I will not bore you with all the specifics about how I first approached my wife to swing. Let me make one thing perfectly clear: The thought had been on my mind long before I mentioned it to her. I was a tad scared: Did I long for the feel of another woman, bare flesh, another vagina, another pair of legs to settle between, enough to share my wife in the meantime? Could I stand her with another man, even if it was mindless fun? Was that the quid pro quo? Indeed, it was, and is. And one more disturbing fact, for the gentlemen: Husbands are the ones to suggest swinging, but wives are the ones who ultimately enjoy it more. Women I have spoken to have sometimes had six men a night, and speak of the feeling of “finally being free”. I knew this going into it. You know what they say about curiosity.
But to answer some brief questions:
Yes, we are over forty.
Yes, I was extremely uncomfortable in thinking how to broach the subject.
And no, she did not say “no”.
In fact, it was a cold wintry day, the wind lapping my lapel in Montreal, crossing a street, her next to me, when I broached the subject. Finally, what had been on my mind was out. The air had been cleared.
She looked at me, the wind tossing her hair, and, plain, and simple, in that meek tone of hers, said, “Wow. I never thought about it. Where would we start?”
But she didn’t say no.
We spent some times thereafter checking out some web sites, but ultimately settled on placing an ad in alt. swingers, a usenet newsgroup. We made up some names, and she was with me every step of the way. That was our deal: Never do anything regarding swinging alone.
And we set up “friends first” dates with three other couples. Two were phonies, and even if they were real, there was no chemistry. The last couple, however, Dave and Jen, well—we hit it off, and were invited to their house the next weekend. Dave was kind of a big guy in stature, professional, and well dressed, with sandy colored hair. Jen was also forty-ish, and was actually very attractive. She had long curly hair, a wonderful figure, and looked great in jeans. They had two prior swinging experiences, both great, and seemed like a good couple to teach us the ropes.
That next Saturday, I woke late to here the hair dryer in the bathroom and looked at the clock. 10:00 a.m. I called Marie, who came into the bedroom, her blonde hair done up, and capping her wonderful 5’2 frame just right. “Wake up, silly”, she said, “We have to head out of here.”
“What?”
“Dave and Jen. An hour away. Remember?”
I had completely forgot. We talked about it briefly. Suddenly, I felt like an ass. Driving an hour to meet this couple at their house seemed like the last thing on my mind. Was Marie serious? I was now having second thoughts—not about Jen, but the thought of my wife actually fucking someone else, even if it was with my approval.
“Sit down, sweetie,” I said.
Marie bent over and gave me a kiss good morning, and sat next to me, her gray cashmere sweater feeling good on my skin, as her fingers painted pictures on my chest.
“What’s the matter, baby?” She said.
“I..I don’t know—”
“Are you having second thoughts?”
“I really didn’t think you were going to be into it!”
Marie glanced at her wrist watch. “Well, listen,” she said. “We have to be there in an hour. They are nice people and I don’t want to be too rude. Let’s just go and see what happens.”
I hesitated.
She bent over. “I promise. If anyone feels uncomfortable, we leave.”
“Okay, I said.”
That ride down was almost speechless. We really didn’t say much to each other. I was more surprised Marie was getting so into this, and me, the guy, starting to get nervous. To be perfectly honest, I was so afraid I wasn’t even sure I could get it up if nature so intended. Marie? She had no problem, staring at the mountains and reading the map off to me.
When we arrived at Jen and Dave’s, I have to admit, we got a warm welcome and I immediately felt comfortable—but for knowing, of course, my wife and I were here to fuck, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to right now. But yes, they were friendly. They showed us around the house, a beautiful white colonial, with an attached indoor swimming pool! The house was lovely, I have to say, and the pool was extravagantly heated. We sat in the lawn chairs inside, and drank a glass of wine, making small, idle talk about the week. My next question, about, “where was this going”, was answered: Dave stood up, and started taking off his clothes. “Let’s take a swim!” he said. “Last one in is a rotten egg.” He stripped down, and Marie sat there, staring at him, when he at last dropped his shorts. There he stood, completely naked, in front of us. His penis was flaccid but long, and a large pair of extremely tight testicles were nestled in a thick patch of pubic hair. A large mushroom head blessed the end. I looked at Marie, and she laughed, reaching out and grabbing his hairy scrotum with her soft fingers and painted nails. “Wow,” she said, “A little tight, sailor!” She looked at Jen and laughed and said, “What’s that saying, ‘nice and firm and full of sperm.'”
Jen laughed. “He’s been waiting for you!”
Marie stripped down immediately, a trim small frame and taught breasts pointing in the air. She trimmed her bush, and light auburn hair adorned her crotch. “Let’s go,” she said, and jumped in the water. Dave followed, and splashed next to her. He soon was spooning her in the pool.
I stood, and started to strip. Jen grabbed me by the other arm, and said, “Let’s go in the house.” She started to leave, tugging my arm. I turned and looked at Marie, who waved goodbye while kicking to the other side of the pool.
Jen and I went inside and sat by the fireplace. We were both still clothed. “No swimming,” I said?
She smiled, “I got the pool last time.”
And we sat next to each other, and enjoyed another glass of wine.
I spent the next hour. Talking. I simply couldn’t do it. I apologized to Jen, I cannot lie. I was nervous. I had, indeed, been all talk and no action, and, if I could have, I would have just run out of the room, hopped in my car, and sped off. But no, I had a big mouth, and now, I was paying the price.
She was extremely understanding. “Don’t worry,” Jen said, “It happens to everyone. Seasoned swingers understand that. Sometimes you just get cold feet, or there’s a change of mind. Let’s face it, men have to perform—and there’s nothing more nerve wracking then dressing up and going out knowing you’ll be asked to perform. It’s just not spontaneous. That’s why clubs are better.”
We waited an hour. Perhaps longer. I was bombed on Chardonnay. I cheered her, and thanked her for being understanding. But there was one larger issue looming over my head: My wife was in the other room.
“Let me go get Marie,” I said, gently squeezing her hand.
I was afraid of what I might see when I pushed the pool door open. But I didn’t see anything shocking. Marie was sprawled out on a rug, resting peacefully, on the other side of the pool room, near another fireplace. I walked over to her, her small, beautiful frame, all dry and snug with a soft blanket over her. I took my hand, and rubbed her hair, and she smiled and sighed. “That was wonderful,” she said. I saw her smile, noticed her flush, and knew she just had intercourse.
I heard the voice behind me. “How’s it going?”
Dave was standing over me, towel drying his hair, his large naked frame looming large. His penis was soft and small, and retracted in his pubic hair, the large mushroom head still poking out. His testicles this time were soft and dangling and relaxed.
“It’s going great, Dave,” I said. I was lying. “We’ll be right there.”
I slid under the blanket next to Marie, feeling her naked warmth near the fire, my hand patting the nape of her waste, stroking her hair. She had been unfaithful-or had she?
“How was it for you,” she said.
“Oh, just great,” I said. I didn’t want to ruin her experience. I undid my belt buckle and pulled my pants down, trying to have a zipless fuck.
She rolled over, her chest still flush.
“Do you want me to swim first?”
“Why?”
“You tell me,” she said, reaching under the blanket with her hand, then raising it to my nose. Her finger was moist and smelled of semen. “I’ve been naughty.”
“He came in you?”
“Like a bastard. Twice. I’m not kidding, he had to be saving it up for a week. Now stick your dick in me right now, and finish filling me up.”
She pulled me on top of her. Her pussy was so warm and moist, I do admit it was the most incredible feeling, feeling another man’s semen in her. She wrapped her legs around me, bucked up and down, and I came almost immediately.
Afterward, I let her slip into sleep. She looked so beautiful laying there. Her firm breasts now relaxed, and her soft tenderness having satisfied two different men. She looked so sexy there, so innocent, yet so filled with different semen.
We never did go back there. I never told her I never did anything with Jen.
I never recommended swinging again.