The Outhouse
A different kind of venue
So far, all our club adventures had been at the same
venue which shall remain nameless unless you’re a super sleuth. It’s about an
hour and twenty minutes away, which is far enough to make it feel like an
occasion but too far to be spontaneous. Closer to home, there’s another club
with a bit of a reputation. Only
twenty minutes away, but we’d avoided it until now. Too close. Too risky. What
if we ran into someone we knew?
But one Friday night, curiosity got the better of us. Time to try it out.
Let’s call it The Outhouse.
Kids in bed, babysitter settled, I threw on a simple
black dress, crotchless tights, and our trusty club bag. As we pulled onto the
estate, the area looked like the set of a crime drama, the kind of place people
go to be murdered and dismembered. But we’re not easily put off. I dropped Mr
at the door, parked, and walked through the mud-slick car park, my tights
splattered and shoes already ruined.
Inside, we locked away our keys and phone and were
given a tour. Now, everyone has their preferences. What I find strange, weird
or not for me, someone else might love. So take this as just one woman’s
opinion and not a criticism.
The layout was... bizarre. Guests clustered at one end
of the bar, blocking access to both the entrance and the toilets. Sofas lined
the dancefloor but were packed in so tightly it was awkward to stand, let alone
move. The playrooms were tiny. As soon as a couple went in to sit and chat,
that room became inaccessible for anyone else. At the back, there was a dead
end with some shelves for bags and a changing area.
I’d worn a sheer black dress over a see-through plunge
bra and crotchless tights which is possibly one of my favourite outfits to
date. I felt good. And I think it showed. Several men latched on quickly,
shadowing us from room to room.
Friday Night’s Crowd
We were approached by a couple who had recognised us
from Fab. He was barely taller than Mr, even while seated. She was quiet and
seemed shy. Lovely enough, but a good ten years over our self-imposed age
limit. We made polite conversation but knew it wouldn’t go anywhere.
Another couple had arrived with us. A woman with six
adult children and her Scottish partner, freshly exploring the lifestyle. He
chatted with the enthusiasm of a kid in a sweet shop, all firsts and big
smiles. Easily in his sixties and finally indulging. We kept crossing paths and
catching up at the bar. At one point, he emerged from the dark room with soaked
hands and a grin, fetching a staff member to change the sheets. I’ll give them
a ten out of ten for hygiene.
Friday Daytime
Not ready to write the place off entirely, we tried
again on a Friday daytime.
If Friday night had been a mismatch, daytime was a
whole other level. Of the twenty-five people there, only four were women. To
their credit, the space was beautifully inclusive. Every shape, age, gender
expression. And I loved that, I really did. But there was no one I connected
with enough to even consider playing. And ultimately, that’s why we’re there.
Playtime?
During our first visit, we got plenty of attention
mostly from men under 5'6", which meant I towered over them at my
6'4". One meek paramedic trailed after me all night, clearly interested,
but there just wasn’t a spark and he had no confidence to actually approach me.
Mr was unimpressed with the whole vibe, and I think that dulled things between
us too.
As we were getting ready to leave, a new gentleman was
being given the tour. He entered the largest playroom as we sat relaxing. I was
dancing around the pole making my own fun. He wasn’t really my type, but
compared to everyone else? Definitely the best of the bunch. Also, notably, the
only Black man there. I locked eyes with him as I danced. When we returned to
the bar to collect our things, he was seated, watching. I bent over Mr to kiss
and tease him, glancing back with one last lingering look. Maybe he didn’t
realise he only had minutes left to make a move.
I gave up. Walked to the changing area, stripped, and
started dressing. The paramedic followed me in, eyes practically bursting out
of his head as I undressed right in front of him. He spun around in some
attempt at modesty, then turned back again. I laughed and teased him pretending
to ‘give me privacy’ after following me into the changing area.
I grabbed our bag and left.
No playtime. But we still had fun debriefing in the
car, which turned into something of our own once we got home.
The Message
Later, lying in bed, we checked Fab. And there it was,
a message from the Black man at the club. Coincidence? Or had someone handed
out our info?
I replied while Mr slowly ran his hands up my legs,
coaxing me into the fantasy. He encouraged me to invite this total stranger
over to fuck me, spurring on my desire while telling me how he wanted me filled
with cum, how this man would ravage me. It was hot. Intense. He came hard
beside me, breathless and sated.
When I asked if he was serious about inviting the
stranger to our house he said no. Let’s go to sleep. It felt like a soft drop.
No play at the club. No orgasm. Just a maybe for another day.
Final Thoughts
If I had to describe The Outhouse? It’s more The Breakfast Club than a swanky
members-only experience. A gathering of misfits, all welcome exactly as they
are. I admire that. I really do. The management has created a safe, open space
and that matters. But as for us? It just isn’t our space.
Until next time.
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