New Xanadu Pt. 01

This story grew out of a tale of a very unexpected encounter in a sex club, which largely remains to be written because as I got into it I realized there was a back story that had to be written first. Much to my surprise, that back story took, for better or worse, 12 chapters and over 60,000 words.

Many of those words are talk - yes, the people who populate this story tend to talk and talk and talk, in the process of which they make themselves known to us. But, while this is not intended as a stroke story, the also fuck and fuck and fuck, along with some other things, all in the name of uninhibited sex. Hence, Literotica.

My story takes place in and around Chicago - but not the Chicago that you will find on a map. This Chicago, along with the other places that I mention, exists in my mind or, if you prefer, in an alternate universe. So, when I get around to mentioning certain people in a less than positive light please, anyone who is connected to their counterparts in the real world, keep in mind that this is all a fantasy, intended to amuse, not describe, defame or injure anyone real.

Part 1

Hi, my name is John and I'm a sex addict.

To make a short story longer, let me give some background. I was born into what seemed to me to be typical, upper-middle class WASP family. I was your typical semi-fit (JV but not Varsity, baseball and soccer), semi-bright, aimless teenager. Not having any better plan, I fulfilled the family expectation of going to college, where I ended up with a business degree.

After working for a year and seeing how much more the MBAs made, I got motivated enough to go back to school for one of those. I graduated in a good year for Finance MBAs and I secured a plum banking job. Somewhat to everyone's embarrassment, I started out at about the same salary that my father was making after 25 years working for one firm.

Throughout my college years I was quite the cocksman as a result of which (with a lot of help from a busted condom) I ended up with a pregnant girlfriend, Gloria, who became my pregnant wife right after I got my Masters. Gloria and I bought a comfortable house in a comfortable neighborhood in one of Chicago's western suburbs, about 10 miles away from where I grew up. Just perfect, right? Well, actually, not by a long shot. After Little John was born, in spite of her premarital enthusiasm, the girl that I married had become a near-frigid woman. I, on the other hand, had not forgotten the joys of casual sex that I had discovered and indulged in so frequently throughout my high school and college years.

After over a year of trying to get Gloria to open up again in the bedroom (the only place she'd consent to even plain vanilla sex), I started looking elsewhere. I started "having to work late" to accommodate a series of after-work quickies. I even entered into a brief affair with a co-worker.

Gloria's semi-frigidity didn't make her stupid. She became suspicious enough to hire a private detective to get the goods on me. When he'd gotten them she insisted that if I wanted to stay in the marriage, I had to start going to meetings of Sex Addicts Anonymous. I agreed (thus becoming an official sex addict) on condition that she try to loosen up and help return our married sex to something approaching its premarital excitement. After all, we had a son who I loved, and once upon a time we had had some pretty decent sex involving flavors other than vanilla - occasionally approaching even the banana split level, though without the cherry; she'd given all of hers to other boyfriends before we met.

It was actually my attendance at SAA meetings that led to the end of our marriage, though her failure to uphold her end of the bargain was also a big factor. Those meetings changed my life; just not the way they were expected to.

Our group met every Friday evening and usually had about 30 people, not always the same, at most meetings; about 3 to 1 men to women. Most, like me, were in their late 20s, plus or minus about 5 years, though there were a few older. Maybe due to its location in one of Chicago's wealthier northwestern suburbs its membership was almost all white and, based on clothing and demeanor, well above-average financially. Nobody claimed to be gay, though several said that they were bi or bi-curious.

After my first dozen meetings, it became clear to me that as much as half the group members' hearts just weren't in it. Like me, they indicated that they had been more or less forced to attend. Like me, it turns out that most were going though the motions, with little hope of achieving recovery, or "sexual sobriety" as the program called it.

By this time it was also clear to me that my wife had the same attitude toward her own sexual "recovery" as I had to mine. Yes, when I asked she started giving me head again, and once she let me bend her over the kitchen counter and take her ass, but all without enthusiasm. In fact, even the plain vanilla bedroom sex had gone down hill, with her now just lying there and enduring whatever I was doing rather than participating. So, after nearly four months, I was ready to chuck everything.

Before the fateful meeting I prepared some little cards, like business cards only they said "I have a better idea. Please meet me at the Starbucks on the corner after the meeting tonight. John." I had picked out other members of the group who seemed as consistently unhappy with being there as I was. During the meeting I gave one of my cards to 5 men and 3 women. They'd all introduced themselves by other names, but for the sake or protecting the guilty I'm changing those here. There were another man and woman I'd wanted to invite, but they weren't at that meeting. Too bad. I really liked their looks and they were certainly giving off "get me out of here" vibes as strong as my own.

About 15 minutes before the meeting was due to break up, two of the women to whom I'd given cards, Mary and Martha got up and left quietly. I saw them stop on the way out and hold a brief whispered conversation with a third woman who shook her head and stayed seated. Oh well, I thought, maybe I'd scared them off. On the other hand, nothing ventured, yadda yadda.

Right after the meeting broke up, I headed for Starbucks. I knew that Gloria knew the usual meeting time and that she expected me to come straight home. But my Rubicon moment had happened when I passed out those cards, and I was prepared to risk the little that I had for the lot that I hoped to get.

To my pleasant surprise, when I entered the shop Mary and Martha were already seated at one of those round tables. They were both looking at the door when I came in, and I was happy to see at least one of them, Martha, smile and wave me over.

When I got to the table Mary pointed at a seat and said, "So far this has been the most interesting SAA meeting I've attended. Please see that you don't disappoint me."

I appreciated the fact that she was willing to call me out up front, but I wanted her to know that she could not push me around. "I hope not to, and the feeling is mutual, by the way," I said.

At that, Martha just leaned back, kind of snorted and said. "Right. Hackles down. Let's call Round 1 a draw; and wait awhile before starting round 2, shall we."

While Mary and I had been sparring, Matthew, Luke and Thomas drifted in and came over to our table. Fortunately the meeting had broken up at about an hour before the Starbucks closing time, so we had no trouble adding more chairs to our table, and there were only a few other customers, all seated far enough away that none of them were likely to be able to listen in on our conversation.

Once everyone had their drinks, Mary got things going with "John, you have about as long as it takes me to finish this Frappuccino to give me a reason to stick around."

"Okay. Let me tell you where I'm coming from. You see, one of my beliefs is that we're all crazy, but if you get a bunch of people together who are crazy in the same way, they all look pretty normal, at least to each other."

Mary took a big pull on her straw and said "Three more sips to go John." Martha snorted again and the rest just sat there waiting.

"Okay, bear with me. "Let's say we're crazy, which is why we're at the SAA meetings, right. But I don't think we're crazy like the other people in that room."

"How so?" said Luke.

"Well, its like this. I saw this British program once called Cracker. The main character was this big fat guy whose many addictions included gambling. His wife breaks up with him and tells him that if he wants to get back together he will have to solve his gambling problem. So he goes to Gamblers Anonymous meetings but after awhile he can't take any more. He stands up and says something like, 'This is bullshit. I gamble because I like it. When I gamble it makes me feel alive.'"

Another big sip from Mary and "Talk fast and cut the philosophical bullshit. Two more sips and I'm out of here John."

"Right, Mary. So after his little speech he pulls out a deck of cards or something and puts down a bet. You can see the faces of 5 or 6 guys just light up, and they all crowd around him, pulling money out of their pockets. These guys went from bored or worse to happy just like that.

"Well - hold that sip, Mary, 'cause here comes the punch line - we may all be crazy sex addicts, but the big difference between us and the others crazies in that room is that they want to be recovered sex addicts. But based on what I've seen at those meetings, and the fact that you took the opportunity to look at something else when I handed out my cards, I think you all aren't crazy like them. I know I've decided that my answer to my problem is that I don't want to be a recovered sex addict. I want to be a happy, practicing sex addict. And I'm hoping that you're crazy just like me."

When I finished, Mary was still holding her Frap with the straw in her mouth, but she was not sipping, and she looked like she was thinking.

"Mary, I think it's your move," Martha said.

After a couple of seconds, Mary put her drink down, and after a few more seconds she scanned the guys at the table and started talking softly.

"John likes to hear himself talk too much, but he has some interesting points. I agree that I'm a sex addict. And I can speak for Martha here too. We were in college together, and if there was ever a frat party that needed some girls who would do anything with anyone or everyone there, they knew they could count on us. We pulled so many trains together that we became known as the M&M Rail Road. But my addiction has led me into some bad situations, situations where I got hurt physically and pretty fucked up mentally, and indirectly that's why I'm at those meetings.

"I won't speak for Martha. She I think her itch isn't as bad as mine. But she is my friend and wants to help me however she can. She can tell you about herself if she wants.

"Anyway for me, at least for a while, being a recovered sex addict seemed better than being an abused fucked up sex addict, or a locked up sex addict. But not as good as being a happy practicing sex addict, like I was once. I'd love to be one again. It's a lovely idea John, but why should I believe that you can do that for me?"

"I can't Mary. Like it said on the card, I have an idea, maybe the beginnings of a plan. I couldn't pull it off in a lifetime by myself. But a group of people like the ones here, and I'm not buttering anyone's buns - bright, obviously well to-do people who are similarly crazy? A group like that, if it was dedicated to working together, just might."

"Groups are built on trust, John," Martha said. "Why should I trust you? Why," gesturing to the other men at the table, "should I trust them? Why, for that matter, should you trust me?"

"Damned if I know, Martha. Every relationship starts with two people who didn't know each other. Some work, some don't. Life's a gamble. One step at a time, I guess."

Martha looked at Mary. "You want to pursue this, Hon?"

Mary took another pull on her straw, set the cup down again, and said, "Sure, why not? Those meetings were driving me more nuts than I was when I came in, so let's see where this goes."

Martha turned to the men. "Okay guys, here's the deal. Do any of you have any deep dark secrets that would make me not want to let you into my life?"

Thomas, a short, powerfully stocky Latino looking guy who was clearly one of the over-forties in the group, said, "Well, I'm about to ruin my 4th marriage, and 6 years ago I got a DUI, but other than that I'm clean."

Matthew said,"I do a little weed now and then, but no hard stuff. I don't sell it, I just use it, and I've never been busted."

Luke just shook his head, No. With his baby face he looked to be the youngest of us, maybe 25 or so.

"Any STI's we should know about? After all, if you're in SAA it's safe to assume you've dipped your wicks in a lot of holes."

"Case of the clap 5 years ago, cured and nothing since," said Matthew, probably about my age though his receding hairline made him look older.

"Please don't take this personally, guys, but this is important. You're asking for trust. We're willing to give it, to a point. If you are straight with us, that's Mary and me, you'll find yourself amply rewarded with, among other things, some of the best head you've ever had. Mary really is that good and I'm not bad, either. But if you abuse our trust, there will be hell to pay. You can take that as a threat. Now, once again, are we all sexually and legally clean at the moment? Raise your hand if the answer is yes."

I'd been watching the other guys most of the time since they got here. Mostly they were listening passively and eyeing the women, especially Mary, who was a knockout, with her Audrey Hepburn features. I could see nervousness building as "trust" came up and Martha started grilling us. But they all seemed to perk up a bit at the prospect of "the best head you've ever had." Anyway, after Martha asked if we were all clean, everyone was still sitting at the table, with upraised hands.

I was impressed with the way that Martha had taken control of the meeting. When I had first come in, I figured that Mary was the Alpha female, since she had immediately challenged me while Martha sat back. I was coming to think that it was Martha who was the strong one. She certainly had the size and bearing to carry it off (think of a taller Angelica Huston in Prizzi's Honor). Especially after hearing about Mary's "bad things," I began to reassess Mary's aggressive opening as defensive posturing.

"All right," said Martha. "Here's how this is gonna work. First, everyone put $25 or a credit card on the table." The guys stared at each other, then at me. Wanting to keep things moving, I quickly put a Visa card on the table. When Mary and Martha followed suit, the other three guys went in to their wallets. I was interested to see that Thomas was the only one who came up with cash.

Martha said "Now, hold on a second," turned to the barista and said, "Hon, I need to talk to whoever's in charge. Is that you?"

"No ma'am, we have a night manager," the barista replied. "Let me call him for you." She did and in a few seconds we had the manager at our table.

Martha said to him. "Look, I know it's almost closing, but we're going to need a little more time here. Would you mind if we ordered another round of drinks and stayed until about 10:30? You can charge $25 to each card on the table, take the cost of the drinks out of that and the cash, and the rest is a tip for you and the barista to split however you want. Oh, and those two guys at the table by the door need to stay too."

All male eyes turned to the table by the door. I'd written off the two guys there as just a couple of late-night locals. On closer examination, I'd have guessed cops, except that my stereotypical idea of cops and coffee involved Dunkin Donuts, not Starbucks.

The manager said, "That's cool. It'll take about an hour to clean up. Do you mind if we turn the lights down some? We do that when we close to discourage people from trying the door."

"Not a problem," said Martha, "as long as you don't turn them off altogether."

"We're in business, then," said the manager. He called the barista over, told her to take our orders and run each card adding enough as a tip to make the total $25, and left.

Martha said, "Thank you for that first bit of trust, guys. I'm beginning to hope this might work out. Mary, you good with this so far?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Then, "Yeah, I think I'm beginning to hope this will work out too." Absently, she undid the top three buttons on her blouse and let us guys see that she definitely was not wearing a bra. That was enough to keep us all quietly interested until our drinks were delivered and the barista was back behind the counter.

When we were alone again, Martha said. "Time for step two. We need to know more about each other. Everyone pull out your driver's license and put it on the table. Mary and I will go first."

We all did as directed and Martha said, "Go ahead, look if you want."

Again, I took the lead, first picking up Martha's license. Matthew picked up Mary's. Oddly, I thought, the women didn't pick up any. Eventually, Mary's license came around the table to me. When I looked at it I did a double take. I looked at it again, then I looked up at Mary to make sure hers was the face on the license, and then at Martha. Our eyes locked and she gave me a hard stare, pressed her lips together and made a very slight negative head sake.

The other guys were looking at each other's licenses at that point, and I don't think they picked up on this, which is just as well. Clearly they did not know who they were dealing with and I might not have either, except that in my job at the bank I manage investments for trusts and estates that have very serious money in them - 3-comma serious in several cases - and if what Mary was who I thought she was, I was sitting across the table from someone with a very nice 8-figure one. Suddenly the two guys by the door were not cops. Or if they were, they were ex- or off-duty cops, currently employed as bodyguards.

(I later asked Mary what a nice little rich girl like her was doing in a place like a suburban Chicago SAA meeting. After all, she and her family could afford the best shrinks in the world. She said that her father had made her an offer she couldn't refuse, and not being a fan of electroshock therapy she had agreed to go the SAA route. She and Martha had opted for the suburbs over something closer to home on the theory that there was less chance of running into people they knew there.)

After the DLs had finished the rounds Martha said. "Okay, next trust test. You said you've confessed your sins and that you're all clean legally. In a minute I'm going to ask Ron - he's the one with the grey crew cut over by the door - to come pick up your licenses and run them through a couple of law enforcement databases. If you were lying before, it would be a good idea to pick up your license and leave now. If you don't, and Ron say's you're clean, Mary and I are going to head over to my place and anyone who wants to come - and come and come and come, if you're up to it - is welcome to tag along."

I knew I had nothing to hide, so I reached forward and pushed my license toward Martha. At that point I felt a foot move up my thigh, toes beginning to play with my cock. I looked across at the girls trying to figure out whose it was and damned if I could tell. These were some very cool ladies.

Matthew and Thomas then slid their licenses across the table. Luke put his finger on his license but before moving it said, "I'd like to be in, but I can't come over tonight. I'm still married, and my big head thinks I still want to be, even though my little head seems not to be with that program. I'm pushing it as it is getting home late tonight, but I still have to get home. My point is, if I'm in, can I have a rain check?"