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.
