Where do you two go?"

"Oh, it's nothing so formal." Raising her lowered eyes, to catch, and hold the older woman's. Seriously. "Honestly, it's a bar. Out by the highway?"

"There isn't." Then, she remembered. "Oh," Covered her shock with another sip. "Oh!" Quite a sip.

"Like I said, 2 different worlds, so I understand if you've never been in there." Pouring another shot. "Ugh!" Chasing it.

"So, they let you. Dance there?"

"Well, it's a job, but more of a hobby. Actually, I don't need the money, but I enjoy the attention. From men."

Still holding the glass up, to cover a smile? Hard to tell, that's the intent, but she hasn't run screaming from the basement playroom, just yet. "Siph!" Then blinking, and shaking her hair. Catching something in the mirror, she turned back, as if realizing the masked killer looming over her shoulder with a knife. "Huh!" Patting her blouse over her heart. "I had wondered, why. You have a fireman's pole in the basement."

"It's not a fireman's pole. Haven't you wondered why I don't go to the other meetings." Working 2 jobs, I don't have time for book clubs, wine tastings, making hour d'erves like she does when they host the biweekly meetings. "The men don't bring their wives here, on a night like this?"

"To watch you dance?"

"Uh huh?"

She blinked. "In the nude."

"Eventually. I don't start off that way, but you understand how a strip tease works..." Them up to a gangbang, "There is some nudity." Parental Guidance suggested, "But the journey to get there is what makes it interesting."

"Mhm?" Looking down, wondering where it all went, and then realizing. With another lick of her lipstick, and put as the dry aftertaste kicked in.

"Oh, don't worry about your husband."

"Oh, why?" Watching the liquid pour into the glass, again. "Should I?"

"Of course not, he's faithful."

"Well." Another quick sip. "I only ask, because you mentioned. Attention?"

"Mhm?" Setting down her beer without another shot, she picked up a lemon, and bit into it.

"Well, loathe as I am to admit it. Huh! My Charles has been showing me. A little less, and less over the years." Taking a deep breath, and letting an eyelid droop. "Whoh!" No slurring yet, but has she eaten anything? Looks to be about a buck twenty, maybe 125 pounds. 2 and a half glasses, never seen her drink 2 before.

"Tell me about it. I am a bartender. Honestly, I heard it all, so don't be modest. You mean in bed, of course."

"Of course." Not the sort of woman you really think of Having sex. Despite the evidence of children, but not the sort of woman that even tells them, how that happens. "You know how it is, with. Middle aged men. Honestly I expect a good rodgering tonight. Any night like this. After a meeting here. With you here. Him seeing you, here. I don't know, I should be. Jealous. You know, the 9th commandment?"

"Raised Baptist." She nodded. "I got over it."

"And it's hard to believe, they don't even move." Staring. Not leering, but still. The bisexual woman couldn't help feeling a little warmth, and it wasn't just the alcohol. Almost like being checked out by the librarian.

"Ahem." Pouring another shot. "Ugh!" Shuddering, and finding only dregs, she had to grab a glass, and tap off a chaser.

"Oh, pardon me. I'm being rude."

"You're drunk. It's okay, like I said I appreciate the attention, but. No." She shook her head, "You wouldn't approve."

"Oh? What of?"

Sick and tired of beating around the bush, the swinger just came out and said it. "Silicone. If you must know, my secret." Isn't that much of a secret.

"Oh, I. Didn't realize they made silicone brassiers."

"No, implants. These were an anniversary present, for my husband."

"Oh, yes. I see." She frowned. Pushed back the last half of her third glass. "How long would the recovery for that, sort of thing be?"

"A boob job? I was a little tender for a few weeks, but the pain went away. You ah. You have to take care of them until they heal. To avoid complications."

"What sort of complications?"

"Well, if you don't support them, 24/7, then there's a chance of internal bleeding. So, he won't be able to manhandle them either. For weeks."

Suddenly struck by how surreal it all is, talking to her of all people about getting implants, and. Well? Sex, in general. She knows about sex, and obviously had sex. A married woman, and a mother, but even the part time stripper, bisexual swinger, and honestly neighborhood slut, mistress of every man save one here was even starting to get a little uncomfortable. Like talking to her Mom. Her baptist mom, or Sunday school teacher. Nowait, the minister's wife?

Though she thinks she remembers hearing they go to first Methodist. No, read it, on their bumper sticker. They have a bumper sticker on the bumper of their car for their church, and now she has a few in her, and her eyes keep drooping. Down, her top. While the guys stopped talking how long ago?

All of a sudden, intensely aware that it's quiet, and they're just watching her. Not just any attention. Sexual tension, in the most likely place, from the last person she would ever expect.

"Would you like to see me dance?"

"Oh, yes." She just turned around. Leaned back on the bar stool, and brought her wine glass around with her.

;

Husbands (MMMM NS)

"Really?" My favorite subject, "Swingers, seriously?"

Not about to welcome him to my little club just yet. "I knew you wouldn't approve."

"I just don't understand how that works. You're talking about." Lowering his voice, 'Wife swapping, right?'

Looking around at the guys, half huddled in the corner, but we all know the truth. It's not a competition, I've got the hottest wife on the block, and everyone knows it. Most of them from personal experience.

"Well, you know. When a man sees a beautiful woman, naturally he has desires, and."

"Oh, don't condescend me, smartass. I know all about the birds, and the bees. You're enjoying this?"

"Not really. Sorry. Stop laughing, guys. In all seriousness, it's just natural. That's all it is, I don't own my wife, she has needs too, and I don't mind sharing her with other men, and women. It's just freedom, from religion."

"Yeah, well this is America, and here we have freedom Of religion."

"Always the lawyer, huh? Well, if you look it up, the constitution forbid legislatures from making religious laws. So, while you conservatives may talk about God's law, he doesn't actually have a seat in congress, or the supreme court."

"Wait," he set down his glass stein. "What did you mean, men and women?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. She's bisexual, and there's nothing wrong with that." Brace yourself for the inevitable homophobic tirade.

"You mean, like threesomes?"

"No, usually more like foursomes. Like you said, wife swapping. We couple with other couples, so it's not like."

"You've had sex with another man."

"No, other men, and their wives."

"So you're bisexual too."

"No, she's bisexual. I just have sex with women."

"And their husbands."

"Have sex with them too."

"How can you watch your wife have sex with another guy?"

"Well, honestly? I try to pay more attention to the woman I'm with, but after you clock out. You do know that women are multi-orgasmic. Right?"

"Of course I do. What's that to do with."

"Well, when we get off, it's nice to sit back, and watch the show." Speaking of which, I sit back, and point my chin across the pool table. "She can go all night, and so can I." On a good night, "But you have to take a break to recover." Smoke a cigarette, grab another drink... "They don't." In the corner, surrounded by my friends, and judgemental neighbor. I have the best seat in the house, and the best view of what's developing over at the bar.

Speaking of our wives together. Sometimes, it nice to just sit back, and watch her work. Smiling, flirting, pouring another glass. And another, the church lady, and crusader against that which doggies do, finally pushing that back. So, she took another shot, poured a chaser, and wiped the counter. Leaned in, intimately. Nodding, and resting on her elbows. Hanging just above the polished hardwood surface, so the nice firm perky 38 Cs dragged down the neckline between them.

I'm not going to say Bicurious yet. It's too soon to call it, but the older, modest woman looked. I'll say that, she glanced, and held the glass up over her face. Her smile, warming it with her breath, and set it down. Looked longer, then glanced up. Nervously, self conscious, then finally passed. Pushed back half a glass of honestly cheap Sam's Club, Napa Valley Shiraz, but her eyes drooped.

It got quiet, now that the boys were watching too, and there was a long uncomfortable pause in the conversation that dragged on and on...

Now, she's staring, but my wife hopped up. Bright, and chipper, but she holds her boiler makers like a champ, and stopped by the Karaoki machine on her way around the open end of the bar. The opened bottle next to the wine rack, the cork left on a towel, while the good christian woman turned around, and sat back to watch...

"Huh!" Will you look at that!

I don't know, hard to tell what kind of body she has under that loose buttoned up blouse. Okay, make that buttoned down, undid the collar while I wasn't looking, but tall. Thin, crossing her legs under the long modest skirt, and starting to tap her foot in time with the beat.

The wife doesn't sing, doesn't even lip synch, but I know the words. On the big screen behind her, she just dances...

;

Mary (Strip Tease)

Holds her arm, taking his seat beside his woman. "You think I could do that?" The other woman already up on the pole.

[The only thing that works for me,] Scrolling across, [Help me get away from myself] the screen behind her.

"I don't want to explain installing a stripper pole in the bedroom."

"Exercise pole." Right. "It's very athletic."

"Right," doubting they'd believe that.

"You think I should get breast, augmentation?"

"Honey?" Catching her hand at the second button. "What's gotten into you? You're making a scene."

"Oh, Charles." She pushed her hand off, and flapped her collar. "I'm hot, and besides. You're the only one here that can take your eyes off of her... Charles?"

"They're not real."

"Of course not, she hasn't an ounce of fat on her."

"Don't be silly, sunshine. You know I love you, and everything about you. Don't think you have to get surgery for me."

"Well, look at them." Seriously considering the idea of getting them for herself. Not having the money, so he'd have to foot the bill. Of course, but how much would that cost? She had a Cezarian, certainly it couldn't be worse than recovering from that?

"What?" Did she just tell him, to look at another woman? Topless. Holding on with her legs, and one arm so the other could sweep around, and round... The empty bra swinging out with the momentum.