Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Last Minute Morality

The experience with the Germans was disappointing. They were good people. The ordeal was amusing, but it missed the mark substantially. We didn’t get what we wanted.

One of the frustrating aspects of finding people for swinging is the phenomenon of people flaking out. Many attractive couples will express interest and then suddenly disappear. The cause of that cannot usually be traced back to any one thing. Pictures are normally one of the first things exchanged. Physical attraction is always determined first in the process. Most people also clearly articulate what sort of swinging interests them in the beginning. So both of these things are generally not cause for people flaking out. In some cases, we expect it’s that the “couples” are not really couples at all, but single males posing as couples. There are lots of these. They basically just want pictures and a few dirty emails. In the same category, you’ll find lots of married men whose wives aren’t 100% on board with their swinging endeavors, and they also disappear once they get a few dirty pictures and emails. There are also a lot of cheating boyfriends and husbands out there who want to meet discretely without their significant other’s knowledge. It’s a bizarre guessing game, rife with dishonesty. You’ll also find a few couples who seem sincerely interested, who I suspect just lose their nerve when things get too real. People can flake out and lose their nerve at any point in the event, and it’s best that it happen when you’re still in the preliminary stages. It’s strange and uncomfortable when you meet and have to back out for any reason, or if you get all the way to the bedroom and have to grapple with an eruption of last minute morality or jealousy issues. These can often be overcome to some extent, but they’re unpleasant snags in what could otherwise be a righteous good time.

A few weeks ago we had a couple cancel on us the morning of the day that we were supposed to have an evening date with them. They claimed that the male portion of the couple was cleaning the gutters, fell, and was grievously injured. They promised to reschedule once he recovered, and never have. We were supposed to travel a short distance to meet up with another couple this past weekend. We planned the date for about two weeks, and then they canceled three days before the date citing, health issues. Apparently the male developed a last minute case of strep throat. Hmm, fancy that. They’ve picked a new date about a month away, and we’re mildly optimistic that they’ll keep it. If I were a gambling man, however, I wouldn’t put money on it.

Surprisingly, at the last minute another couple from a nearby town popped up very quickly. They contacted us initially. A few emails were exchanged, and a date set up to meet them instead, on the very same date, in place of the previous couple.

It all came together remarkably well. My wife is a relentless pessimist and skeptic. She was convinced that this wouldn’t go well, but simply went along with it to humor me. I think she was still a little gun-shy from our experience with the Germans. Regardless, we met this couple at another one of our favorite restaurants, this one actually within the city of Pittsburgh.

They were immediately very warm, open, stable, attractive people. He was somewhat tall, head shaved down to skin, very fit, goatee, 36. She was lovely, Italian-looking, 35, about 5’ 5,” average build, and very well endowed. Conversation got off to a great start. He was originally from Sacremento, California. They had met somehow while he was in the Navy, got married, and moved to western PA. We talked about our jobs, food, fitness, and traveling. My wife and I have an abort signal that we use when we’re meeting with couples. It’s very simple. If either she or I determine at any point that we’re completely unwilling to fuck the people we’re meeting, we will just start tapping the other on the thigh. It’s not a specific number of taps, but just a rapid burst. In essence it means, “This goes no further than dinner.” I had been nervously waiting for this signal from her, but it was wonderfully absent. About halfway through dinner I knew that things were going to work out well, and we’d all get to know each other much better during the next step of our date.

There was one additional, though very mild, hurdle to be addressed. We hadn’t selected a location. In my absent-minded optimism, I had told these people that we could just have them over our house if things reached that point, without conferring with my wife first. It’s funny that she has no problem with me fucking other women, so long as they don’t see our house looking untidy while it happens. Fortunately she and I had discussed this on the way to dinner, and she had said that if we decided to fuck these people, that it would have to happen in a hotel. Makes no difference to me. So, after dinner, I explained this all to them with an apologetic air. They thought that it was all very funny, and they agreed to let us select a hotel. They would just follow close behind us as we drove them to one.

After a relatively short drive, we arrived at a hotel about five minutes away from our house. It was awfully convenient. I’m sure the people at the desk thought it was hilarious. The shameful moment of booking a hotel room for four laughing people late at night is something I’ve gotten remarkably accustomed to. The fact that it was a five minute drive from the address on my driver’s license could have only elicited further inferences from the staff as to what we were all doing there. My wife and I hit the hotel bar briefly to grab a couple drinks. Our new friends were actually both recovering alcoholics. While they had explicitly stated that they weren’t bothered by our drinking, they couldn’t drink at all. So they got a few sodas to take up to the room. We all sat and talked for quite a while. It’s a difficult thing to make the transition between simple Platonic conversation to group sex. Alcohol makes it much easier. They didn’t have that crutch, and it also happened to be their very first time swinging. The male portion of the couple didn’t seem to be nervous at all, though his wife clearly was. She kept making frequent calls to their babysitter to make sure their kids were alright. It was funny and charming, though a little bit of a dampener.

Sex got started gently. There were two beds in the room. My wife and I started playing around on our bed, and they started playing around on theirs. Once it seemed like everybody was sufficiently comfortable with that, I blurted out, “Anybody wanna trade?” This was greeted with laughs and unrestrained confirmation. The women both got up, and switched beds. I had no fears at all about my wife and this guy getting along alright. As soon as she left the bed with me to go to him, I smiled at her and said, “Have fun!” She smiled back and went to him. They got started very smoothly and easily. His wife came over to me with an adorably nervous enthusiasm. She was 35, though the expression on her face was that of a girl about to lose her virginity: excited but terrified. I watched her approach very attentively. She was wearing a very elaborate corset and garters. It looked really good on her, though it seemed totally unnecessary. She really didn’t need it. Corsets are nice to look at, but they’re really complicated to get open. Moreover her panties were under the garters, where they usually go, so they couldn’t really be removed without removing the garters first. Not wanting to take the liberty of ruining her ensemble, I had to do all of my work with her panties simply pulled to the side. That was the only way that I was going to be able to get to the important parts. She was like a giant candy bar with an infuriatingly complex but splendid wrapper. I could tell that this woman didn’t want to be totally unwrapped. I’m not sure why, though I could guess. She certainly wasn’t fat, and her breasts seemed pretty firm, like they could easily support themselves. It must have been something else, something pertaining to carrying or delivering children. I got started very gently with her, taking brief looks over at the other bed to check in on my wife and this woman’s husband to make sure that everything was going well. It was. With that, I got much more aggressive with her. I could tell that she was enjoying the experience, despite her nerves. She just needed my guidance. She began to approach orgasm, and I could tell that she was fighting it. This was the first clue that I got that her nerves were stemming from moral issues. She was totally comfortable with the experience as long as she didn’t enjoy it quite that much. She must have been Catholic. I understood completely. I accepted this as a challenge. One of the things that I enjoy most in life is making women cum against their will. I’ve encountered that sort of thing before, with married women in swinging situations. They can rationalize away any sort of sexual playing with other people if it’s just playing, but an orgasm is a pretty concrete thing. An orgasm means you’ve clearly done something. So as I felt her trying to suppress it, I formed a tighter seal with my mouth, sucked a little harder, and wagged my tongue faster. I felt her let go, and as it washed over her I enjoyed my favorite moment of the evening. For better or worse, I enjoy indulgences of my ego more than those of my id. That’s probably pathetic, but I am what I am. She was also very orally talented, and I too had been desperately trying to avoid climaxing. However, my restraint wasn’t at all moral. It was practical. I didn’t want to lose my erection yet. I still had a strong desire to fuck. I asked her if she wanted to, and didn’t really get a response. Not anticipating resistance I got up and grabbed a condom from my coat, thinking that would more solidly convey the idea to her. Her husband saw this, and was visibly excited. He approached me to get one too. I started to hand him one. On the other bed, my wife looked pretty ready for what was coming, and then his wife blurted out, “Are you sure we want to do all that?” It was a ridiculous question, as clearly everybody did. It was also my second clue that her reservations were moral in nature. I had really thought that first orgasm would have sufficiently defeated that impulse, but I guess I’d miscalculated. Apparently my tongue isn’t quite as magical as I had previously thought. Fuck. Everybody played it very gently, and obeyed her wishes. There was a bit more inter-couple playing, but it was all just oral. We switched back to our own spouses to actually fuck and finish off the first round. Some time elapsed, and everybody remained more or less naked, and we all talked a bit. Her husband made gentle attempts to cajole her into fucking me. It was always in the form of rationalizing arguments and light jokes, and it was all very funny. Everybody laughed, and I recall she made some kind of comment about needing to go to church the next day.

At this point she needed to go outside and smoke. She did this, and her husband accompanied her. My wife and I talked about everything that had happened up to that point. We confirmed that we were each having a really good time, and that we really wanted to get past this “no actual fucking” rule. When our new friends returned, they both seemed excited to be back. It seemed that both women were tired. My wife decided to run back down to the bar and buy a few more sodas. She returned with a sack full of Red Bull energy drinks. She had bought all they had left. We each pounded a few while we talked, recharging for the second round. The other woman’s husband told us stories about the Navy. His service had taken place in the late '90s. The best story involved a sex show that he said he had seen in France. He said that he’d gone into these sorts of establishments with moderate frequency when they’d pull into a port, and they would be filled with other servicemen. This particular establishment was half bar and half sex show. In the very front row were a bunch of Marines, “jarheads,” as he called them, each with beers. He sat a few rows back with his navy buddies, all with beers. On the stage a woman was fucking a donkey. Donkeys have huge dicks. Apparently she couldn’t really fuck the thing completely or very effectively, so that portion of the show was relatively short-lived. She got out from under the thing, and began jacking it off, to finish it off and complete the show. Apparently the donkey came really hard, because when he did, one of his rear legs buckled. As his leg buckled, his rear hips dipped, and the woman lost control of his dick. As a result, when he came, he showered the entire front row of Marines in donkey cum. They were covered, and their beers were ruined. He and his navy buddies laughed their asses off, and so did we. It was a great story to hear while naked on a bed amid the ruins of the first round of an orgy, preparing for the second round, jittery from energy drinks.

The second round of sex started much more abruptly than the first had, and was all done in one giant pile on one bed instead of two separate beds. It was much more natural and intense than the first round. We started the thing off by having my wife eat the other woman to climax, while her husband and I each kept her hands and mouth busy. I was very careful not to kneel on her long brown hair. It was spilling out around her head like a cloud across the pillows, and I knew that it would really hurt if I carelessly pulled it by kneeling on it. I was proud of myself for dodging that faux pas. I like to think that she appreciated it, though I doubt she had any idea. She voraciously loved this arrangement. Women love having that much to do in bed. After she came, she switched spots with my wife. We kind of did the same thing for her. Then we all changed positions, and fucked and sucked in different configurations, all in one giant pile. We made the beast with four backs. It must have been a spectacular thing to behold. I’m pretty sure we did everything except vaginal or anal intercourse with each other’s spouses or any sort of male/male interaction. We ended the thing by having each man cum in the mouth of the other man’s wife. The whole situation came together with such precision that one might have thought it was choreographed.

The whole thing ended around two in the morning. Everybody was crashing again. My wife and I had to get home to take care of our dog and get to bed. They were going to remain in the room, sleep for a bit, and then start their drive home in the early morning. They lived about an hour away, and wanted to be able to have their kids ready for Church by 9am. Church. Somehow that’s supposed to make sense. We all hugged in the cold November night in front of the hotel. They lit up cigarettes, and waved to us as we walked to our car. Five minutes later, we were home.

Appropriately, I’d been reading Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer during the preceding week. I just finished it off this afternoon. I don’t pretend to write that well, and I don’t pretend to live that well. As a matter of fact, though I’m glowing from my fantastic, life-affirming experience from the previous night, I can’t help but feel a little bit stupid and humiliated. From reading Henry Miller’s novels, I get the sense that recreational sex used to be something much more pure. It seems like people used to fuck like people – more impulsively and naturally. The sex in his novels is always very organic and never forced. All of the experiences my wife and I share with other people are achievements of planning. They always feel like the product of an elaborate Human Resources screening process. They’re victories over our social conditioning, won with great effort. They’re oodles of fun and very satisfying, but they’re also all of those other things first.

Often I think that the fact that my wife and I met at 18 is what drives this need for artificial promiscuity. If we were to have been perfectly monogamous from 18 onward, we’d be depriving each other of a great number of important, life-enriching experiences. We love each other immensely, but we’re human. We’ve got appetites for things that have to happen with other people. If you’ve got a desire to learn about different types of culinary experiences, you’re not going to get them all from the same restaurant. You need to eat at different places. Beyond that, it tempers your relationship in much the same way that that putting glowing hot steel in a bucket of cold water tempers it. It’s a more complete way to know each other. Unfortunately, it’s an activity outside of most people’s range of experience. So it’s a difficult thing to orchestrate.

Wishful literary comparisons aside (as I wouldn’t dare flatter myself like that), Henry Miller lived like a wild animal, and I’m living like a domesticated animal pretending to be wild. We’re not free, we’re aping freedom. We’re eating raw meat fresh from the butcher, and pretending it’s right off the bone of a felled beast which we just killed ourselves. Either way it does taste very good, though it’s easy to confuse one thing for something else. Nonetheless, it’s satisfying in the belly, and I do feel some degree of triumph in at least understanding my failure. In some sense I feel a sense of superiority, however. His conquests were a series of forgiven indiscretions and forgiven infidelities, magnificent but stolen. I take some pride in the fact that my wife and I can have these experiences with each other’s full knowledge and consent: all cards on the table. What we sacrifice in freedom, we gain in honesty.

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