The Club

byexiledmaster©

I hope you'll forgive me writing to you.

I'm not one of your constituents. My name is Julie Peters. I live about ten miles away. I have no links to your constituency, but I have a problem that you can address directly.

Some of your fellow councillors want to shut down some business premises in your area. It's a place called The Club. You'll know of it, I'm sure.

I know about it. I'm a customer there.

If your colleagues have their way and close the Club down it will affect me greatly.

Let me tell you about myself.

I'm an ordinary woman. Divorced, three kids, small house on an estate where everyone else is the same and where the take-up rate for anti depressants is three times the national average. I would never have found my way to the Club in a hundred years. I'd have carried on taking uppers and swigging cheap Lambrusco and wondering why I never felt healthy.

I did what your party suggests Councillor. I got a job. A rubbish job, a job making phone calls for a company no-one's ever heard of. As a worker I got to know my fellow workers. I met Tom.

Tom's another one living a life that could so easily end in a bottle of pills or a succession of mornings marked by spilled glasses and the remains of half eaten takeaways. He's a nice guy. We hit it off at work, and we got to talking, and I found I could talk to him in ways that I've never spoken to a man before.

We're getting to the nub of it councillor, don't worry. I just wanted to grab your attention so that my letter wouldn't go straight in the bin.

The issue is sex Councillor. That's why people want to close the Club, because people like me and Tom have sex there...

I don't suppose it's a question you get asked much on the doorstep. What is your opinion of group sex and exhibitionism Councillor?

I've just re-read the above and feel I ought to explain. I don't have sex with Tom. We have similar tastes, I like well endowed, vigorous men, and so does he. The Club is a place we can go to meet them.

Now, it's not as if the club advertises. I suspect you didn't know it was there until the story hit the local rag. Most of your constituents didn't either. It was just a failed gym in a back street. It doesn't draw attention to itself now. You wouldn't, would you? There are no signs outside. You can't hear any noise outside the building.

That's important. The newspaper article talked about people complaining about the loud music. There isn't any.

The music has to be at a certain level, loud enough to mask the conversation, but quiet enough so that people who want to be heard can be heard. That being able to be heard is important to some people.

There's a woman who comes to the club, Bea. She comes with her lover (yes I know, no pun intended). He's a nice guy, and they're very fond of each other I think. She likes people to hear her little gasps as he slips his hand under her skirt and strokes her. She once told me that the cruellest thing he could do to her would be to make her wear headphones with loud music so she couldn't hear the sound his hand makes on her flesh when he spanks her. I know what she means. I love the sound of men's bodies slapping against me.

It's about freedom and sharing ultimately. I don't have to sleep with anybody. I could make do with a vibrator and lurid fantasies. I used to. But fantasies don't reassure you that anybody wants you, and a vibrator can't say no. So now I can have men, when and how and where I want them.

Sometimes I have women. Sometimes, more precisely, they have me. I'm not like Bea. She's a submissive, a woman who adores being dominated. I think she has quite a high pain threshold as well. Her master is an amazing character. He hurts her and loves her in the same moment, and you can see it in his eyes. Me? Some men call me a slut. So do some of the women as well. I don't see myself that way. I just enjoy making people come. I don't care whether they come over me, or into a condom inside me, or because of me... I want them to come...

Do you ever wonder why being a mum is such a powerful emotion Councillor? Do you ever wonder why teenage girls become mums so happily? It's because that look on a child's face, that they know you care, that they know they are the centre of your world, is sometimes the only thing a woman can create and control for herself.

I created something new for myself. I created a woman who can make men look at her in the same way, a woman who has a directory of men who want her and like her and desire her. If they want to have me they have to know how to treat me, to praise me for my ability to make them come, my willingness to open my body to them.

I have a directory of women as well. Women who are willing to tell me that I'm the best lover they've ever had, that the feel of my tongue on their pussy is as good as any sex they've ever had. I'll let women do things that men can't with me; if a woman wants to call me a slut it's jealousy; if a man does it it's disrespectful.

Do you need to know this councillor? I think you do. Thee people who go to the club aren't all like me; they aren't all mindless prisoners of their lust either. Not that lust is a bad thing. Lust can be lovely; lust can be freedom and it can be breathtaking.

Imagine me walking through the door of the club councillor. I'm with Tom. We're past the stage we used to be at, when each night would start with a bet, or a challenge. Now we play more casually, we're more relaxed and more we have nothing to prove. It's a Thursday night; the club bill it as bisexual night but in my mind it's anything goes night.

Even though Tom isn't my lover I get a sexual kick out of dressing him for play, and he gets a kick out of us going to the club as a pair. (When my kids are older we'll probably share a house, but it would be too much to explain now.) So we've dressed as a pair tonight; I'm wearing a man's dinner jacket; underneath it I'm wearing a half cup bra, a thong and hold up stockings, all in black. Heels as well, of course. They matter to Tom as well as to me. I've dressed Tom for the occasion. Shaven heads are a great fashion look for men, but it means guys like Tom can wear wigs easily too. So he's wearing a wig, blonde, shoulder length. It's taken me hours to make sure all his body is hairless, but we've done it, so that the silk of the underwear he's wearing slides smoothly over his skin.

That's all he's wearing; a wig, a silk body, some white hold up stockings, and backless high heels. His erection is starting to show through the silk, and I'm hoping that my juices will be showing through my thong when I shed my jacket.

We sound like a couple of middle class swingers don't we councillor, with elaborate costumes and hours spent preparing. My dinner jacket came from Oxfam councillor - so did Tom's shoes. We listen to colleagues at work talking about going out and getting drunk and spending thirty pounds or more in bars in the hope of meeting someone they desire -- we get all we want for fifteen pounds as a couple at the club.

You don't need to now the details councillor. One threesome and five men, as I remember, but you don't need to know the details. You might want to know the details, and if you do you can email me back councillor. The woman from the threesome is in my book now though councillor, and one of the five men is shaping up nicely. Tom's night was more romantic I think -- he spent the night with one man and came into work the next day glowing like a bride who's just discovered what sex really is.

We're ordinary people councillor, and you want to stop us enjoying ourselves -- show me how we harm people and I'll stop bothering you.

Yours truly,

Julie Peters

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