The Freyja Club

Authors Note: Every chapter in the Freyja Club saga is written to stand alone, and you can puruse them in any order, however if you want a good detective story along with the steamy sex, reading the chapters in order will reveal how I came to know what I know about this secretive organization that has successfully operated in anonymity for the last ninety years. Additional clues and insights are also found in the companion series titled "Other Voices." Check them all out, and let me know your impressions.

I was pouring over, and trying to make sense of, some financial statements that I'd just received on a potential acquisition we were considering in Germany when my intercom buzzed and Meredith, my secretary, said that Tom was on the line and did I want to speak to him.

There were very few people outside of my company who could call me and only give their first name and expect to be put through, but Meridith was well aware of who Tom Quinn was and our relationship since she'd probably typed several reams of correspondence with his name in the address line.

Tom was perhaps the best Merger & Acquisition attorney in the United States, and possibly on the planet. I had retained his services on a dozen occasions and had also been on the opposite side of the table on a few as well. I will tell you that I much preferred the former to the latter.

At the moment, we had nothing going that would necessitate a call from him, so I was more than curious why he was trying to contact me. We actually were friends as well as business associates and we regularly updated each other on the subject of who was thinking about selling, who was buying, and the normal bullshit rumors that constituted the world of business acquisitions. However, we had recently spoken on that subject and I doubted that was the reason for this particular call.

I picked up the phone and punched the button for the correct line and said, "Hey Tom, where in the world are you today?"

"Actually at home today... unbelievable, I know. I don't think I've had a home-cooked meal since..." I could hear Tom's voice trail away as I heard him ask the question. "Oh yeah, Charlotte says it was a couple of weeks ago." Charlotte was Tom's second wife, and I knew both of them pretty well.

"I'm calling to see how the investigation is going." Tom didn't need to be more specific. I knew exactly to which "investigation" he was referring; my now almost year-long quest to understand the workings of the Freyja Club.

I knew that both Tom and Charlotte were members, and Tom was actually one of the four people who had nominated me for my own membership, which had occurred during a trip to Paris the previous year. After returning to the United States, I called and thanked him for his sponsorship, and we shared some of our experiences and he learned that I had embarked on a quest to unearth the answers to questions that I had about the club and its ability to operate for ninety years in almost total anonymity. Tom had observed this compulsion of mine in some of our work together in buying companies, so he hadn't been surprised that I had a similar compulsion when it came to the Freyja Club.

Over the last several months, I was satisfied that I had a good handle on the financial situation, how many, and what type of people were required, how purchases were made, operations disguised, and a workable theory about how the staff of the various clubs were recruited, used, and controlled. In my field of work, a necessary skill for success is finding the places where money is stashed and sometimes 'laundered.' But, be it money, or visibility, the techniques for hiding it are similar, and I thought I now knew about some of those.

Until recently, I had three major unanswered questions, two of which had to do with the club's demographics;

Membership in the club was highly restrictive, both in terms of personal qualities and financial abilities. The Freyja Club was obsessive about secrecy, and no one could be considered for membership without undergoing an extensive background check. The most significant aspects of this check were centered on the person's character and ability to maintain confidentiality. Money alone couldn't buy a membership, but some degree of wealth was necessary for those who did qualify. The initiation fee was a non-refundable $100,000 and there was a $2,000 per month membership fee. The result of these requirements was that potential members were usually older, generally over forty, and they were predominately male.

The Freyja Club was attractive to people who desired a hedonic lifestyle. While I suspect that just as many women as men would qualify, I thought that cultural restrictions would be more of a limitation for women, particularly given that, under club rules, the way that it treated men and women was asymmetric. All females were required to be naked while in the club itself, but there was no such requirement for men. No matter how I considered the possibilities, I couldn't come up with an answer to the question, "How did the ratio of men to women become balanced?"

The second question was just the opposite. "With so many older men, how did the club ensure that it could provide sexual satisfaction opportunities for the older female members?" given that sexual stamina and desire in men diminish with age.

Two recent visits to the Washington club yielded some important insights into how the Freyja Club had chosen to deal with the demographic questions.

Several weeks ago, I had arrived at the Washington club early and was sitting at the bar drinking my usual Heineken and talking to Michelle, who was one of the female bartenders and also one of my best sources of information. I had observed that there were three males that I saw occasionally and Michelle corrected me and said there were four. Travis, Todd, and Victor were the three that I'd seen, but apparently, there was a Rick as well.

Early in the evening, I usually saw two or three of them, but later, hardly any. Also, I had observed that they gravitated to tables that were occupied by older women but I also noticed that Michelle or one of the other bartenders would go over to actually take the drink orders. Two and two were adding up to four for me and Michelle confirmed that the primary "job" of the male stewards was to ensure that the needs of female members were met. Michelle had used air quotes when she used the word "needs" so it was abundantly clear that the "stewards" were the club's solution to the older male problem. Later that evening, I encountered Travis, who was coming down the stairs from the third floor where the activity suites were located. The naked woman on his arm was beaming and was looking at him as if he was a Greek God. I thought that might be a confirming clue.

An insight into the issue of his the club managed to balance the number of female and male members, had occurred during my last visit, when I had met with Hayley. Hayley was a single woman in her early forties who was a tenured Professor of English Literature at Georgetown University. She, like me, had an unsatisfied curiosity about the club so, in addition to being a wonderful sex partner, she was also somewhat of a co-conspirator in my Freyja Club puzzle quest.

I had mentioned to her that I didn't understand how the club was able to attract enough women given the parameters that I understood were required for membership. I had been a member myself for less than a year but had encountered only three women, Susan, Danielle, and Jennifer, who I knew had been recruited on her own merits. By far, the majority of others had been wives, mistresses, or partners of male (or female) members and I knew of a couple who had originally been 'guests' who had been retained as members after their relationship with their sponsoring partner evaporated. In fact, Hayley herself was a question mark in my mind. While her hedonic cum-slut personality clearly qualified her, I didn't think she had joined on some other member's coattails, nor did I think she was independently wealthy, or able to afford membership on a university professor's salary. So I asked.

It was in that wonderful period after sex when with desire sated, lovers luxuriate in a state of bliss and camaraderie. Hayley was tucked into my arm and we were sipping chilled Sangria when I voiced my question asking how she had become a member of the club. She just raised her eyes and said, "The Institute." I had no idea what she was talking about and she repeated her answer, thinking that I hadn't heard her the first time. When I confessed my ignorance, Hayley began to educate me about the "F.C Institute," and a huge piece of the membership puzzle fell into place.

While she was studying for her doctorate at Cambridge, she had participated in a campus B&D club and that, plus some other slutty activities that she confessed, had apparently brought her to the attention of the Freyja Club who, without her knowledge, conducted a background check on her. Later, she had been approached by a man by the name of Fredrick Grimm, who revealed that she was being recruited for potential membership in the club and that, should she accept, her membership fees would be paid for life. I've recounted this meeting before, so I'll not repeat it here. Suffice it to say, Hayley accepted the invitation, but to proceed to full membership, it was required that she spend two weeks at a site in the Waverly area of London where she got acquainted with the club's history and objectives. At the time she was there, she stated that perhaps twenty-five other women were in residence from all over the world. It would be hard to generalize from Hayley's limited information, but it seemed to me that the F.C. Institute produced two to three hundred female members a year, and if true, that alone would solve the balance problem that had me so puzzled.

The remaining big question that I hadn't begun to answer was one of the most basic. "How were prospective members identified, and of those, who decided to proceed with the background checks that I considered the key to the club's ability to remain anonymous? I had been led to believe that this shadowy activity was centralized in London, but with twenty clubs spread around the world, I thought it was unlikely that all of the activity could be done from a single location. During my probing, I discovered that some things I'd been told, turned out not to be the truth, so I suspected that the security/vetting activities might not be as centralized as I had been led to believe.

As I outlined my discoveries and theories to Tom, I received several "Mmmm's" and "okays" that signaled that he was following my reasoning. As with Hayley, it was good to be able to articulate these thoughts as it helped me clarify my thinking. When I finished, Tom opined that the picture that I'd constructed made sense to him, but he had a suggestion, which, as it turned out, was the real reason for the call. Tom asked if I had time to come down for a short visit.

Tom and Charlotte lived in a condo on Fisher Island which is an ultra-exclusive community just south of the city of Miami noted for its expensive real estate and top-notch amenities. It's a neighborhood where people own large yachts, ride around in golf carts. No crowds, almost-zero tourists, world-class convenience, and no bridge to the mainland. I had been to Tom's place a couple of times and I knew that only residents and visitors, hotel guests, club members, and card-carrying workers were allowed on the island. I personally thought it was more difficult to go to Fishers Island than most countries.

When I asked, "What's the occasion?" Tom floored me with his answer. I had not seen Tom since my initiation into the Freyja Club, but since I was now a member, he and Charlotte wanted me to come down for a special event at the Miami Club. As Tom began to explain, I know my jaw dropped in amazement.

It was the middle of the United Way campaign and the members of the Freyja Club in Miami had decided to hold a fund-raising event for the charity. While the fact that they wanted to contribute funds wasn't a surprise, their choice of fund-raising event certainly was. They were going to have a slave auction!

As Tom explained, both men and women would be auctioned off to the highest bidder, and both he and Charlotte had agreed to be 'slaves' for the event. I knew that Tom would be in high demand. I had seen him charm ladies into his bed on more than one occasion when we'd been together on business and his ruggedly handsome looks and 6'2" frame had earned him a reputation as both a rogue and a cad, as some of those ladies had been someone's wife.

Charlotte was Tom's second wife and had married him with full knowledge of what kind of man he was. I didn't know if they'd agreed to an 'open marriage,' but she was certainly tolerant of Tom's roving eyes and the fact that she was also a Freyja Club member, strongly suggested that she also was no stranger to the hedonic lifestyle that the club promoted. I had only met her twice, and our relationship had been quite conventional, but with Tom's disclosure, I was immediately fantasizing about the prospect of seeing Charlotte naked, when Tom finally got to the point.

Unbeknownst to me, Charlotte had told Tom that she was quite taken with me, and she had asked him to invite me to Miami. Tom chuckled, and said, "Bring money, she wants you to be the one who buys her." The event was to be held on Saturday evening in two weeks, and I promised that I'd clear my calendar. Before he hung up, however, he said that Charlotte wanted to say something. When she got on the phone, she thanked me profusely for agreeing to come, but wanted me to know the 'rest of the story.'

Apparently, there was another member of the club in Miami, "Carl," who had been after Charlotte to play with him. She chose not to tell me the reason, but she was terrified that he might be the highest bidder at the auction. My job was to make sure that I, and not Carl, won her, and in return, she was prepared to be 'more than grateful.' My imagination went into overdrive considering what a 'more than grateful' Charlotte might be, and my cock firmed as well.

Truthfully though, I was having some misgivings about being invited to go down for the expressed purpose of fucking one of my best friend's wife, but Charlotte was a seriously beautiful woman and both of them had invited me with open eyes and apparent sincerity. I just hoped that my bank account was bigger than Carl's.

I caught a flight out of Dulles on Friday afternoon and was at the ferry terminal to Fishers Island before six. I had a letter of invitation from Tom which I had to present before they'd let me board, and I walked up to the top deck for the seven-minute ride to the island. Tom met me on the other side and we shook hands in a manly fashion and hugged each other before he grabbed my overnight bag and escorted me to his vehicle, which turned out to be a tricked-out golf cart that had a replica Rolls-Royce hood and a SIlver Ghost paint scheme.

Since Fisher Island is only a little over 200 acres in size, it was only a five-minute ride to his condo and he pulled into the attached garage and parked beside his Cadillac El Dorado. Tom and Charlotte's condo was on the tenth floor overlooking the Miami ship channel, and when we entered Charlotte gave me a nice welcoming kiss and I discovered that I wasn't the only guest. I was introduced to her friend Kelly.

Neither Charlotte nor Kelly stood much over 5'2" and were a full head shorter than either me or Tom, but despite their small stature, both women had developed curves in all the right places and though Kelly was a strawberry blonde and Charlotte raven-haired, I thought they could be mistaken for sisters. This impression was enhanced when Kelly shook my hand and said that she was pleased to meet me. I knew that Charlotte had been born and raised in Savannah and had the long southern drawl of women from that part of Georgia, but Kelly spoke with the same accent, even though I learned that she was from South Carolina.

The ladies were sipping some kind of drink that could have been daiquiris and Tom asked if I wanted one. I replied that I was thirstier, and asked if he had a cold beer. Bless his heart, a minute later he passed me an ice-cold bottle of Heineken and I said, "You remembered." Tom raised his own and we clicked the long necks in a silent toast to good memory.

Tom led us out onto the deck which I noticed girded the building with partitions that separated the condos and offered some privacy. Directly in front of us across the ship channel was the South Beach District and beyond that the seemingly endless rows of condominiums of Miami Beach stretching north to the horizon. It was a pleasant day in the mid-eighties and a cool breeze was blowing in off the Atlantic. We sat down in comfortably padded chairs arranged around a rock fire pit which burst to life when Tom flicked a switch on the side.

Once comfortable we relaxed into the typical 'getting to know you' conversation, which of course was mostly Tom telling Kelly about me, and Charlotte telling me about Kelly. It turned out that the two ladies actually were sisters of a sort. Sorority sisters. Charlotte had been Kelly's big sister when both had been students at Rollins College and that had led to a lifelong friendship. According to Charlotte, those had been some wild times, and although it was more innuendo than anything, I got the distinct impression that both women had sampled much of the fruit that grew on the tree of sexual delights including with each other.

I hadn't asked why Kelly happened to be present, but the explanation wasn't long in coming. Charlotte explained that not long after she and Tom had been admitted to the Freyja Club, Kelly's marriage had come apart, and Charlotte had decided to sponsor her for membership. I thought it was a novel way to manage a 'rebound,' and Kelly smiled when I made that comment. In any event, Kelly had been accepted and she was planning to be the successful bidder for Tom at tomorrow's slave auction. I glanced in Charlotte's direction, but only saw a calm and complete acceptance on her part of Kelly's pronouncement. I commented that there seemed to be an awful lot of 'rigging' going on around the auction, and everyone raised their glasses in agreement.

Somehow the conversation turned to the Freyja Club in general, and my specific attempt to discover its secrets. I ended up giving the ladies much the same information that I'd shared with Tom and they were particularly interested when I described the 'job' of the club's stewards and I wondered about the meaning of the look I saw pass between them. If I was the suspicious sort, which of course I'm not, I might have thought that perhaps I may have illuminated a fact that might have had a bearing on some recent experience.

The sun was setting behind the towers of the city of Miami across Biscayne Bay to the west and Tom announced that it was dinner time. He had made a reservation for us at Garwood's which was an exclusive restaurant in the original Vanderbilt Mansion which was located in the center of the island. We all piled into Tom's golf cart and a few minutes later the ladies, both dressed in sleeveless A-line dresses and Tom and I dressed in slacks, polo shirts, and blazers entered what could only be described as an old-time gentleman's club. Rich rosewood paneling and decorative cut-glass and potted plants exemplified the decor and we were seated next to a window that looked out onto a lighted garden. The menu selections were what one would expect in an exclusive restaurant and, of course, bore no prices. None of us asked about that since we already knew the answer would be the classic, "If you have to ask, you don't belong here."