I was searching for excitement—and anonymity—when I applied for a membership to this special club. Once a month, I eagerly awaited the invitation and address to a secret rendezvous, then donned a fantasy costume, wig, and masquerade mask. The costume varied from month to month. Once I was a brazen handmaiden of the British royal court. Another time, a 1970s-era action star, complete with bouncing Afro, heaving breasts, hip-hugging shorts, and patent-leather boots. Tonight I was cloaked in black: a Chantilly lace bra and crotchless panty set with matching garter belt, black nylon stockings, and a black feathered eye mask. I wrapped myself in a knee-length black trench coat and headed out into the night.
Following the invitation’s directions, I found myself on a dark, winding road high above the city, circling up, up, higher and higher, finally terminating at ominous gates looming tall before a stone-walled mansion. Undaunted, I rang the buzzer.
“May I help you?” the man on the other end of the intercom inquired.
“Mayhem,” I answered, using the password given in the invitation.
The gates yawned open with a slow, deliberate screech—a foreboding sound that, under any other circumstances, would instantly have sent me rushing away. I pressed my foot on the gas and proceeded forward, onto the property. Anxious. Eager. Ready for adventure.
I pulled up behind a host of other vehicles, most of them high-end. Maseratis, Aston Martins, Ferraris, Bugattis, Maybachs, Porsche Panameras. The fatter the wallet, the bigger the freak. I exited the car and passed my keys to a familiar valet who recognized me at once despite my mask. He always worked these monthly events and showed me special courtesies each time. One day, I promised, I would return the favor. He was very sexy and—from the conspicuous print in the front of his pants, visible even on this shadowy night—generously hung.
I walked toward the stately mansion. Two shirtless, strapping black men opened the double doors, revealing a steamy sexed-up soiree that looked to rival, maybe even surpass, the previous parties I’d attended. I stood in the foyer, surveying the lay (and laying) of the land. The house was sex incarnate. Literally every square inch of space was bursting with action.
The downstairs was a free-for-all. There were couples and groups going at it on the floor, on the furniture, in the lanai rooms that opened out onto patios, where even more sexing commenced. A symphony of groans, moans, tongues lapping, flesh slapping against flesh. The sounds and smells were simultaneously intoxicating and compelling.
I ventured farther into the house, glancing toward the second level. What on earth were they doing up there?
My hands hiding safely inside my coat pockets, my mask affixed tightly to my face, I proceeded upstairs, walking into the first room I came upon. It was lit with red lights and filled with women. Only women. A projector bounced images of girl-on-girl action off the walls as the women in the room, strewn about on mattresses, blankets, pressed into corners and up against the wall, mimicked the movements on screen. I tiptoed across the room, toward the back, careful not to interrupt the heated action. I spotted a sofa against the wall, designated for those strictly interested in watching. I took a seat alongside two other women, each in her own masturbatory world.
I opened my trench coat, my legs slightly parted. My eyes traveled from the women in the porn on the wall to the ones entangled, grinding, and scissoring in the room. I imagined myself as one of them. I closed my eyes and listened to their sounds as they writhed with carnal fervor. I touched myself below and felt a slow stream of wetness oozing out, dripping down. I rubbed my fingers into the juices, then rubbed them into my clit, stroking myself to the sounds of women cumming against each other and in one another’s mouths. I rubbed and rubbed, faster and faster, eyes still closed, until I was surprised by a hot, wet mouth sucking my clit. A finger gently rimmed my pussy, then poked all the way in, stroking against the roof of my steamy canal.
I opened my eyes. A masked, blond Amazonian woman was on her knees between my thighs, parting them wider as she moved deeper into my wetness. The sight of the top of her head as it bobbed up and down on my cunt sent an electrifying thrill throughout my body. I came instantly in her mouth. She lapped desperately at my juices, wave after wave of ecstasy rippling through me as I kept cumming and cumming, the muscles of my thighs tight with pleasure.
I felt ashamed and exhilarated, all at once. Without even looking up at me, the woman slunk away, back onto the floor, blending seamlessly into the writhing lesbian landscape. I cinched my trench coat tight and ran out into the hall, breathless and dizzy.
A black light beckoned from the next room. I stepped inside, spotting another sofa against the back wall. The room seemed subdued, if not completely empty, so I headed for the sofa to take a seat, catch my breath, and process what I’d experienced. Even though I had been to these events on several occasions, I had always remained a voyeur, getting my kicks from watching others. Now the fourth wall had finally been broken. I wasn’t just a bystander. I was complicit. I’d been ravaged and was thirsty for more.
As I sat back, replaying what had just happened in the other room, I noticed through the dimness a man on the other side of the room who appeared to be stroking himself. I squinted, able to see the movement of his hand up and down his shaft, but not able to clearly make out his face. I watched, transfixed, until my eyes were drawn to more porn footage being projected on the wall. It was of a three-way—a man, a woman, and a she-male. The man was furiously fucking the woman as he simultaneously sucked off the transsexual, who was massaging the woman’s breasts, flicking and squeezing the nipples. Mouth agape, I looked on in horror, then awe, then inexplicable desire. I wondered what it would be like to be the woman, sandwiched between two men, one of them endowed with a magnificent penis but the face and breasts of a woman.
My fingers found their way between my legs again.
Just as I was getting into it, the scene on the wall suddenly went black. I sat in the dark waiting for it to resume, my hand softly caressing my sticky wetness. A few seconds passed and, as the wall lit up with another trio of naked bodies, I found my mouth being stuffed with cock. As cliché as it sounds, it came out of nowhere. A large strong hand palmed the back of my head, ramming my face into what felt like endless dick, over and over again. I grasped at his fingers, trying to pry his hands loose, to no avail.
He rammed. I gagged, barely able to breathe, spittle bubbling up and around my mouth. I hated each thrust, feeling as though he would rip out the back of my throat. He rammed even harder and what I had initially hated, I began to love. Somehow we magically fell into sync as my throat relaxed and my tongue suckled against his shaft. I grabbed onto his rod with both hands, my hips moving below, keeping rhythm with my mouth.
He grew in my mouth, forcing me to open even wider, taking all of him in. I slathered up and down the length of his cock, then gently suckled his balls. His breath was hot on the crown of my head as he bent over above me, caught up in my exquisite tongue ballet. A moan escaped from deep within his body. I fastened onto him, sucking, stroking, coddling, taking all of him in. His moan turned into a scream as his throbbing dick, pressed against the back of my throat, released itself. His body jerked and shook as he squirted inside my mouth, his warm, thick load sliding down my esophagus. I tried to breathe as I swallowed, my eyes wet with tears inside my mask. Was I crying? What for? Was this shame? Euphoria? A crazy mix of both? It was as though my mind, faced with an overload of pleasure, had reacted with the only logical emotional response it could think of. Tears.
I touched myself below. My eyes weren’t the only things that were flowing. I needed fucking. I needed it now.
The projector shut off and the room went black again. I couldn’t see a thing around me. Just as quickly, the dim light from the projector returned, more images flickering against the wall. I reached out for him, the stranger who had just busted an enormous wad in my mouth, desperate for him to service me. I blinked in rapid succession, adjusting to the light.
He was gone.
I pulled my coat together and ran from the room. I wandered crazily through the hall, spinning as I searched for the bathroom. I’d had my pussy licked and my mouth fucked by two different strangers. I felt violated, but I’d walked into this of my own free will. Had been excited by it. Had cum and over-cum. Still, I felt dirty. I needed to clean up.
I searched the manse, stumbling past two other rooms, one lit in green, one in blue. A third room beyond them was completely devoid of light. It was the bathroom. I quickly rushed in, closing and bolting the door behind me, locking out the deviance.
I turned on the light and found myself facing a large mirror. I studied my reflection, alarmed at how disheveled I looked. My lipstick was smeared; driblets of cum lingered on my chin. I looked down. A long blond hair was entwined in my garter belt. I blushed with shame as I plucked it away. I lifted my mask, determined to wash my face, but was interrupted by sighs and moans coming from the water closet. Unable to resist, I inched closer and pressed my ear against its door. The sighs and moans grew more heated. Curious, compelled, I turned the knob and peeked inside.
A couple was inside in the dark having sex. He stood behind her, pounding her pussy as she stuck her head in the toilet. In the toilet! Without missing a beat, he turned and saw me, reached back, and pulled me in. The woman didn’t make a sound as he continued drilling her. Was she okay? Was she drowning? She didn’t object or protest in any way. He resumed fucking her. The whole freaky thing turned me on.
I slid down to the floor and watched them go at it as I recalled the woman who had sucked my pussy and the strange man who had ravaged my mouth in the previous rooms. I felt like such a whore… so dirty and worthless. I touched myself at the thought of it all, surprised that feeling so low could make me feel so ready to fuck. I closed my eyes and flung my head back as I rubbed my clit and fingered my hole, quickly bringing myself to full pleasure.
“I’m cumming! I’m cumming!” I cried out and just as I reached orgasm, my body felt warm and wet all over. It was as if my entire body was cumming all over itself. It was as if…
The man was pissing on me! He towered over me and was dousing me in his sun-yellow piss. I was disgusted, appalled even. Still I rubbed my clit furiously and continued to cum even harder, surprising myself. And as I thrashed around in orgasmic bliss, he continued standing above me and began to jack off, excited at the sight of me covered in his urine. I just sat there and let him, feeling outside of myself as this whole bizarre situation took place.
Moments from orgasm, he grabbed me by my hair as he continued to stroke his cock. He pulled me to my feet then bent me over, right next to the woman with her head still in the toilet. He rammed his cock inside me and pushed himself deep, thrusting wildly, thrashing against me and pummeling my pussy like he’d never fucked a pussy in his entire life.
Then he switched up the game.
He fucked her and then me, back to her, then me again. He played musical pussies, going back and forth between us. I cried out while she remained quiet. He moaned. She was quiet. I grew quiet. I was caught up in the role.
He came inside of me, then threw me to the ground.
I lay in a puddle of his cold piss as he stepped over me and then unceremoniously exited the water closet. I heard the bathroom cabinets open and close. He returned with a towel.
“Here, honey,” he said as he offered it to me. “Let’s grab a shower, clean up this mess, and go to bed.” He flicked on the light and revealed a life-like sex doll bent over the toilet.
“How was I tonight?” he asked.
“Perfect,” I said. “I especially loved you as the blond lesbian.”
“Yeah. Me, too!”
Ahhh, swinging! A subject that has secretly fascinated many of us because of its call for what seems like the complete abandonment of inhibitions and convention. Being fascinated about swinging, however, doesn’t necessarily mean that you want to engage in it. Curiosity is one thing, but actually trying it out is another.
Swinging, obviously, isn’t for everybody. And even though some of you might think it would be fun for you and your husband to try, go in knowing this: Swinging is not for the faint of heart. Leaving your inhibitions behind is not the same thing as abandoning the rules, and having rules is the only way you and your mate will be able to enter such a liberal and potentially liberating phase of your sexual relationship and remain strong (or become stronger) as a couple. Swinging, for two people who claim to truly love each other, is about more than just getting to sample an expanded menu, with your partner’s permission. At its core, swinging tests the very mettle of your relationship and whether you and your spouse are truly and completely in unconditional love with each other.
First off, let’s try to understand exactly what swinging is, so that we can make sure we are all operating from the same point of reference. What I’m referring to is a situation where a married couple mutually agrees to have sex with others outside their marriage, usually as a couple, with one spouse watching as the other spouse engages in sex with others, or in locations separate from each other. This mutual agreement is based upon their expressed interests in specific sexual activities and a desire to fulfill such sexual activities with their spouse’s approval, participation, and support.
WTF, Vixen! you scream. Who the hell wants that? That’s just a glorified excuse for having your cake and eating it, too!
Well, first off, the phrase is actually “eating your cake and having it, too,” but that’s neither here nor there. Second, apparently lots of folks want exactly that, because “the lifestyle”—a more subdued and respectable euphemism that refers to the world of swinging—has grown exponentially in recent years. Swinging has been around for centuries, but because of how mainstream pornography has become, it is no longer greeted with the shock and awe it might have inspired in the past.
That’s not to say that everyone is cool with swinging. I wouldn’t dare make such a statement, because it would be far from the truth. There are many people who bristle at the thought of something that sounds so daring, unconventional, and ungodly (if they’re religiously centered), especially if they don’t understand how it works. The human mind in relationships is often wired for ownership and possession (“You’re mine, all mine!”) and the ego is not always able to process the idea of physically sharing one’s mate. We’re told by the greater society that such behavior is dirty and that only amoral, hell-bound (yes, hell-bound—you’re going to hell!) people engage in such things. As a result, swingers have historically kept their swinging to themselves for fear of being judged, being shunned by neighbors, getting fired from jobs, having their children taken from them, or being seen as aberrant freaks on the fringe of society. It is hard to do things outside the norm of societal expectation and not be met with scandal, scorn, or some dreaded scarlet letter that threatens to follow you wherever you go. And even though, in the last three decades, swingers’ clubs have cropped up all over the world—from posh parties in mansions and elite members-only clubs with attractiveness requirements, to hush-hush cells of sexual activity within quiet suburban neighborhoods—people in the lifestyle are still cautious about just whom they share this information about themselves with. Interestingly, though, despite the fact that swinging is not the societal norm, there are reports and studies that indicate marriages where swinging plays an active part are often stronger and more stable than conventional marriages, with solid foundations of honesty and trust.
What does that mean, Vixen? you ask. Are you saying I need to let my man be with other women and be cool with it, encourage him even, just so we can have a happy marriage? And I have to let strange men have sex with me and maybe do threesomes and orgies and all kinds of nasty whatnot, just so my husband can get off? Am I supposed to let my freak flag fly? What if I don’t have a freak flag? What if I don’t want one!
Now, now, ladies. Cool your jets. That’s not what I’m saying at all. I would never suggest nor recommend that you engage in any act that makes you feel as though you aren’t being authentic to yourself. You should never be so compromised that you lose your dignity, damage your sense of self-worth, or feel demeaned in any way (unless, of course, that’s what you were going for).
What I am saying is that you should be honest about who you are sexually, and try to get your man to be just as honest in turn. It may take some coaxing, prodding, and some really deep and candid conversations over several bottles of wine, brandy, Grey Goose, Cîroc—whatever your drink of choice is. Most of us spend much of our married lives trying to get to the heart of who our partner really is, hoping that our mate isn’t hiding something—some sexual kink or quirk—and that the proverbial other shoe doesn’t one day drop, exposing that kink or quirk, thereby catching us unaware. The Oprah Winfrey Show and O magazine are full of such stories. Confessions of women who never knew what manner of kink their husbands were into. “All these years I just thought he held on to his late mother’s dresses because he couldn’t let go of the memory of her.” No, honey. It was because he was wearing them. And he’s wearing your clothes, too, when you’re gone. One more sexual kink undetected because you weren’t bold enough to ask the tough questions and deal with the answers, if he was open enough to tell you.
The advantage that many couples in the lifestyle have over those in conventional marriages is that they already know exactly who their mates are, through and through, and are happily and orgasmically celebrating each other along the way.
No shoes are dropping. The shoes are off!
Think about it. Aside from issues dealing with money, what is the one thing that constantly rears its head as a source of marital problems and, ultimately, divorce? Sex. Lack of it, more than you’d like, not enough of the kind that satisfies, too much of the kind that you don’t want, extramarital affairs, wandering eyes, those who stop caring about being attractive for their spouses, not telling your partner what turns you on, not being able to handle learning exactly what turns your partner on (especially if, to you, it sounds aberrant)—all these things revolve around the issue of sex. Heck, just the thought that you will never do it with another person other than the one you’re married to for as long as you live is enough to send some people into a panic-driven, extramarital fuck frenzy.
Whatever the reason for straying outside your relationship without your spouse’s knowledge, it is still infidelity, which is a major breach of trust and intimacy in your marriage. And once infidelity comes into play, everything else tends to unravel around it. You find out that perhaps you never really knew each other. Every lie, even the little ones (“I’ll take the trash out in a second”), becomes an issue that results in epic emotional battles. You suddenly can’t trust anything. The foundation of your bond is broken, possibly irrevocably. Perhaps your man feared telling you what he was really into, thinking you might judge him or think him some kind of perv. He wants to see you get stuffed with two penises, maybe three, while he watches? It’s been a fantasy of his? What the hell! When did he start having thoughts like this?
Maybe he’s always had fantasies like this, but now he has them about you because you’re the woman he loves. Did the two of you ever discuss such things at the start of your relationship? Were you afraid to do so because you thought it might put each other off? Maybe you like watching others having sex, but wouldn’t dare tell him because he might think you’re a whore (heaven forbid!). This kind of holding back of one’s true self happens every day. People enter into relationships and marriages without ever being honest about who they are and what excites them sexually. Then they sneak and do it, and are shocked when things fall apart once they’re discovered. But if you talk to your average swingers in long-term marriages, they’ll insist these problems were eliminated early because they were forthright about who they are very early—first with themselves, and then with their mates.
Baby, I like having trains run on me. Do you have a problem with that? It has nothing to do with my love for you. It’s just for fun. Just for excitement. I’d love it if you watched. Are you cool with that?
It takes a confident woman to be able to say something like that to a man, and it takes an extremely self-assured man to be down with such a request. That’s not to say you’re not confident or self-assured if you’re not down with that kind of thing. But you can’t be down with that kind of thing and not have the spine to back it up.
Consider it, ladies. Seriously. Just how honest have you been with your husband, and he with you? Do you secretly watch porn online, but read him the self-righteous riot act if you catch him doing the same? If so, shame on you! What a hypocrite you are! Perhaps if you had shared with him that you get turned on watching porn just like he does, the two of you could watch some together and turn up the heat in your relationship. Have you ever been in a threesome or an orgy… and liked it? If so, now that you’ve “settled down” into straitlaced monogamy, do you ever fantasize about that past adventure? Do you ever think about it while you’re having sex with your husband? And does your husband know you ever even had the experience? Why not share it with him? Are you afraid he’ll be disturbed to learn his precious little wife ever did such a thing?
Ladies, so many of the sexual problems in our relationships are brought on by our refusal to simply tell the truth, sometimes even to ourselves. What do you think would happen if you told your husband that, while you’re not a lesbian and have never had nor wanted a lesbian experience, you are very much turned on by watching girl-on-girl porn? Do you think he’d leave you or be disgusted by your admission? What if he then made a confession of his own that catches you unaware, admitting the same thing in reverse, saying that while he’s not gay and has never wanted to have a gay experience, he gets turned on watching gay sex because it seems so taboo. Would you freak out on the inside, fearing you’d married a ticking time bomb that would eventually explode and go full-on gay? Would your whole universe suddenly be turned on its ear? Or are you (or any of us, for that matter) brave enough to listen to your man without judgment or fear?
Don’t be afraid to ask your man questions about his innermost sexual thoughts and desires, even if what he tells you makes you somewhat uncomfortable. Assure him that you will not use this information against him, then keep your word and hold his confessions close. The same applies to your opening up to him with the knowledge that he won’t treat you any differently for what you have shared. This is intimacy building at its purest. The objectives are to learn about each other and to trust on the highest levels possible, when you feel most vulnerable. Perhaps you’ll find out something about each other that pleasantly surprises you. If that pleasant surprise involves learning that you both would be open to trying out a swingers’ club to test the waters, so be it. If that’s not the case, you’ve still taken a bold step in strengthening your relationship by being honest with each other, which is always a good thing.
Those are some pretty good arguments for swinging, aren’t they? But hold your horses there, Randy Mandy. Don’t start searching for the nearest swingers’ club yet. Just as there are couples that are prime candidates for the lifestyle, there are those who shouldn’t touch it with a twenty-foot stick. Could this be you and your man? You really need to think this thing through.
Did any of those points describe you and your man? If so, then please, quickly skip to the next chapter. You need swinging in your marriage like you need a third tit. If, however, all systems are go for you and your hubby, before you take the next step—and, ladies, I cannot emphasize this enough—it is imperative that you establish some rules. Rules that you both agree to abide by, no matter how turned on or adventurous you feel once you’re there and in the moment. As I said earlier, swinging is not for the faint of heart. Many a woman who believed herself capable of seeing her man bang another woman in a way he has never banged her before has found her spirit, self-esteem, and, ultimately, her marriage broken by the night’s end. Many a husband who thought he would be turned on watching his beloved wife—the mother of his children—stuffed balls-deep by another man has folded under the pressure of witnessing her become extra-eager and, um, let’s just say “multiply excited” while being mounted by an over-endowed human satyr far more skilled than he is in the art of giving pleasure. It gets even worse if he sees said wife whip out some exotic moves (moves long put away after her wild college years) that have never been used on him. Insecurity can rear its ugly head when least expected, bringing along its fraternal twin, that green-eyed beast, Jealousy. Soon the remaining members of the Displeasure family—Anger, Resentment, and Scorn—make their appearance, and what started out as a well-intentioned evening of sexual exploration can go poof! in a matter of minutes. Do yourselves a favor and set some boundaries before you begin!
With couples in the lifestyle, it is often a case of two like-minded people finding each other and daring to bare their souls honestly. They elect to accept each other’s sexual proclivities and quirks unconditionally, understanding and defining that, first off, their marriage, family, and love for each other come above all else. Once that absolute has been established, everything can proceed from there. Deciding to become a part of the lifestyle could make your marriage stronger than ever, absent of judgment, secrets, and sneaking around. Swing for the fences and, if you and your husband get it right, this could be just the home run you were looking for to spice up your lives!
Swinging is not for the faint of heart.
Swinging tests the very mettle of your relationship and whether you and your spouse are truly and completely in unconditional love with each other.
Swinging has been around for centuries, but because of how mainstream pornography has become, it is no longer greeted with the shock and awe it might have inspired in the past.
Marriages where swinging plays an active part are often stronger and more stable than conventional marriages, with solid foundations of honesty and trust.
Do yourselves a favor and set some boundaries before you begin!
Deciding to become a part of the lifestyle could make your marriage stronger than ever, absent of judgment, secrets, and sneaking around.
So the two of you have been swinging—hardcore swinging, the real deal—for several months now after reading about it in this book. You mutually agree that getting into “the lifestyle” is the single greatest decision you’ve ever made as a couple, besides deciding to marry, of course. You’re happy. You’re beyond happy; you’re downright euphoric! You’re sexually excited with each other and in love on a level that’s soul-deep, a love that transcends mind, body, spirit, and time. You never want to leave this man and he never, ever wants to leave you. You’ve even joined a swingers’ club and made friends, some of whom you regularly pair up with. Some you actually look forward to seeing more than others. Emphasis on you looking forward. Namely, one Dick Stein, a tall, tan gregarious attorney with a handsome face and a gorgeous, lean athletic build. Of all the men in your swing club, Dick is your favorite. He is just a naturally likable and sexy guy. Easy to be with. Fun, fun, fun!
Your husband knows this and is cool with him, too (not like that, you sillies!). He doesn’t mind when you hang out with Dick, because he enjoys connecting and sexing with Dick’s wife, Peg, whom you also happen to like (yes, sometimes that way). Peg is fun, funny, pretty, smart, and, as the owner of a successful bistro downtown, has shared with you some delicious recipes and cooking tips. As couples, you often come together for foursomes at the club. Your man has his way with Peg. Dick has his way with you. You and Peg go at it. Then Dick and your man ride the rodeo on you both, alternating, sometimes lining you up and switching from hole to hole. After a night of exhausting fun, everyone usually goes their separate ways until the next time. It’s all fun and games, isn’t it? Such a refreshing addition to what you already consider a wonderful marriage.
Still… lately something keeps nagging at you as you snuggle next to your husband and drift off to sleep at night. What could it be? It seems you keep having this single recurring dream. Night after night, the same dream rears its big, throbbing head. The whole thing started out sporadically at first, once every few days, but now it’s as reliable as the daily soaps, and it always starts out exactly the same way. Within moments of your dropping off to sleep, here come the Dicks. That’s right, Dick Stein and his big ol’ purple-headed pretty peen. Both are eager and ready for action. Neither will be denied. How can they? You are absolutely helpless to their wiles.
You see, Dick’s dick is beautiful, and that’s not an oversell. At a full nine inches flaccid and hanging at pure center—curving neither to the left, nor to the right—it is the Holy Grail of your swingers’ club. All the women want it, but Dick and Peg are particular about who gets dibs. Right away, they took to you and your husband. They found your conversation scintillating and considered you both attractive; the four of you fit together easily and well, and in short order you became the fastest of fucking friends. You and your husband are indeed the envy of many a couple for having accomplished such a thing.
But now you’re suffering for it. Each night, you can’t wait to get to bed, just so you can dream about Dick’s dick. You desperately hope that you don’t talk in your sleep, but your husband hasn’t indicated that you’ve said anything untoward, so all seems to be fine. Your man has no complaints anyway. Because of all your dreams about Dick’s dick, you wake every morning—and sometimes in the middle of the night—completely turned on and down for some action. You stay wet on a regular basis, a phenomenon your husband finds most fascinating and which he very much appreciates. It means less work for him to get you to the boiling point, not that he minds. He mistakenly thinks all this is happening because the passion between the two of you has been reawakened since adding swinging to your lives, and, yes, he is partially correct. You wouldn’t be feeling this way if you’d never entered the lifestyle and joined a swingers’ club and met Dick. And had you never met him, you would have never experienced the nirvana that is the way Dick’s dick feels when it’s in you, on you, near you, above you. Dick’s beautiful dick. Dick’s dick is now the center of your universe. He is the sun upon which you want to set. Er, sit.
Holy shit, lady! This is a problem! What on earth are you going to do? The chapter on swinging was perhaps the most difficult for me to write and the one with which I took the most care. Choosing to enter the lifestyle can be an extremely complicated and precarious thing for a couple. I’m not saying it’s that way for every couple. Some are so mutually in tune about their needs, desires, and how they will handle things that they are able to dive right in and get acclimated without drama. Others have to really pore over taking such a serious step, making sure that there is an absolute synchronicity of intent when it comes to why they’re doing it.
As I noted elsewhere, jealousies, infidelities, secrets, and the like all have the potential to be perceived as slights that can destroy the trust in your marriage. Your marriage has to have a solid foundation or it cannot, will not, weather the storm you are rushing into, and it will feel like a storm, with winds of change coming at you at speeds you aren’t equipped to withstand. You thought your marriage was solid, that you and your man stood on terra firma, but suddenly finding yourself lusting after and regularly dreaming of Dick’s dick could be a strong indication of the burgeoning of a breach of trust. It is a sign you’re growing attached to Dick in a way that could pose a threat to your own relationship. Sure, you may love the way Dick’s dick feels. Who doesn’t love the feel of good dick? Okay, great dick. Okay, spectacular dick. Beautiful dick. Perfectly centered dick. All right, all right, I get it already. Get ahold of yourself. Sheesh!
Seriously, though, you do realize that this isn’t a good sign, right? You are going to either have to talk about this to your husband, or find a way to put some distance between you and Dick. Yes, I said it. Distance. Step away from Dick’s dick. Right now you’re teetering on the brink of falling for Dick in a way that supersedes the supposed harmlessness of friends coming together at a club to swap and share partners for sex. Dick has officially become an object of your affection, and when you start to dream of something repeatedly, that means it’s becoming an obsession. Unless you and your husband have agreed that this kind of thing is okay, obsessing over someone outside of your marriage is an invitation to disaster. It’s a wedge between you that will ultimately grow into a chasm. People fall into chasms and disappear. That’s not a good thing, especially if you’re the one falling in.
I can see it all unfolding now. First, you’ll start throwing shade at Peg. Perhaps you’ll grow short with her and begin inappropriately critiquing her body in Dick’s presence. That’s what obsession makes you do. You will see Peg as your enemy, the person who keeps you from having Dick and his dick all to yourself, so the barbs will fly. You may not even be aware you are doing it.
Maybe you’ll ask if she’s gaining weight from all that tasting she does at the restaurant, ha ha ha. And Peg will be like, “Ha ha huh? Bitch, what?” Your husband will wonder what the heck you’re doing, saying such a thing to someone who has been so gracious to the two of you. He likes Peg. Peg gives great head and has a fat, juicy, welcoming ass. But unlike you, he could take her or leave her. He’s not having late-night dreams and morning wood about Peg and her juicy, fat ass. When he wakes up in the morning with wood, it’s all for you, inspired by you.
When that tack fails, maybe you’ll redirect the attack and start in on him. First you’ll accuse him of the very thing you’re guilty of, because that’s what we do, isn’t it? That’s the ultimate giveaway. You Jedi mind trick ’em. Whip out the okey-doke. You accuse him of wanting to be with Peg and insist he enjoys her sexually more than he does you, thus putting him in the unfortunate position of having to defend himself. Of course, he’ll put an end to that immediately by saying he can prove that he doesn’t and will do so by quitting the lifestyle altogether. Oh noes! We don’t want that, now do we? So you say your mea culpas and abandon that failed approach in search of something more subversive, more cunning, more likely to get you access to more of Dick’s dick.
You play it cool for a while, but the dissension bubbles and brews inside you, eventually making appearances in other ways. You begin doing the inevitable: comparing your husband’s dick to Dick’s. It starts off quietly at first, as just a mental observation. Then, tragically, you begin musing aloud. How could you not? Dick’s dick is the be-all and end-all of dicks. It is Dick of Dicks, Lord of Meat Swords. Should your husband fail to hit a spot the way Dick’s dick hits it or, heaven forbid, not match up to his stamina, you begin to nitpick. It’s subtle at first, but it is definitely there.
Don’t think your husband won’t realize what’s happening. He will feel a pang of something that he might not recognize at first, but soon he’ll understand that it’s brought on by the threat of something encroaching on his marriage, the threat of his wife longing for greener, longer, better-hung grass. Once the full realization of what’s going on washes over him, he will understand that this is where all the attacks are coming from—the barbs at Peg about her weight, the accusations about his lusting for her, and your dissatisfaction with the size and performance of his formerly more-than-acceptable manhood—all of it stems from your addiction to Dick’s dick.
The worst will be when you insist on frequenting the swing club more. You and your husband started out attending once a week, which seemed more than sufficient to satisfy your urge for some fun-filled strange. That is, up until now. Dick and Peg are on the scene at least five times a week. Now you want to go five times a week as well. You insist. It’ll be fun! Meanwhile, your husband is growing more than a bit concerned. He is ready to take action in the form of an ultimatum. It is him or the club, your man or Dick’s dick.
Do I really need to tell you that it’s time to pump the brakes? Seriously? In fact, it might be time to make a clean break altogether—but not from your husband. He’s the good guy in all this. In this little cautionary tale, you are the villain, although you may not have started out that way. You just stepped into a situation that was—ahem—much bigger than what you were capable of handling emotionally. It might be hard, especially now that an addiction seems to have taken hold, but you need to find a way to disengage from your attachment to this outsider. It has even begun causing a bit of tension between Dick and Peg. She is none too appreciative of the jokes you’ve been making at her expense. Peg is shrewd, however. She has seen this routine before. She knows the prize that is Dick’s dick and has had women throw shade at her before. You’re not the first, honey, and you won’t be the last. Women have even tried to fight her about it, but those silly fools just ended up kicked out of the club. Peg shakes off such drama especially well because she knows that gilded, hysteria-inspiring magic meat wand goes home with her every night. She’s got her shit together. She’s been in the lifestyle for more than a decade and she knows exactly how to navigate the emotional landscape.
You, however, need to gracefully exit this complicated, dead-end scenario. You’re not equipped for this kind of hardball, not just yet, even though you and your husband probably thought you were when you both decided to do it.
Take a break for a while. Be with each other and just each other. Don’t even think about allowing any third, fourth, or fifth parties in. Put the kibosh on it all, for the sake of all that’s important to you. You can do it. It might be hard, but you can definitely do it. Just think, you and your husband were married for years before you introduced the idea of sexing outsiders. You’ve only been in the lifestyle for a very short while, so while it may hurt a little, it’s not going to kill you to give it up. Amiright?
Chill. Enjoy each other. Try this fantasy with just you two and a bit of costuming and dolls, if you must. Revel in the fact that your love is strong enough and trusting enough that you were willing to try out the lifestyle to see if it was something that could work for your marriage. Well, um, obviously it can’t, at least not without one of you freaking out a little… okay, a lot, but take heart knowing that no matter what, being together is all that matters. I’m not saying that you should leave the lifestyle completely, especially if you both really enjoy it, but maybe taking baby steps wouldn’t hurt. I mean, you got sprung on a specific dick after a mere two months of experimenting with swinging, which means you haven’t mastered the ability to separate the act of having sex from the person you are having it with and can’t leave those momentary feelings at the club once you and your hubby head back home.
Take your time. Reacquaint yourselves with each other. Re-meet his meat. Your husband’s, that is. He’s got a dick, too, you know, and his dick has feelings. His dick isn’t stupid. It knew you were transferring your affections to another. It’s not blind. Well, maybe it is, but still. You get my point.
His dick knows you, literally, inside out. It’s there for you when you’re wet, and even when you’re dry. Good dick isn’t always about how a man puts it down, but where he wants to put it, day after day, night after night.
Show his dick some love. Give it some praise. Give it a fist bump with your mouth. It may not be Dick’s dick, but, by golly, it’s yours!