A Trip to Trap

So, beloved readers, Ivey and Vincent finally had a mutually good night. Our meet and greet left us in the mood. J FYI – this is the last of the "how we got here" series!" After this, I promise, nothing but memes and short posts!! (Vincent – yeah right.)

In case I haven't made the timeline clear enough, this whole thing started in July of '09 when I met Rick and Leah and in August we had our not-quite-disastrous date with them; September was drama city. October was the really disastrous date with Bill and Reanne. November brought the two Meet and Greets and finally, we are starting to get on the same footing.

In December, fate took us to the lovely city of Ft. Lauderdale on business and we decided to add a night to our trip and check out a legend – Trapeze. Folks, from what we learned on the blogs and swinger sites, this place is mainland Nirvana; the only thing better are the resorts in the Caribbean.

Being the prep for it type, once again, I called to check the place out and pick the best night to go. First, no theme parties! Maybe it's a characteristic of lots of the Swingy-types, but not us.

"But Ivey," the guy dressed up like a pudgy gladiator says, "it's about letting your inhibitions go! Come on!! Don't be a square!!"

Now see here, sugar. I AM a square. I am a cross between Suzanne Sugarbaker and Barbara Stanwick. (Said with a thick Southern accent) "I am not now, not ever, and never will be the clown in your rodeo." No "naughty school-girl" attire on this grown up girl. There will be no dressing like a 'Ho. Oh no. Angel or Devil? Go to hell. Not a chance, honey. I'm a woman in my prime and what I want is to wear the beautiful, stylish, sexy, outfit to show off my gams, boobs, and shoulders that I never enjoyed when I was younger.

So we get dressed in our sexiest attire which, by the way ladies, was still mighty tame compared to many of the gals there. If you're going for the first time keep this is mind. You CAN'T be too sexy; whatever your body type, whatever your age, whatever your taste. If you put on the dress in the store and think "OMG, can I leave the house in this?" The answer is "Yes." If you must, grab a damn trench coat, but go.

Trapeze is located in a pretty non-descript kinda strip mall-y thing in a rather non-descript part of town. From the outside, it ain't nothin' to write home about, which is precisely the idea, and they absolutely nail it. Vincent hands the rental car keys to the very attentive valet and I couldn't help but wonder what these guys think? I mean, every woman is dressed to KILL sporting "fuck me- type footwear. Every man walking through the door is going into a place where not only can he get banged by the incredibly sexy woman on his arm, but probably the woman in the car before and after. I mean, are the valet guys also patrons? Or is it just a job? If they're squicked or repulsed, I guess they wouldn't work there. But do they ever go as members of the club? Is it a benefit? Do they get a discount? Yes. That is exactly how my mind works.

You enter the plain-Jane front door and immediately on your right is the check in counter where you pay your fees, and have your number put on you BYOB bottle. The gal behind the counter was friendly enough (Vincent says "HOT!!!") and once we told her it was our first visit, she helped walk us through the process.

The good thing was that this particular Saturday night there was no theme party and it was being hosted by a Yahoo group; if you joined, you got a discount on your three month membership. Yes, I am quite Scottish about money.

That's right, you have to have a membership to go in. Now I get it. It's a private club for the very specific reason that "private" things go on there. You must join and I have no problem with that. But when the odds of getting back there any time in the NEXT three months are pretty much nil, yeah, it's a bit annoying. But they are good business people, because we paid it and paid it happily. I'm all a-twitter with anticipation and would've up-ended my wallet on the counter; if I'd brought a wallet. But I didn't. Where on earth would I have put it?

But before you can join you have to go to a computer kiosk where you have to enter your REAL name, address, and contact information as well as present your REAL identification to the receptionist. I swear, Vince's hands were shaking. When I called earlier the nice gentleman who answered the phone told me about this part and assured us that a) they have great security in place and b) they'd never had a breach. Those of you in IT type industries, let me ask you, would you be reassured? No? But it doesn't matter, because we're here!! I swear if they would've set a hula-hoop on fire and required me to jump through it to get in the door I would've taken a running start and shoulder-rolled on to the dance floor.

Next we go back to the counter to pay our admission. Again, no problem. At least we have our discount. Oh, and we've paid the valet. And purchased the bottle of very good vino we brought with us because this was a big first for both of us. So we're talking about a hundred and twenty bucks or so before we got in the door. No problem. God knows I've paid more money for less anticipated entertainment before.

Now the same gentleman who told me about the security features also told us a bit about the club over all. First, it's divided into two parts; the public area which consists of two bars, a buffet style dining area, and a very nice dance floor and the private play area in the back. He said the front part of the club is pretty much like your average club for the most part, on steroids. More sexiness, you'll definitely see some nudity (mostly the girls), but for the most part if you've been to a club you know how to act here. In back, it's anything goes.

We took our bottle to the nearest bar and gave it to the bartender who poured us two glasses and we paid for the pour. Oh, and I tipped. Cha-ching. Then we took our vino, found a perfect perch on a couple of bar stools overlooking the dance floor, toasted the fact that "holy shit, here we are!" and started soaking in the vibe.

First, the place IS nice. Classy, comfy appointments. Great lighting and super layout. Second, the music was great. Third, the people were… well… they were… fantastically NORMAL. The ages ranged from 21 to well into the sixties with the average age appearing to be mid-thirties to late-forties. Most of the people were reasonably attractive. If there were any single men there that evening, we didn't spot them. But there was a wide range of "types." Lots of couples just seemed to interact with each other (we were one of those), perhaps they were first-timers like us or perhaps they just prefer to keep to themselves. A few were groups that had met for the evening. Most people seemed to rotate on and off the dance floor (with varying degrees of ability) but most all appeared to be having a great time. All very much like every other club we'd ever been to except the one time we went to get refills on our wine and found ourselves next to the guy getting the blow job. Didn't take long though. He was through before we got our drinks. I don't know if that's a comment on his staying power or the bartender's workload.

The younger folks were the wildest on the dance floor and one girl in particular (dressed in a very hot Santa's helper outfit) pretty much stole the show. No panties, tits out more than in, beautiful face, rockin' body, and having a marvelous time. As the evening went on, this group and their guys got absolutely into the evening. At one point, the girls seemed to be having a ball removing each other's panties on the dance floor, kissing and playing with each other and the titty-grabbing husbands/boyfriends were just elated. Man, I wished I was one of them. The girls, that is.

I was turned on! I wanted more!! Vince and I danced a few times, talked to each other, pointed out the "OMG" moments to each other but it was really like we were just observers. I wanted participation, damnit! I wanted to go to the back and see the "rest" of the club. I wanted Vincent to grab my ass, and play with my tits, ,and stick his tongue down my throat. We'd decided before we even left our hotel, hell before we decided to even go, that we weren't going to try to meet anyone. We weren't ready for any public or really even private play with other people. But we both wanted to "experience" the place. Little did I know that my idea of experience and Vince's once again, wasn't the same.

To Vince, experience means to watch, to observe, to enjoy the view. It's to evaluate what other people are doing, to watch person A interact with person B. To me, experience is to get into the emotion, to let the sexually charged atmosphere work its magic, to feel the pumping, oh-my-god-I-want-to-fuck-you desire flood my veins. I wanted to go to the back and see what all the action was about. I wanted to "feel" the sex. And when I mentioned this to him, with the music pounding and the panties flying, and the booze flowing…. Well, let's just say, the night went to shit.

Without realizing it, we had ventured on to two separate pages. He was having a great time – essentially by himself. Yes, we were talking. Yes, we were together. But he didn't see that once again my frustration at being what I feel is a wall-flower was driving me nuts. "Pay attention to MEEEEEE!" is all he heard. "Why does it always have to be about YOOOOUUUUU!" was his response. "Why can't you see it's about UUUSSSSSS!"

And five minutes later, we were back in the rental car.

Great.

Fucking great.

We never made it to the back rooms, never had the hot, passionate moment I was so waiting and prepped for. We argued all the way back to the hotel. Him pissed off at me because he "was having a great time" and I "ruined it" by picking a fight. Me, ready to get out of the car and walk to the fucking hotel because he "is just leading me on" and clearly has "no intention of ever actually DOING anything, not even with me."

Now, I'm sure it didn't help that we'd finished a bottle of wine between us. And I'm sure the fact that we were both nervous and unsure of what to expect was part of the problem. But I also know that part of our problem is that we are RADICALLY different personality types who just happen to be very much in love with each other.

He swears he's never wondered what it would be like to be married to an "earth mother" type -- a nice, conventional woman; the kind that doesn't have some wacky craving for sexual or just plain physical adventure; a wife who is satisfied with the status quo and who is content to live a life other people are just hunky-dory with. He tells me daily that he couldn't be married to anyone but me, that I am his spark, that his life would be hopeless and dull without me. And he means it. But I can't help but wonder sometimes if his life would be easier for him if he were married to someone else. Not better; but easier. (Vince says "no" on both counts.")

And here's the kicker. After we'd both cooled off and were back to speaking calmly again, he really was enjoying himself that night. He really was becoming comfortable with where he was, who was around, and what was going on. He was enjoying the show the girls were putting on. He was marveling at the fact that he was there, that his wife wanted him to be there, wanted him to open his mind to possibilities he'd never considered. He was starting to see that other men, some just like himself, were getting to experience something he thought only happened to other people. He was, in fact, turning a mental corner. If we'd stayed and enjoyed the atmosphere a little longer, who knows? He may have actually continued the train of thought past "wow, look at what they're doing" on to "wow, I could actually have that experience" and maybe into "hey, honey, let's go do something ourselves."

But I'm getting tired. Tired of the constant frustration. Tired of the two steps forward, two steps back two-step we're doing. It's been six month of this. I've started connecting with some blogs, making some cyber-friends. I am growing full of envy for people who -- at least on the surface -- have what I want. I'm ready to pull the fucking plug. For the last time. I can't stand it. I mean, it's not that there's anything wrong with our sex life. We fuck 5 – 6 times a week. We're getting more creative. I have plenty of screaming, rip the headboard off the wall, knock the lamp off the nightstand orgasms. So what if I'll never get to satisfy my curiosity about women, right? I mean, tons of women don't and they seem fine, don't they? And maybe there really is something wrong, and sinful, and evil, and dishonorable about me because I have lustful desires for men I'm not married to. Maybe the fact that I know that I had a screwed up sexual life in my 20s and a practically sexless marriage in my 30s is just how it is and I really did miss out on having an adventurous life "when I had the chance."

Maybe I really am a selfish bitch.

Maybe if I would just shut the fuck up and concentrate on cleaning my house or working in my yard everything would be just fine.

And maybe, when I'm 60 or 70 or 80, I won't resent the fact that I missed out and maybe I won't be broken hearted because I chose to be a "good girl" rather than a great woman.

"Hey, Ivey," pipes up Vince a few days later, "I've booked marked a few couples on our site. Want to check them out?"

"What?"

"I've added some folks to the list of people we should contact. I think you should check them out before we send an email or anything."

"You went to the swinger site?"

"I never stopped going to the site. I do it every day."

"What?!"

"Well yeah, I check it every day. I keep hoping someone will contact us but I think maybe we should reach out to them, don't cha think? Oh, and there's a club I want to go to. I've seen it mentioned in the forums. It's vanilla, but there may be some people there we'd like to get to know, as long as the guy's not a dick. And the woman is attractive. It's all about chemistry, ya know."

The man never ceases to amaze me. Or keep me on my toes. God, I love him. We're now up to January. The crazy holidays are behind us. On Jan. 7^th, I launched Ivey Lane and for the past few weeks I've been chronicling the start of our journey, or how we got here.

And we are about to re-embark on our wild adventure. We're still swinger virgins, so to speak, but we're looking for the right couple (or single female!) to help us move forward to another level of adventure, and ultimately to a deeper level of understanding of each other and ourselves. From here on out, you guys are all pretty much up to speed. Last weekend we were finally contacted by someone from our Swinger site who invited us to a small meet and greet.

I'll tell you all about it next time!

Ivey