The lap dancing club was always a welcome change from the mundane lifestyle Bernie had with his job, the house, the kids and everything else that went with normality. What he really wanted was adventure, but he knew it was best served in very small doses because it was highly addictive. He couldn’t get the type of adventure he craved from the erotic stories he read in the dirty books at work anymore, he needed to make them come to life.
He’d been a fan of erotic fiction from an early age. He was one of those boys who grew up in the country and was forever finding carelessly discarded porno magazines at the side of the road or down a dirt track by a secluded field; even back then when he was very young he knew instinctively why they were there. He began to make gather a collection of them, together with a friend of his that lived down the same road. They built a den and hid all their dirty books in a huge damp chest they’d found down an abandoned railway track nearby. He would often spend afternoons at the weekend reading through the carefully described sex stories, enjoying every last sentence of them; back then when he was a child he read the same erotic stories so often that he could still remember the way they went now.
This craving for adventure and the realisation of sexual fantasies he read in magazines had never really left him, and although he was perfectly happy with Karen, Bernie masturbated all the time over internet porn and free sex stories online. He’d never been unfaithful to her with another woman, but sometimes he felt a little guilty because of the amount of time he spent jerking off in front of his computer.
Now he has a group of friends who had managed to legitimise his sexual adventures and make them very real indeed. He didn’t let on to his friends just how much he loved going to the lap dancing club and how it was a major form of sexual release for him, but he guessed that a few of them new by the way he used to jog on the spot when they were queuing to get in. He always did this and no matter how hard he tried not to it was almost as compulsion; like a warm up.
“Christ almighty Bernie,” his friend Harry would shout, “you’ll cum in your shorts if you don’t calm down a little!”
All his friends would laugh raucously at this; little did they know that they were very nearly correct.