They were a married couple from Chile, attending Pitt as graduate students. We had found them online and the first time we met them in person was at a Starbucks inside a Barnes & Noble. That was the interview meeting. This would be their first time swinging. It wasn’t our first time but we were still very new to it and they would be our first experience with a couple. I don’t recall what their fields of study were but he had read some Nietzsche recently. At that point in time Nietzsche was my favorite writer. I was very well-versed in his work and excited to have an opportunity to show off my knowledge on the subject. So he and I talked about that a bit. The women got to know each other. At the end of the “interview” we all agreed to meet at their place in a week.
We found their apartment with minimal difficulty. It was in the city and very nice. When we arrived, they had music playing. It was some type of very South American-sounding music with lots of auxiliary percussion and horns. I’m ashamed to say that I couldn’t classify it, as I know next to nothing about that genre of music. Unfortunately, we were still clinging to our Straight Edge convictions. They kept offering us different types of alcohol and we kept politely declining. We did try some very interesting little pastries they gave us. They explained that these things were as common as Twinkies in Chile. We all talked more. It was a little clumsy trying to get things moving. They hatched this strange idea that we should all dance, gradually disrobe, and then lapse into all the screwing. I was absolutely terrified at this suggestion - I don’t dance. I am, in fact, the clumsiest man on Earth. However, my fear of looking uncooperative was greater than my fear of dancing. So I danced. We all danced in their living room. It was kind of strange but not ineffective. They both danced much better than either one of us, which helped compensate for our awkwardness. Things got moving pretty smoothly from that point. The women went at it a bit and put on quite a show. We had actually just bought a new toy just for that purpose, a double dong. It was exciting to watch it used for its intended purpose. It was also undeniably humorous to watch these two women struggling with the logistics of using this awkward tool. The most amusing and totally unforeseen hurdle was the fact that the better half of the thing went up inside the woman with the weaker vaginal muscles. That was probably the evening’s high point. There was some light swapping after that and eventually everybody finished with their own mate.
Though the experience might have gone even more smoothly with the assistance of some alcohol, it basically went off without a hitch. It was gratifying to have our first experience with another couple. It felt good, and we were anxious for more. In retrospect, I’m not sure why we lost touch with the couple from Chile, but we did. They were excellent.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
The Second One
Maybe a month after our first swinging experience, we had our second one. It was mostly born of our sense of balance and fairness. Though I had nearly fumbled it entirely, I had just had my first experience with two women, and my wife was entitled to the inverse indulgence. Moreover, she’d just had her first bisexual experience and it seemed like I should try the same. I’m not sure exactly how interested I was in that as much as I was interested in the idea of it. You don’t know that you don’t like something until you try it and I was harboring the notion that the only truly complete people in this world are bisexual.
So we found a bi-curious male online. He was perhaps a year or two older than we were. We met him at the hotel and spent a substantial portion of the evening just sitting around the hotel room talking. As luck would have it, we learned that he was friends with one of my wife’s cousins. He had also gone to the same college as us, but we had never seen him there. We had a few friends in common. These uncomfortable realizations were made relatively early in the evening. They tripped us up a little, but we decided not to abort. All of the people that we had in common were very liberal and open-minded; we weren’t that scared of any information finding its way back to them.
Just like our first experience, it took quite a while to get anything sexual happening. There was still no alcohol involved. In retrospect, that fact still amuses me. It’s a strange experience the very first time you watch another man fuck your wife or girlfriend (and I would imagine the inverse to be true). It’s kind of exciting and a little distressing all at once. I recommend it for absolutely everybody. It’s one of those intense epiphanies that you can only achieve by direct experience. It’s another facet of your significant other (and yourself) that has to be learned if you’re really going to know them completely and cement your relationship. And, beyond the bizarre cocktail of excitement and violation that you experience, you are also confronted with your own homosexuality. Even if you don’t touch that person at all, you’re still watching them. You’re willfully naked and aroused in the same room.
I actually had an easier time getting into it this time around. I think it may have been easier for me because I felt less pressure. I didn’t have to perform for anybody other than my wife, which I had done countless times in the past. She, of course, took to the whole thing very well. She managed both he and I without difficulty. It’s remarkable how much less fettered by inhibition and corny social posturing women can be. I don’t believe that women are any more intelligent or emotional than men by nature. I think in the process of becoming a man, emotional intelligence is deliberately groomed away, like dogs that get their tails docked. In less civilized times this practice may have been advantageous, but now it seems like an antiquated expression of a prejudicial notion of what a man should be. It’s stupid.
About halfway through the act, the subject of male/male interaction arose. I had almost forgotten about that component of the evening and would have been content to just let it go. Now, confronted with it, I had to give it some immediate consideration. Very quickly I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t just walk away from this opportunity to learn without extracting all the possible knowledge to be gained in it. I can be weirdly mechanical that way. I agreed, though we kept everything oral. I don’t think either one of us could have done anything beyond that. I know I couldn’t have.
Suffice it to say that I gained a great appreciation for the art of fellatio. It’s strange, and fucking difficult. It was also interesting to learn that head is head. It feels no different whether it’s administered by one gender or another. However, once again, my neurotic tendencies prevented me from actually enjoying the experience. The male/male portion of the evening was short-lived and clumsy, though my wife enjoyed watching it. Graciously, she spared us the burden of any further awkward attempts at homosexuality and finished us both off.It wasn’t what I’d call a disastrous experience, but from my perspective it was kind of rough. Everything after this would get progressively easier, though it would be quite a while before I would do anything else with another man.
So we found a bi-curious male online. He was perhaps a year or two older than we were. We met him at the hotel and spent a substantial portion of the evening just sitting around the hotel room talking. As luck would have it, we learned that he was friends with one of my wife’s cousins. He had also gone to the same college as us, but we had never seen him there. We had a few friends in common. These uncomfortable realizations were made relatively early in the evening. They tripped us up a little, but we decided not to abort. All of the people that we had in common were very liberal and open-minded; we weren’t that scared of any information finding its way back to them.
Just like our first experience, it took quite a while to get anything sexual happening. There was still no alcohol involved. In retrospect, that fact still amuses me. It’s a strange experience the very first time you watch another man fuck your wife or girlfriend (and I would imagine the inverse to be true). It’s kind of exciting and a little distressing all at once. I recommend it for absolutely everybody. It’s one of those intense epiphanies that you can only achieve by direct experience. It’s another facet of your significant other (and yourself) that has to be learned if you’re really going to know them completely and cement your relationship. And, beyond the bizarre cocktail of excitement and violation that you experience, you are also confronted with your own homosexuality. Even if you don’t touch that person at all, you’re still watching them. You’re willfully naked and aroused in the same room.
I actually had an easier time getting into it this time around. I think it may have been easier for me because I felt less pressure. I didn’t have to perform for anybody other than my wife, which I had done countless times in the past. She, of course, took to the whole thing very well. She managed both he and I without difficulty. It’s remarkable how much less fettered by inhibition and corny social posturing women can be. I don’t believe that women are any more intelligent or emotional than men by nature. I think in the process of becoming a man, emotional intelligence is deliberately groomed away, like dogs that get their tails docked. In less civilized times this practice may have been advantageous, but now it seems like an antiquated expression of a prejudicial notion of what a man should be. It’s stupid.
About halfway through the act, the subject of male/male interaction arose. I had almost forgotten about that component of the evening and would have been content to just let it go. Now, confronted with it, I had to give it some immediate consideration. Very quickly I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t just walk away from this opportunity to learn without extracting all the possible knowledge to be gained in it. I can be weirdly mechanical that way. I agreed, though we kept everything oral. I don’t think either one of us could have done anything beyond that. I know I couldn’t have.
Suffice it to say that I gained a great appreciation for the art of fellatio. It’s strange, and fucking difficult. It was also interesting to learn that head is head. It feels no different whether it’s administered by one gender or another. However, once again, my neurotic tendencies prevented me from actually enjoying the experience. The male/male portion of the evening was short-lived and clumsy, though my wife enjoyed watching it. Graciously, she spared us the burden of any further awkward attempts at homosexuality and finished us both off.It wasn’t what I’d call a disastrous experience, but from my perspective it was kind of rough. Everything after this would get progressively easier, though it would be quite a while before I would do anything else with another man.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The First One
The first one was kind of rough. There was nothing wrong with her. We simply had no idea what we were doing or how to do it. We had found her online and had even met her once beforehand to get to know her better before setting up the big date and booking the hotel room. The girl was 19 and she lived on the other side of the city. My wife and I were fresh out of college, and each still living with our parents while we got our collective act sufficiently together to get our own place.
We were both 22 and still harboring the Straight Edge convictions that we held so adamantly throughout college. In retrospect, we were never very good at being Straight Edge. The only tenet of that ideology which we had practiced was completely abstaining from recreational drugs or drink. We both completed four years of college without a drink or a cigarette, though we made no pretense at celibacy and neither one of us was a vegetarian. I actually was briefly a vegetarian for about a year, but it was a rather half-hearted effort. We both were (and still are) outspoken atheists.
Being Straight Edge doesn’t necessarily involve being Christian, though the two do often seem to coincide. We had often discussed our mutual interest in swinging throughout college, but we were so awkward and straight-laced that I believe we involuntarily sabotaged our own interests in anything decadent during those years. Regardless, at 22, we had finally “got one” and lined up the big date with her. Because of our continued deathly fear of alcohol, we had no plans of lubricating the proceedings with any booze. Excitedly we set up the hotel and made up elaborate stories for our parents about why we’d be out so late returning home that particular Friday night.
Once all the arrangements were made, I awaited that date the way Christians await the second coming of Christ. It was only a few hours beforehand when I realized that I had developed some anxiety about the whole thing. To this day I do not have a rational explanation for my anxiety, but, undoubtedly, it was there. Most likely it had something to do with Catholic guilt and the feeling that I was deliberately about to do something shameful. You never beat Catholic guilt. If they have you by age five, they have you for life. We met her, had dinner, and went back to the hotel, all very mechanically. I don’t think I ate very much. The three of us lay across the bed like corpses. She had never done anything quite like this either and wasn’t about to take a leadership role.
Like anybody trying to get off in a hotel room, we dialed up a porno on the TV. At first, it didn’t really work, but eventually things got moving. Clothes were shed. Moves were made. And, to my horror, I realized that I was still absolutely flaccid. It took a great deal of work from all involved, but the situation was remedied, and eventually I succeeded in achieving an erection and performed moderately well. My wife (still girlfriend, at the time) really seemed to glow while watching me fuck this girl. I had been concerned that it might upset her to actually see it happening in front of her. She always enjoyed talking about how much she’d like to see it, but often in life, our notions of the way things will be and the way they are when we get there are profoundly different. I was glad that wasn’t the case in this instance. She watched with genuine excitement. Ironically, my wife had a much easier time. The event was her first experience being with another woman and she had no trouble with any aspect of it. The rest of the time we spent there passed without any more embarrassing incidents, and we checked out of the hotel at some point in the early morning.
Never had we spent so much time for one simple round of screwing. In retrospect, it’s hilarious to me. The learning experience was invaluable, though somewhat traumatizing. I had never before in my life had any difficulties like those, and it never would have dawned on me that my predisposition to anxiety and latent guilt from my Catholic upbringing could have such a tangible effect on me. I was shocked and horrified. The event would leave me with nagging doubt that would linger over our next few adventures, though thankfully it would not physically manifest as it had that time. Real personal growth is never easy. Many of life’s challenges feel horrifying at first and require some amount of unnatural and deliberate effort to surmount. Once they’re over, though, they seem trivial.
We were both 22 and still harboring the Straight Edge convictions that we held so adamantly throughout college. In retrospect, we were never very good at being Straight Edge. The only tenet of that ideology which we had practiced was completely abstaining from recreational drugs or drink. We both completed four years of college without a drink or a cigarette, though we made no pretense at celibacy and neither one of us was a vegetarian. I actually was briefly a vegetarian for about a year, but it was a rather half-hearted effort. We both were (and still are) outspoken atheists.
Being Straight Edge doesn’t necessarily involve being Christian, though the two do often seem to coincide. We had often discussed our mutual interest in swinging throughout college, but we were so awkward and straight-laced that I believe we involuntarily sabotaged our own interests in anything decadent during those years. Regardless, at 22, we had finally “got one” and lined up the big date with her. Because of our continued deathly fear of alcohol, we had no plans of lubricating the proceedings with any booze. Excitedly we set up the hotel and made up elaborate stories for our parents about why we’d be out so late returning home that particular Friday night.
Once all the arrangements were made, I awaited that date the way Christians await the second coming of Christ. It was only a few hours beforehand when I realized that I had developed some anxiety about the whole thing. To this day I do not have a rational explanation for my anxiety, but, undoubtedly, it was there. Most likely it had something to do with Catholic guilt and the feeling that I was deliberately about to do something shameful. You never beat Catholic guilt. If they have you by age five, they have you for life. We met her, had dinner, and went back to the hotel, all very mechanically. I don’t think I ate very much. The three of us lay across the bed like corpses. She had never done anything quite like this either and wasn’t about to take a leadership role.
Like anybody trying to get off in a hotel room, we dialed up a porno on the TV. At first, it didn’t really work, but eventually things got moving. Clothes were shed. Moves were made. And, to my horror, I realized that I was still absolutely flaccid. It took a great deal of work from all involved, but the situation was remedied, and eventually I succeeded in achieving an erection and performed moderately well. My wife (still girlfriend, at the time) really seemed to glow while watching me fuck this girl. I had been concerned that it might upset her to actually see it happening in front of her. She always enjoyed talking about how much she’d like to see it, but often in life, our notions of the way things will be and the way they are when we get there are profoundly different. I was glad that wasn’t the case in this instance. She watched with genuine excitement. Ironically, my wife had a much easier time. The event was her first experience being with another woman and she had no trouble with any aspect of it. The rest of the time we spent there passed without any more embarrassing incidents, and we checked out of the hotel at some point in the early morning.
Never had we spent so much time for one simple round of screwing. In retrospect, it’s hilarious to me. The learning experience was invaluable, though somewhat traumatizing. I had never before in my life had any difficulties like those, and it never would have dawned on me that my predisposition to anxiety and latent guilt from my Catholic upbringing could have such a tangible effect on me. I was shocked and horrified. The event would leave me with nagging doubt that would linger over our next few adventures, though thankfully it would not physically manifest as it had that time. Real personal growth is never easy. Many of life’s challenges feel horrifying at first and require some amount of unnatural and deliberate effort to surmount. Once they’re over, though, they seem trivial.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
The Smell of Your Hair
You smell wonderful this afternoon. Everything leading up to this moment was worth it. All suffering is forgotten in the scent of you. I’m going to smell your hair, and kiss this spot on your shoulder until I wear a hole in it. The day before us is enormous and full of wonderful things. We’re going to binge on all of it. We’ll have our fill and run long. I’m going to breathe you as long as I can.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Straightening
My wife loses about an hour a day to the practice of straightening her hair. It’s not really curly, but it’s not as perfectly straight as she’d like. It’s wavy. She hates that. She can’t just let it be what it is. She’s got to force it to be what she wants. This is accomplished with big curlers, a straightening iron, and loads of hairspray. It gets done every day. She’s never skipped the process once, even when she’s been sick.
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