The Freyja Club Ch. 24

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter completes the narrative about my 'impulsive weekend' to the Washington Freyja Club and as such, is more of a transition story. It lacks the 'steamy sex' that characterizes most chapters of this series but expands on the challenges that one faces when attempting this chronicle. I think most regular readers of this series will enjoy this modest departure as it will answer some of the questions that you might reasonably have about the process of writing about this unique club and the personalities that I have encountered there.

It was late on Sunday night as I listened to a soft purring noise as the last page of the outline of a story that I was going to write slowly emerged from the printer in my home office. As I watched, I shook my head in wonder. I was still getting used to using a keyboard and a printer rather than my trusty IBM Selectric Typewriter but since we were now nearing the end of 1983 I understood that I was in the middle of a technological revolution and if I wanted to succeed as a writer I needed to learn about this new wonder called 'word processing.'

For the last few hours I had been engaged in recalling a conversation that I'd had with a woman named Nancy, and it was those details that I was attempting to marshal into the semblance of a story about her journey to the Freyja Club.

By way of background, the previous Thursday I had been at work, but found myself strangely distracted, so on a whim, I had decided to take the rest of the day off and spend the entire weekend at the Freyja Club in Washington. At the time, I had no specific idea about what would happen, but I knew that, at a minimum, I would find a willing partner for some uninhibited sex, and since my seminal reservoir was overflowing, I thought that was reason enough. Little did I know at the time what adventures the Norse Goddess of Love had dialed up for me.

I decided to book a room in the Freyja Club Hotel which isn't much more than the top floor of a nondescript building on P Street in the Georgetown section of Washington. The actual Freyja Club occupies the bottom three floors plus the basement, but for some, still unfathomable reason, the Hotel and the club are considered independent entities with separate entrances and billing. The exact reasoning behind this arrangement was one of several unanswered questions that I still had about the operation of the various Freyja Clubs (there are twenty).

In the almost one full year that I've been a member, I've had the pleasure of visiting five of the clubs; Paris, New York, Tokyo, Miami, and Washington D.C., but since I only live about two hours away from the Washington Club, most of my experience has been at that location. In the past twelve months, I've gotten to know many of the personalities of that club and most of those I've written about in previous chapters of this ongoing narrative.

This latest visit turned out to be much more than I ever had reason to expect. First, I encountered a woman named Libby whose primary job is working at the front desk of the hotel, but who aspires to be a waitress in the club itself. For her, there are some significant benefits if she can work in the club as opposed to the hotel; the pay is probably three times higher for one, and since the waitresses in the club are required to be naked, as are all females under the club's "iron rule," it also appeals to Libby's exhibitionism, a fetish that she delightfully demonstrated to me by asking if I would be willing to watch her masturbate.

The next day, and quite by chance, I encountered a woman who I had first met in Paris but, as I soon learned, had recently moved to Washington. Fionia is a British diplomat and the first Freyja Club member I'd had sexual relations with. After the initial surprise of discovering each other in Washington, we decided that a reprise of our last encounter was in order, and that led to a most satisfying and ball-draining evening in the club.

Later, I received a message from Hayley who, among other things, is a tenured professor of English Literature at Georgetown University, but is also the raunchiest woman I have ever met. I had gotten her to agree to let me write about her journey and I gave her a first draft manuscript to review several weeks ago. She had read it and asked to meet so we could discuss it. One thing led to another which led to her bedroom and my first real experience with sexual bondage, a practice that I'm still trying to get my mind around. Suffice it to say that Hayley sapped whatever virality that Fionia had left me that night, and I can't ever remember being as sexually exhausted as I was by the end of that evening. The good news was that Hayley had liked what I'd written about her, and told me that if I had been one of her students, she would have given me a solid A!

By Saturday, my exhaustion had overwhelmed me and I ended up sleeping most of the day away in my hotel room before awakening in time to make one more visit to the club. Apparently, the Norse Goddess had decided that this would be a reunion weekend for me because my last adventure was with a woman named Nancy, whom I first encountered in the Canadian Embassy when I had a meeting there some months previously. In what I have described as an 'unbelievable coincidence' I met her later that same evening in the Freyja Club where she was decidedly less dressed than she'd been in the Embassy. That night she introduced me to one of the club's regularly scheduled events... the blowjob session. That evening she edged me to a copious climax in her talented mouth and I discovered that she was, by reputation, the club's premiere 'oral artist.' Last night, Nancy told me her life story and agreed to let me try to chronicle her journey to the club. It was my recollection of her story that I was trying to capture, and that constituted the guts of the outline that was rolling out of my printer.

Last evening, we had adjourned to my hotel room and Nancy had applied her mouth to the challenge of drawing one last ejaculation from my ravaged body, and it's a testament to her ability that she was, indeed able to do so. Truthfully, I don't know how she did it because, at forty-three, I'm far from the pinnacle of my sexual prime, but she did.

However, when I awoke this morning, I was absolutely and completely done. Over three days, I had been as sexually sated as I could ever remember and I not only didn't desire further stimulation, my libido didn't even want to think about it.

Nancy had spent the night with me and we slept late. Most days, I start with a brisk five-mile run, but my usual practice is to have one 'down day' each week and that day is normally Sunday, so it was easy to just roll over and feel Nancy's softness pressing against me. When we did finally struggle out of bed, I did sort of watch as Nancy peed in the toilet and noted the movement of her breasts as she struggled to fix her hair in front of the bathroom mirror, but otherwise, I was thinking about taking her to breakfast and then heading home.

As I always do when I'm traveling, I have a black and white student notebook that I use to take notes for my stories, so over breakfast at a little restaurant just down P Street, I recounted my recollection of the narrative that Nancy had related a few hours before and I asked her to correct anything that I'd missed or gotten wrong. I was glad that I did because there was a lot. In my business, it's critical that I can instantly recall names, dates, and places, so it's an acquired skill that has proven invaluable as I've begun writing about my adventures in, and curiosity about, the Freyja Club.

For more than the last decade, I had been traveling extensively in my role as a 'rainmaker' for my company seeking compatible businesses to acquire and integrate into our growth plans, and as a consequence, I had begun writing erotic stories as a pleasant diversion during long plane rides and lonely hotel nights on the road.

As I reread some of those earliest efforts, I admit to a certain amount of embarrassment with my amateurish prose and lack of insight into the dynamics that are always in play with the differing ways in which males and females approach the subject of sex. Fortunately for me, I was soon involved in a steamy affair with a woman named Jennifer, who years later actually was responsible for me receiving an invitation to join the Freyja Club, who was instrumental in educating me about the female side of the equation. From then on, I could see a dramatic improvement in my prose as I began to incorporate the nuances, emotions, and desires that women have during sexual union. However, I had never attempted to write a story from the female point of view. The only one I had completed so far had been about Travis, one of the male 'stewards.'

A couple of months ago, I made my first attempt to chronicle a woman's journey to the Freyja club from her perspective. Needless to say, it was quite a challenge. Not only did I have to think like a woman in the ways that Jennifer had explained, but I chose a subject that no rational person would have used for a first effort. Hayley's story was, by far, the most compelling, but she herself was a Professor of English Literature at Georgetown University. If there was anyone who would be in a position to criticize this effort it certainly would be her. I feared that my ego was in for a beating. Her giving me a solid A for this first effort was gratifying, but also quite a surprise. The bottom line for me was it gave me the confidence that I could write the stories of other women that I had encountered during this remarkable journey and so Nancy's would be my second.

Interestingly enough I was beginning to discover that writing about women's experiences during sex was having a measurable influence on my own sexual performance. Like most men, I'm programmed by nature to single-mindedly rush to an orgasmic climax, but not so for women. Like high-performance engines, they require a good 'warm-up' before the race and a nice 'cool down' afterward.

I remember one evening when Jennifer explained to me the feelings and emotions that she experienced during sex. We had just had, from my perspective, wonderful and very satisfying sex and were softly talking and caressing in those blissful post-cotis moments when I asked her to describe her experience as a woman, so for over an hour she covered the proverbial waterfront on the subject.

"You only have to be close to me or brush your knee against my thigh, and my whole body will instantly heat up. Imagine how it feels when your face flushes... it feels like that but through my entire body. I don't even need to see you to get this reaction.

I feel like my vagina starts to ache. But, a needy ache. Like an ache that needs to be released by being rubbed until it gets a wave of pleasure. My whole body is hot and I'm ready to start breaking out in a sweat.

I sense my breasts start to swell, and they ache to be touched. My nipples will tighten into hard knots and when my breasts are rubbed, waves of pleasure roll back and forth through my body, particularly in my pussy, which causes it to begin to lubricate and pulse, and I can feel a prickling sensation on my skin all over my body.

I start to feel the urge to part my thighs to release some of the heat I'm feeling between my legs because it gets hot down there. However, my pussy just heats up and aches more and I desire to feel you slide between them.

I can feel the opening of my vagina begin to clench and unclench. Imagine how your heart feels after finishing a jog on a hot day. It beats hard, and pounds through your chest. That's exactly what the beating in my pussy feels like. An actual heartbeat. My hole feels like it has a heart stuffed inside of it.

Soon, my pussy lubricates so much that you can thrust inside of me with hardly any tension stopping you... as long as I've been aroused completely.

I begin to experience a strange weakness. My whole body is flushed, and beating, and my skin is super sensitive. I can feel the slightest touch. I'm aware that my breathing is becoming sporadic and little gasps are all that I can manage. Something seems to prod me to position my body so that your entry will be easy. I'm not doing this consciously and I think it's just something that nature has programmed into us. I'll moan and whimper softly, and tremble if you hump me or feel me. My lips are extra soft, and maybe a little damp since I lick them on occasion without realizing it; because every inch of me is craving you.

If you hump me and rub against me, my entire body feels like it's screaming...'fuck me!' I'll be panting and ready for you. The more you force yourself on me, the weaker I become. However, if you are hesitant and act like you need my permission to mount me, I may still be aroused, but I will quickly lose interest. I desire to be taken by an aggressive man, not a simpering boy.

If I'm on my back. I'll be squirming since I desire you so much, and I'll be grabbing you wherever my hands can reach to urge you on. I may tilt my hips to receive you and if I start to bite, it's just a way I have of communicating my heightened state of arousal.

If you groan with desire, I'll whimper back and thrust my hips because I will be feeling an achy need to be fucked through my whole body, especially my lower core. That need will hurt so bad, it will almost feel like I have a fever... a lust fever. The sensation in my pussy will seem to be throbbing so hard that I'm sure that you can feel it too.

Once your hips are between mine, I feel a certain anticipation and my body may become very still for a few moments. Silly as it sounds, I don't want to do anything at that moment that might dissuade your invasion of my pussy. My brain is silently screaming to me that I need you inside of me, and if it seems that you can't find my hole, I'll roll my hips to help you out.

The moment that you sink inside of me can be both painful and delightful. If I'm well lubricated, the sensation around my vaginal sphincter is so pleasant that it immediately radiates through my entire body, but it can be a little painful if I'm not. Once you're inside me, I'm aware of you filling my channel but it's more like pressure than anything else. There are few nerve endings in my vagina, so stories that women can 'feel' your penis or your cum are fabrications.

What I do experience is, once you're thrusting inside of me, it will literally feel like every inch of my body is being fucked. The sensation isn't just confined to my pussy, I can feel it ripple beneath my skin, it's in my tits, my legs, my fingers, it's everywhere.

Once I have enough strength, I will thrust with you as best I can. I might roll my hips so that you can feel my pussy rolling around your cock. The sensation will drive me wild, and I'll feel lightheaded.

My senses are fully in tune with you. I don't notice anything but you. I can't think of anything but you. No other man is on my mind... just the hero thrusting into me.

I can sometimes reach a climax by just being rubbed internally and along my slit, but usually, I need my clit to be stimulated. If your pelvis is gently or roughly bumping against my clit while you thrust inside of me, my clit will harden and engorge. The stimuli in this area will cause my pussy to clamp around you, and squeeze.

When I climax it feels like my pussy is trying to pull the entire world inside of me. My entire body will tense, and I will feel pleasure through every inch of me from head to toe, fingertips included. My whole body will be straining, almost feeling as if it will explode with pleasure. Every touch on my skin will send waves and waves of pleasure, and I will moan to try and release some tension, and let you know how good I feel.

My body will press up against yours, and I might grab you, the bed, or both at once and beg you to fuck me as hard as you can. Why? Because at that moment I don't feel pain, since my pain tolerance skyrockets when I climax. I'm crying for you to devour me and thrust unmercifully into me. It won't hurt since my body is numb to pain at this point.

Sometimes I don't reach an actual physical climax but intercourse can still be immensely satisfying. I think that women receive satisfaction from the closeness of sex and when you're inside of me, filling my vagina, I don't know how much closer we can get. The sensation of bare skin to bare skin causes me to tingle all over, and I think we also get great satisfaction from the fact that the man has successfully planted his seed in our vaginas. In many ways, your pleasure is also our pleasure."

I had used several of Jennifer's points in the story that I wrote about Hayley, but for my writing to be entertaining, I couldn't just describe a series of events, I needed to add realistic dialogue and thoughts to the narrative. In Hayley's case, I liberally borrowed dialogue from my own interactions with her. They must have been close enough because she hadn't chosen to edit any of those and neither had Travis when I wrote about his journey. I determined that in most respects, the thoughts that I described were simply what I myself would have had, given the situation that I was describing.

I was finding the project to document the events and personalities I was encountering at the Freyja Club to be rewarding even though hardly anyone would ever be able to read it because, though I am financially well off, a violation of the club's non-disclosure agreement that I'd signed carried a penalty of a cool million dollars, and my pockets aren't nearly that deep. Perhaps, sometime in the future, the existence of the club may become public knowledge, and if so, what I am writing may be publishable, but in the meantime, I'm content to write for my own pleasure and the few people in the club that I may choose to share it with.

I know that since she and I had a four-year affair, I had enough background knowledge to write Jennifer's story and I might do that next after Nancy. Others that I need to consider include my "best friend" Michelle and Danelle, the woman who had initiated me in Paris. I had some background on both, but not enough yet to begin even an outline. Michelle was more accessible than Danielle since she was located in Washington, so I made a mental note to learn more about her. A return to Paris would probably have to await a business reason to go there, but I was aware that there were some 'irons in the fire' that might make that happen sooner than later.

When I reviewed what I had already written on the subject of the Freyja Club I was surprised that I had already penned over twenty-five chapters, and as Hayley had observed when I'd asked her assistance with my narrative, it was indeed becoming a book. Where it might end, I had no idea. Probably never.