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Imagine this scene: there are eight of us on a bed, moving around from person to person with unscripted and wordless lust. I am positioned behind a beautiful 23-year-old woman, licking and fingering her moist pussy, pausing to take in the sight of her beautiful, round ass in my face. My wife lies beneath her—and her boyfriend. The young woman eats my wife while her boyfriend kneels above her head. My wife is sucking his balls and jacking him off. Others on the bed fuck and suck, and soon the scene changes. My wife is on her knees sucking me while another man pumps her from behind. Then another grouping. The young woman from earlier is with another woman at the foot of the bed while another guy fucks my wife and I get so excited I come in her mouth.
We couldn’t have imagined that such a thing would happen to us. How could it? We’re just average people—cautious, shy, conservative, scared. But it did happen—after some time.
We are Jayme and James. When we started thinking about swinging, she was 36 and I was 37. That was three years ago. We aren’t “Ken and Barbie,” as many swingers say (meaning that they are the exact opposite), but we aren’t Tom and Roseanne either. She is slim, blonde, with small perky breasts (perfect, almost permanently hard nipples), an inviting firm belly, and a beautiful butt. I suppose she is closer to Barbie than I am to Ken. I have a hard time describing myself. Jayme tells others I have beautiful blue eyes. She’s sweet. I have eyes, that’s true. I am happy she finds them beautiful. Otherwise, I’m about 5’ 9”, average weight and build, short brown hair. I’ve never been able to get six-pack abs, but I’m not hanging over the belt. I’m not exactly hanging under the belt either, but that’s another story. I guess what I’m trying to say is that we’re average people our age who take care of ourselves.
As I say, we didn’t jump into the lifestyle. We didn’t begin with an orgy. Three years ago if anyone had suggested it to us, we may have run. Fast. Both of us had fantasized about such things, but neither of us had considered acting out our fantasies. Before finding each other, it wouldn’t have been possible. Swinging was a slow process for us; one thing led to another.
We began with intimate conversation, which arose naturally from the passion and feelings of trust and freedom we brought to each other early on in our relationship. We had both come from long-term and sexless marriages. Both of us had lived quite heavily, then, in a fantasy world. Our dreams were the only place we had sex. Our imaginations went wild. When we got together, finding similar souls, we exploded. Our conversations, actions, and fantasies revolved around each other. They still do. I can honestly say that Jayme is always the major part of my fantasies.
In the early days of our relationship we made up for years of lost time. We had sex everywhere and any time. We both tried to come up with new ways to please the other. For the first time in our lives we had a willing partner. We had love and passion. We had a person we took pleasure in pleasing. Each of us worked on—by reading and practice—bringing the other the best orgasms ever. We spent time learning each other’s fantasies and desires and on fulfilling them. We read articles on “how to give your lover the best oral sex ever,” “erotic massage,” pretty much anything and everything related to making sex better. Good sex, like a good relationship, takes work. We worked hard.
Along with our physical flowering, we had an intellectual and communicative flowering as well. We discussed our fantasies, our needs, wants, and desires. Most of them centered on the other and were easily fulfilled. Sometimes our fantasies involved more people. We brought them out, more and more—careful not to send the wrong impression, that we were getting bored with the other. We were clear in our every conversation that we would be happy with just the other forever. It was easy to say because it was and is true.
TV swingers swing out of boredom. “We have to get our sex life going again. We’ve grown tired of our relationship,” they seem to say. While we have known couples who have used swinging to revitalize their relationship, even then it isn’t usually a matter of wanting to replace the one they’re with. With us, it was continuing the passion, not renewing anything. Nothing had gone. Our own pleasure led us to explore ways to increase it. Some people like to visit exotic places together; we like to visit exotic people together.
Discussing our fantasies out loud wasn’t easy for us. We are both quiet people. Neither of us was used to discussing such things either. We talked in clues and quiet looks. Sometimes we misunderstood each other because of our polite vagaries. Once, for instance, Jayme slipped me a note in my office in the middle of the day. “When we get home I want you to FMB,” it said. I struggled with the message, trying to decipher the acronym. “F” was probably “fuck”; that’s the case most of the time. I knew it was sexual, so “fuck” must be it. What could “m” mean? Since it came from her, I figured it must been “my.” Oh my God,” I thought, “b” has to be “butt.” I was very excited. I had never had anal sex, nor did I think she had. This would be an exciting first. We talked about it during the day—still not explicitly. I simply told her that I couldn’t wait. When we arrived home, she said, “Are you ready to fuck me blind?”
There are problems with being vague. Not that there is anything wrong with fucking a person blind. We did that often. Intense moments fill my memory now as I think back on the early days of our relationship. Even now after all of our experiences, nothing compares to sex I share with Jayme. I remember an early moment in a hotel, her wrapping her nude self loosely in a curtain, the sun shinning in her hair. I remember moments so intense we nearly drown in our own sweat. I think of the first time inching my finger toward her forbidden place. She did want my version of FMB after all. Our fantasy conversations really intensified when Jayme started writing out one of her recurrent dreams for me. She teased me day by day with little snippets. She would hand me a computer disk, and I would slip it in my computer immediately after she left, reading what she had added the previous night. I couldn’t wait until the next installment.
I remember it starting out with her being alone in her house. She was sleeping on her stomach when she was awoken by the sound of an intruder. In future installments I learned that she could feel the intruder’s presence in her bedroom. She was afraid to move. If only she lay still, she thought, he would leave her alone. He didn’t. He overpowered her, stripped her clothing from her, and made her lie still while he snapped photos of her ass. It took a couple weeks before he finally moved atop her, rendering her helpless as he thrust himself into her, fucking her wildly as she lay there, a firm yet not painful hand keeping her down. He removed his cock from her and then slowly penetrated her ass—I think she called it the “other place.” The last part was left up to the imagination. She couldn’t bring herself to write in too explicit language, and I am hesitant to do so now. It doesn’t seem as erotic.
I anticipated every day’s installment and was sorely disappointed when she had to take a day off. As my reception of her fantasies grew in excitement and positive comments, so too did her willingness to share them—and to seek mine. It was a slow process. Neither of us wanted our fantasies to offend the other. It is difficult to share. What if the other thinks we’re weird, perverse? It never happened. We both were on the same sheet of music. We discovered we both had some of the same fantasies. It was freeing to share them with another person. It built our trust in each other. It built our closeness.
Sex was natural, we discovered. It was something to be celebrated.
Our conversations led to investigations on the WEB. We thought about having a threesome with a woman, one fantasy we both shared, so we searched personal ads on Yahoo and Hotmail. Even though we were searching, it was hard to determine whether we really thought we would do it, or if we were searching just to continue the conversation, the fantasy. Regardless, we had no luck. Men, it seemed, were easier to find. We discussed the possibility of a mfm (two men and a woman) threesome. Though it wasn’t her first idea, she warmed up to it—especially when I revealed that it had long been a fantasy of mine.
Here’s the odd thing: I am a fairly jealous guy. I am always aware of others’ eyes on Jayme, and I am often suspicious of their intentions. If she cheated on me, I think it would kill me. I couldn’t stand to lose her. That being said, the idea of watching another guy fuck her was very appealing. I thought of it often. I dreamt of all the porn movie configurations. The person was always faceless in my fantasies. Who it was didn’t matter. It was the idea of it all. Does that make sense?
Believe me, I’ve tried to figure it out—probably tried to over-think it. I wondered if my desire to see her with someone else was a means of having sex with her without the risk of personally disappointing her, that my fear of not being able to please her was the cause. I wondered if I had low self-esteem. I thought I was trying to lose her. After all the worries and wonderings, I’ve come to the conclusion that I really like to watch it. Nothing brings me more pleasure than to see her pleasure. Having a threesome with another guy is like watching a movie AND performing in it. I sometimes think too much.
For some reason, it never occurred to me to wonder why a threesome with another woman was desirable. Societal norms, I suppose.
At any rate, we decided to chat with some guys online and choose one to have our first real experience with.
The thought of actually doing it was intoxicating. We decided it would be best to do it far away from home. We had to travel to a city about two hours from where we lived in a couple weeks for other reasons anyway, so I tried to set something up for then. I had it narrowed to two prospects. As I said, guys were easy to find. I simply contacted a bunch from personal ads online. If they seemed intelligent, polite, and willing to do things the way we wanted them done, I figured they were perfect. I created a scenario based on our conversations. It showed what would be the complete fantasy for us. No kissing—that would be too personal. Jayme didn’t even want to meet the person first. She wanted him to be a “tool,” not a person. She wanted to be blindfolded. Here is the scenario I sent to the prospects:
That was the gist of it. No talking, no kissing, no identification. It would be a visual experience for me, a complete fantasy for her.
As the weekend approached, we became increasingly nervous that it would happen—and that it wouldn’t. The first time a fantasy is about to become a reality, it creates quite a shock to the system. Having several hours on the drive to the place to think about it also made it difficult. It seemed a little forced. “Hey, we’re going to go and have sex with someone now.” We talked of little else on the trip up. Tension and an uncharacteristic irritability filled our voices. Nerves were getting the best of us.
“What if he doesn’t show up?” I asked.
“Then he doesn’t show up. Aren’t I enough for you?”
“Yes, I’ve said it a hundred times. I should be worried about you.”
“Why’s that?”
“What if you like him better.”
“Shut up. If you’re really worried about that we shouldn’t be doing anything anyway.”
And the conversation continued in that way most of the trip. We weren’t ready. We must have sensed that. We put off calling either of the guys. Then when we finally talked each other into going through with it, only one of them answered the phone. “Sorry, but I can’t really make it until late,” he said. He was busy until midnight .
“I’m not waiting that long,” Jayme said.
I called him back and left a message on his answering machine saying we were canceling. So we had two prospects and no anticipated fantasy game. We were relieved and angry. There were moments when we were happy on the trip, when we managed to share the joy of our relief that we didn’t have to do what we were talking about. But there were also many more tense moments. We were confused and frustrated. No more fantasy talk, we decided. It was an interesting idea, but we had gone too far. Rather than giving us a weekend to remember, it gave us one to forget. It was one of the tensest moments in our otherwise calm and wonderful relationship.
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