Mom at the Roxy

Mom frowned at me, and brushed a few wayward strands of hair from her face. "Well, you'll never know if you don't ask her. Anyway, you'd be better off placing an ad in one of the real swinger magazines. There are a bunch of them covering Southern California. Have you seen the rack of them at the Roxy?" I nodded.

"You get serious responses with those ads. With the Observer, you might get a bunch of cranks and people playing games. Anyway, place an ad looking for a bi girl. You'll get responses. Not a lot, but enough to choose from. And you'll improve your odds considerably if you run a photo of yourself and Angie."

I snorted. "Get real, Mom. A photo's out of the question. And swinger magazines might be a little too hardcore for Angie." I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. "How often do those magazines come out?"

"It depends. Monthly or quarterly."

"That settles it then. It would be months before we could make this happen. I think I should take my chances with the Observer."

"Suit yourself. But don't say I didn't warn you."

I smiled at her. "You sure seem to know what you're talking about."

She shrugged. "I've got some experience in the matter," she said with a shy smile. "You know Troy, I just want this to work out for you. And Angie too. I want to see you happy."

"I know Mom." I stretched out on the sheets, considering what she had just told me. "Tell me this - do you have experience with other girls, too?"

She laughed. "My, you're full of questions this morning." She tickled my feet playfully. "Well, for your information, I have. Lots of experience," she emphasized.

I kicked her hands away from my ticklish feet, while she continued. "I like getting it on with other women. I get horny just thinking about it."

She seemed deep in thought, and we went silent. After a few minutes, though, the quiet was broken by her girlish giggle. "Looks like I'm not the only one who gets horny." I looked up, and she nodded toward my crotch. My prick was semi-hard, and growing fast.

She looked at me with smoldering eyes, and breathed, "maybe I can take care of that." She crawled over to me, and lowered her mouth to my willing prick.

_________

"So Angie, what do you think"

A week had passed, and I was on the phone with Angie. I had decided to go with my Mother's instincts, at least partially. I had just broached the idea of running a personal ad in the Observer. I was in my usual position - flat on my back and nude, phone held to my ear. My prick was hard just from the thought of what I was asking Angie to do.

Unfortunately, she wasn't responding. I said a nervous, silent prayer.

Finally, she exhaled loudly into the telephone. "Okay, Troy, we'll do it. But if I don't like the response we get, I don't want to go through with it. I've got to be comfortable with the girl."

"Of course. I don't want to do anything you don't." I tried to sound cool and casual, but I'm sure she sensed my excitement. I began rubbing my erection.

"And it's got to be a single girl. I don't want any boyfriends or husbands complicating things, okay? And she has to be pretty."

"Of course," I replied. "This is going to be fantastic Angie!"

I was giddy with anticipation. "Tell, you what. I'll start thinking of what the ad will say and read it to you next time we talk. That way, I can place the ad, say, in the next week or two, and we should start getting responses by the time you get back out here. Let's see..." I consulted my mental calendar. "That's only three weeks."

"Okay." She laughed. "But you sure are in a hurry."

"I know," I admitted. "But I'm really excited about this Angie." I paused. "Are you excited?"

She was silent for a moment. "Yeah, I've gotta admit, I am." She chuckled. "This might be pretty...interesting."

__________

Mom seemed just as thrilled as me when I gave her the news the next evening - she was genuinely happy for Angie and me. But she cautioned me not to get my hopes up too high. Sometimes, she told me, swinger ads just don't work out like you hope they will. She offered to help me write the ad, but I didn't want to take the time. I picked up a copy of the Observer the next day and scanned the ads to get some ideas. I scribbled out some text and called Angie that evening.

"Okay, Angie, here's what I've got." I cleared my throat and recited the letter: "Attractive couple, early 20's seek slim and attractive bi woman for fun times and hot sex. She's a blond gorgeous bi hardbody. He's attractive and horny. We're both sane and excited - you be too. Please send photo and phone.

"There. What do you think?"

"Hmm," she paused. "Well, I'm not sure if I'd call myself either bi or gorgeous."

"Oh c'mon Angie," I scolded. You're definitely gorgeous. And I'm pretty sure that the whole point of the ad is that you're bi."

She giggled. "Yeah, okay. I guess you're right. But what's this thing about being sane?"

"A lot of the ads say that. I guess it's to make sure weirdoes don't respond."

"They better not."

"So, is it okay then? I can fax the ad to the Observer tomorrow."

Silence.

"Angie?"

"Okay," she said quietly. "Let's do it."

_______

And so I paid the $20 fee and ran the ad. I anxiously checked my mailbox at the apartment complex mail center every day for the next two weeks until I got my first bundle of forwarded responses. I grabbed them out of the mailbox and ran, tripping and eager, to my apartment.

My heart was pounding with a nervous thrill when I tossed the pile on the kitchen table. There were about 20 letters, which was a response beyond my wildest dreams. I imagined letters and photographs from beautiful, hot women eager to have sex with us. With trembling hands, I opened the first letter in the pile.

It contained a grainy black and white photo of...a 60-year-old guy with a hardon. I squinted at the accompanying letter in an effort to make out the virtually illegible handwriting. A single guy wrote it as far as I could tell - there was no mention of a wife or girlfriend.

Disappointed, I tossed the letter on the floor and plucked the next letter from the pile. There was no photo. I sighed with frustration, and opened the next letter. Well, this one had a photo at least. Finally, a single woman, but she appeared to be 50 years old and was obese.

I sighed and spent the next half-hour going through the remaining responses. There were one or two of mild interest, meaning they were at least youngish single women. But each of them sounded slightly creepy in the letter. All of the other nineteen letters were worthless. I sat back in my chair, frustrated nearly to tears. I decided to call my Mom for sympathy, staring ruefully at the discarded pile of letters as I dialed.

"I'm sorry sweetie," she said, after I explained what had happened. "I guess this isn't working out like you hoped."

"No, not at all." I sighed. "I guess you were right about not getting my hopes up too high."

"I think so, Troy. And I don't want to rub it in - you feel bad enough. But I think running your ad in a swinger magazine would have worked better."

"I know," I agreed.

"But still, it should have turned out better. Read your ad to me."

I grabbed my copy of the Observer, flipped to the personal ads, and recited my letter to her over the phone.

"Well, one problem right off the bat - you didn't say what age you were looking for. Plus, you didn't say where you're from."

I thumped my head in understanding. "Geez, you're right. I can be a dumbass sometimes."

"Now come on Troy. You're not a dumbass. And you'll get more letters. Maybe they'll turn out better." She paused. "Tell you what. Next time you get responses, give me a call. We can go through them together."

"Yeah, okay." I said goodbye and hung up the phone. I scooped the discard pile off the floor and angrily threw it in the garbage. I saved only the two "potentials", but I doubted that we'd be interested. I knew Angie wouldn't, at least. I clung to my Mom's hope that things would improve.

But the following week, the news wasn't a whole lot better. Mom and I were seated at opposite sides of my kitchen table, each of us with a short stack of seven or eight responses in front of us. We each went through our pile, one by one. I found one promising letter from a 25-year-old bi girl, about an hour's drive away. She seemed to be reasonably normal. Unfortunately, she was a bit overweight and rather plain-looking.

This was getting discouraging. I stared bitterly at the stack of discards.

"What about this one?"

I looked up, and saw my Mother holding a letter and photo out to me. I took them from her, and scanned the photo, which was of higher quality than almost any other I had received. It looked like it had been shot in a modeling studio.

The woman was far more attractive than any others that I had looked at. In fact, she was downright pretty. She wasn't nude in her photo, but she wore a very skimpy pair of lace panties and matching bra, and had a great body. Her dark brown hair was pinned up. She wore rather too much makeup, more than I care for at least, but overall, she was almost exotic looking.

I glanced up at my Mother and grinned. "Hmm, so far, so good."

I began reading the letter, which ran nearly three pages long. It was a chatty letter and intelligently written. The woman went into substantial detail about herself. Her name was Janice, and she was "30-something". She said that she was originally from Georgia, now lived in Southern California, and that she loved the free and open lifestyle here. She described herself as a "normal" woman with a healthy sexual appetite. She closed by saying that she hoped that we'd like her letter and photo, included her telephone number, and was interested in talking on the phone, and then hopefully meeting.

My Mom was watching my reaction. "Well, what do you think?" she asked.

I smiled broadly. "Pretty awesome. And I don't see how Angie wouldn't like her. Maybe a little older than we had in mind, but I don't think that would be a problem."

Mom stared at me intently. She licked her lips and swallowed. "Troy...?" she began. "Do you love Angie?"

"Do I love her?" I was confused by the question. "Well, no, not really. I mean, we like each other a lot, but it's not love. I don't know if I see this as a long-term relationship, if that's what you're driving at." I put down the letter and leaned back in my seat. "Why do you ask?"

Well, I just think you should be honest with those you love. Because there's something about this letter...

_________

I sat alone in the booth, watching the band set up in the far corner of the nightclub on the ground floor of the Pacific Inn. I was fidgeting in my seat, waiting for Angie to come down from our room. She had insisted on some last minute primping. I couldn't wait, so I came down early to have a shot of bourbon on the rocks to try to calm my nerves.

The big night had finally arrived - the night I would get to watch Angie have sex with another woman. I nervously traced the cold condensation trails on my glass as I reflected on how we had arrived at this point. My butterflies weren't only due to anticipation about what was to come. No, I was also still fretting about my having deceived her. She had loved the photo and letter from Janice, and the brief telephone conversation went very well. Angie was definitely agreeable to meeting her tonight. The problem was, it was much more complicated than that.

I was about to order a second drink when Angie arrived. She looked gorgeous. At my request, she was wearing the same short black skirt and tubetop that she wore that night four months before when she first told me about having sex with another woman. There weren't many men in the nightclub yet, but every one of them ogled Angie as she strode confidently toward my booth. Her slim tan legs, skirt barely covering her, nipples slightly protruding - she looked spectacular. She flashed a shy little smile and slid into the booth next to me.

We ordered a second round of drinks and sat in nervous anticipation for Janice to arrive. We said little. I think I was too tense, and Angie appeared to be much the same - she fidgeted in her seat and tapped on the table, frequently glancing toward the front door of the lounge.

I nodded toward Angie's margarita. "Is that helping?"

"Helping?"

"Yeah. Helping you lose your inhibitions."

She giggled. "I think so. I hope so." She downed the rest of her drink. "Anyway, I'm so horny that I don't think my inhibitions will be a problem."

"Hmmm. I like the sound of that!"

Finally, Angie nudged me and nodded toward the entrance. There was Janice at last, standing just inside the front door of the nightclub, and allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. She spotted us waving toward her after a few moments, and immediately made her way to our table with proud grace.

She looked just like she did in the photo. She was stunning, and seemed much younger than her age. Her dark brown hair was piled on top of her head in loose curls. Her dark mascara and long eyelashes made her appear to be Hispanic, although I knew that she wasn't. She was wearing a short, light blue and white-striped dress, low-cut and sexy. About three inches of cleavage were exposed - the remainder of her full breasts jiggled erotically under the dress as she walked toward the table.

She discreetly winked at me as I stood to greet her. "Hi, I'm Troy. You must be Janice?"

"Yes, nice to meet you Troy, and please, call me Jan." She turned to Angie. "And you must be Angie." The two of them hugged briefly by way of greeting.

Jan slid into the booth next to Angie, and we ordered a drink for her. The three of us chatted about basically nothing for about ten minutes, slowly getting to know each other. She was as friendly as she seemed in her letter and on the telephone, and I could tell that Angie was very relieved.

Angie excused herself to go to the lady's room. Jan watched her swaying hips as she walked away, then turned to me.

"Whew," she exhaled softly. "So far so good, I think. But I'm a nervous wreck."

I reached out and patted her warm thigh. "Don't sweat it Mom. It's going great! Angie suspects nothing - heck, even I can barely recognize you. We did a great job with the hair, makeup, everything. And that accent..." I shook my head and chuckled. "It sounds like you lived in Georgia your entire life."

But Mom was still nervous.

"I know, but..." she bit her lip nervously. "I'm just so worried that she knows. I keep thinking I see this little look of recognition, like she's trying to place where she's seen me before."

"Relax, okay? She doesn't recognize you, and she won't. We talked about this - the only time she's ever seen you, it was so dark that she probably can't really even remember what you look like. Plus, that was three months ago. That, and the makeup...there's no way. Just enjoy yourself. I am."

"Alright - I'll do my best."

I patted her arm reassuringly. "Okay, here she comes."

As the drinks flowed, we gradually became more comfortable in each other's company. We were all nervous, for very different reasons, but our inhibitions gradually washed away with the alcohol.

I was almost feeling left out of the conversation as they chatted away. The band had begun playing at the far end of the bar, and I couldn't hear much of the conversation anyway. I began to make a hobby of watching their body language. It was subtle at first, but it was evident to me that they were developing a rapport with one other. As women friends often do, they touched each other frequently as they spoke.

I was relieved. It would have been very disappointing, after all the planning that we had put into this evening, to find out that Angie didn't like "Jan". She had liked the response to the ad we had placed, the photograph that "Jan" had "sent", and the telephone conversation. But I didn't know how things would work out when they actually met in person.

The music seemed to get louder, and the nightclub was beginning to fill up with noisy patrons. Young partiers shimmied frenetically on the dance floor to the throbbing beat. I was having more and more difficulty keeping up with the conversation, so I entertained myself by doing some people watching. Mostly, though, I watched the subtle signals between Angie and my Mom. Yup, a lot of little touches, sprinkled with lots of laughter. They were leaning in very close to one another. A couple of times I saw my Mom discreetly looking down into Angie's lap, admiring her legs. I've got to admit, the view was nice from my angle too. What with her short skirt, and those tanned, slim legs...well, they looked great to me too. This was going well.

I wasn't being completely ignored though. My Mother occasionally looked toward me with her big, brown eyes and flashed a discreet, knowing smile at me, as if to say, "Well, it looks like we're actually gonna pull this off." A couple of times, they both looked at me and giggled like schoolgirls, as if exchanging some private joke. That made me a little self-conscious, I must admit.

After about half an hour, my Mom excused herself to go to the lady's room, and Angie turned her attention to me. She squeezed my arm playfully and smiled.

I motioned the waiter to bring another round of drinks, then I leaned toward Angie to make myself heard over the music.

"Well, how's it going?" I asked.

She smiled widely. "Great! It seems very comfortable. I almost feel like I've known her for a long time. She seems very familiar."

Oh-oh. This was not good. I struggled to figure out a way to divert her thoughts, but there was no need, as she continued on. "Plus, she's damned sexy." Her look turned sultry.

I arched an eyebrow. "That sounds encouraging. So, do you think it's going to work out then?"

She nodded. "Definitely."

"So what were you two talking about? I couldn't hear a thing with this music."

"Oh, just girl-talk."

"Oh, and another thing," I said with a stern look on my face. "Why were you looking at me so much?"

She looked at me innocently. "We were not!"

I poked her playfully in the ribs. "Were too. I saw you."

She stroked her hair, twirling it into a little curl with her finger. "Well, if you must know, she asked what you were like in bed."

My eyes widened, and I felt my cock stirring in my pants. "Oh man. And you told her what?"

She giggled. "I said you were pretty damn good of course."

I winked at her. "Thatta girl."

She looked at me evilly. "We also played a little footsie under the table. She's been rubbing her leg against mine for the last ten minutes."

"Hey, hey, I like the sound of that," I replied. I placed my hand on her warm inner thigh, just below the hemline of her skirt.

Angie looked at me slyly. "If you go a little higher, you'll get a surprise."

"A surprise? And what would that be?"

She nodded toward my hand and smirked. "You'll see."

I quickly glanced around the room to make sure no one was looking. The band was just completing their set, and the dance floor was emptying, but no one was headed our way. The young couple at the next table seemed to be focused on each other. No one was paying attention to us, so I inched my hand up her inner thigh. I dove under her skirt, and felt the warmth increasing. Only a couple of inches to go...and then I felt soft hair.

My eyes widened. "Why you dirty girl!" I said with mock gravity. "And where did your panties go, young lady?"

"Took 'em off in the ladies room."

I began brushing my fingers through her pubic hair, hidden by the tablecloth.

"Ooh," she cooed, and spread her legs slightly.

"I like it," I said.

She chuckled. "You're not the only one. Jan was impressed too."

"You mean, you told her?" I asked with mock horror.

"No, actually she saw under my skirt," she replied. "I made sure of it. In fact, that's one of the reasons she went to the lady's room. She said she wanted to take hers off too."