Until about 3 months ago, this was a benign Monday morning question I fielded from my co-workers – some of whom are truly good friends. I would tell them in appropriate detail that weekend’s exploits: kids skateboarding at the park, long run in the woods, fixing the car…. God I am so Middle America it hurts.
Since Mrs. Said and I started sticking a toe (and other parts) into the swimming pool of swinging, it feels odd to have this dirty little secret. I hadn’t realized how ‘open book’ I had been before. Everything was on the table.
Not yesterday. This was no ordinary Monday. It was the first time I would hear the question “What did you do this weekend?” and the answer could have been “Soft swap swinging with a nice couple in the ‘burbs.” Instead I said, “Not much.” I pride myself on being truthful where it counts. In my rationalizing mind, “not much” was in fact a truthful comment in the context of full-swap swinging. A session of oral sex with our new friends was “not much” compared to no-holds-barred, full-swap, separate-room who’s-yer-daddy-ing.
You probably want me to get to the actual story of what we did this weekend. First, let me tell you what led up to it.
We signed up with a couple swinger dating sites a couple months ago. Based on unscientific research, we started with SDC.com and lifestylelounge.com. Mrs. Said and I have been together for a couple decades; this was the first foray into internet dating for us. I am web design illiterate so I don’t know the ‘why’ behind it, but I can tell you I think SDC has a very polished look to the site. LL is a little more old school in appearance, but it has a superior question-and-answer feature that lets you express more information than the prototypical “We are an attractive, fit, classy, upscale, professional couple in a long-term, happy, sexually gratifying marriage of best friends who are looking for disease- and drama-free playmates who understand the demands of career and kids.” It is remarkable how generic that description gets after you peruse a few dozen profiles. And it is really depressing for those of us who truly are an attractive, fit, classy, upscale, professional couple in a long-term, happy, sexually gratifying marriage of best friends who are looking for disease- and drama-free playmates who understand the demands of career and kids. Everyone else is stealing my schtick.
Back to LL. Several of my Q&A responses bear out my smart-ass tendencies. We received a message on the site from a couple who thought I was funny. Funny? Dang. I was going for Hasselhof-hot. But I will take funny. Anyhow, let’s call this couple the Flintstones. Between our tentativeness and their ages (stated ages being 5-10 years older than our actual ages), we decided to meet them for dinner just to pick their brains about their year-or-so in the lifestyle. They have been to Desire, have had a few play sessions, etc. so they were a comfortable mentoring couple for us. Physically, they were in good shape and reasonably attractive, but not our exact target types. But they were so warm, open, and engaging that we started to think “Hmmmm, they could be fun to play with.” And she was really hot for me, which is not something I have experienced much in life except with Mrs. Said.
After letting some time pass to process this first step into swinging, we thought we would take the next step and soft swap with them. We set up a Saturday night for the kids to spend the night at their grandparents’ house. Our friends were happy to host us and quickly offered their hot tub and pool as a good starting place.
Sexting. It’s not just for teenagers anymore.
Like I said, Mrs. Said and I have been out of the game for a while. She’s not the phone sex or sexting type. She is quiet during lovemaking unless I am REALLY doing it right. And that feedback from her usually means I am almost finished too.
Mrs. Said: For the record, I'm not very vocal during sex because we live in a house with actual children, and after getting them to bed (a process that can be exhausting), about the last thing I want to do is interrupt my chances of having a rocking orgasm or two by alerting them to the fact that Mr. Said and I are having hot, monkey sex. That, and I'm sort of quiet anyway.
Mrs. Flintstone sent us a message on LL saying they liked to do a little dirty texting to add to the build-up for a play date. “Sure! Why not?” we thought. We found out why not. We’re just not that good at it and rather than building the anticipation it completely stifled it for Mrs. Said. I thought it was a pretty aggressive move for Mrs. Flintstone to describe what she would want me to do for her at dinner. But I am a guy. My reptile brain can survive in many an ecosystem. Mrs. Said, on the other hand, was getting nothing out of the detached text leaping from her iPhone telling her what it was going to do to her lady bits.
Mrs. Said: Cue the low-grade rumbling of concern that we may have engineered our first swinging adventure with folks who were pretty different from us in a number of key ways, generationally and sexually speaking. Mr. Flintstone was worse at sexting that I am, and the net effect of his texts were that they were starting to kill any desire I had to actually get together. And since we had already enjoyed a nice, laid back dinner with them and had gotten comfortable with at least a basic level of compatibility that led us to believe we could have a fun, physical evening together, I decided that we needed to shut the sexting down with them or this evening was definitely not going to happen.
We talked about it and drafted a nice email telling them that this approach was not working and that we needed a nice, organic buildup to our date. They obliged. All is good.
We continued our time of getting psyched up for this. We even got Brazilians (another story not told in the office Monday morning, but described in more-than-you-probably-want-to-know detail HERE). Mrs. Said and I were even talking about going full swap. Then…
Our younger daughter comes down with a fever mid-week before our play date. We have great babysitters whom the girls adore. But we didn’t want to be away from the little patient if she was feeling puny. Wait and see. Everything else is fine, right?
Speaking of texting, SRSLY? WTF?
Aunt Flo. That time of the month. Riding the cotton pony. Ground under repair. Since I got snipped and she went off the pill, Mrs. Said's cycle has been, well, less predictable than it used to be. But wait! I wasn’t as disappointed as I would have expected. Sure I felt “damn” and “whew” all at the same time, but this takes all the pressure off. Mrs. Said got in touch with the other couple and explained our situation. Their reply? “No worries, let’s still go out for a vanilla date.” We got a babysitter for Saturday night once it was clear that our daughter was feeling fine.
Cool. Less pressure is a good thing in my book. I didn’t want there to be the expectation of play, but if some light petting occurred it would be a bonus. Dinner was nice and we sat at their favorite table at a local place with a cute little bar. I was trying to figure out how the hell she expected me to stick my hand under her dress without being noticed. Maybe that last part wasn’t important to Mrs. Flintstone.
Fast forward through dinner. They invite us back to their beautiful house and Mr. Flintstone starts making some mixed drinks. I am the permanent designated driver, enjoying my Diet Cokes. We hang out for a while chatting about all kinds of stuff, then Mrs. Flintstone invites Mrs. Said to try out the stripper pole in the basement. OK. For you vanillas out there, if your neighbor has a hot tub, they might be swingers. If they have a hot tub and a stripper pole, that’s a really safe bet.
Mrs. Said is fantastic. In spite of her “condition” she learned a few moves on the pole – and carried them off with style and grace. I’m not a big fan of strippers or their poles, but some guys are. Mr. Flintstone is one of those guys.
After giving me a bit of a lap dance, Mrs. Flintstone decided it was time to show us the sex swing. During the lap dance, there was a bit of porn kissing by Mrs. F. OK, part of the show, I thought. I am sure you have seen the style in an adult movie. Tongue – fully erect and extended as far as possible – darts around the innocent’s mouth like you would poke an ant hill with a stick (if you were an 8 year old boy on Red Bull). What. The. Fuck.
After all attempts to show her that this method might need to be tempered, she got distracted by Mrs. Said. Even out of commission from the waist down – Mrs. Said managed to get lots of hands and mouths roaming her fine self. I will skip the graphic stuff but suffice it to say that we had many firsts: first sexual contact with another couple, first girl kiss for Mrs. Said, first girl oral (giving, this time) for Mrs. Said, first non-Mrs.-Said blowjob for Mr. Said in two decades…
Speaking of that blowjob, this should have been the point in the evening where angels sing, all seems right with the world, Stephen Hawking finally makes sense… I mean, I am a red-blooded American man getting his junk sucked by a relative stranger WITH MY WIFE’S PERMISSION? Heaven. Except this little corner of Heaven hurts. Ladies, you have heard that crude compliment some guy made about so-and-so’s ability to suck the chrome off a trailer hitch? Please, I beg of you, understand the creative license applied to that phrase. If you are sucking with such force that the guy is wincing and pulling back, that’s a sign the suction might be a tad, ahem, aggressive. If he manages to extract his past-good-throbbing to now-bad-throbbing manhood from your mouth, do not grab it with a dry hand and see if you can tug that pesky epidermis right off of it.
Other than the fact that (a) it was someone different and (b) it was completely sanctioned by Mrs. Said, it was an unnerving experiment. I broke free, happily returning to the soft, familiar touch of my wife where we were able to complete my journey while the Flintstones excused themselves to another room to wrap things up.
We straightened ourselves up, said our thank-yous all around, and made our way to the car. This post is long enough at this point, so you get the Reader’s Digest version: The Saids agreed we had an enjoyable enough time, but compatibility problems in intensity and overall attraction meant that was the last time we would play with the Flintstones.
We are really looking forward to our next lifestyle adventure – hopefully with a couple who is closer in age, laid-backedness, and bedroom modus operandi. Our spend-the-night-party-at-grandma’s rain check comes this Saturday, so let’s see what happens.
Mrs. Said: Since I was the hold up on this post and we are uploading it after our second (STELLAR) swing experience, I'll just sign off by saying that Mr. Said did an excellent job of describing the scene. The Flintstones were fantastic people and great company in some ways, it just turned out that we weren't compatible much beyond liking them as they appear in vanilla life. Unfortunately, some layers of compatibility were unknowable until the evening got cranked up. That experience, plus a few mediocre trips to our local swing club, were beginning to make me question whether or not the swing life was going to be something we would continue. Because our process of deciding whether to play involves a decent amount of time and effort getting to know the other couple, I realized I'm not willing to work this hard for mediocre sex with someone else when I am getting rocking sex with Mr. Said already. Fortunately, our second experience more than made up for the first.