Hello from The Big Easy & Thoughts on Swing-Dating

Hello from The Big Easy! We’ve had a couple of fun-and-sex-filled days and nights here in New Orleans, both at the convention and playing tourist during the days. Today I came down with a migraine, though. :-( I didn’t catch it in time, either, so it laid me up for awhile. Drugs and nap and it’s eased a bit, but I am still in bed, trying to kick it completely so we can go up to the dance party later, and hopefully go do something outrageous up in the hospitality (sex) suite after. By “outrageous,” I mean something other than vanilla sex. While the swinging folk like to get it on in groups and with others watching, I didn’t see one bit of kink (nor, for that matter, even any sex toys.) They have a “dungeon” room but it’s…weird.  I feel like we ought to just go in there and use the damn space the way we please, just to shake things up.

Who cares if we get banned from the convention next year.

I am at least hoping to get fucked rough, with maybe a little bit of rope, and if it squicks some of these people, well, they don’t have to watch.  I’ll let ya’ll know how that goes. ;-)

I have lots more to tell you about, but my head is not up to the task currently, so I’ll leave you with a post I started before we left, and hopefully will feel up to detailing the past few days a bit more in the next couple of days.

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Here’s a fun little factoid I had (conveniently) forgotten: swinging = dating. At least, if you swing where you live it does. Swinging out of town is a whole different animal, I assume; more like going out to bars and picking someone up. A very brief “date” that all parties recognize is only for the sake of determining whether all are agreeable to jumping in the sack. “Date” over, sack jumping commences. (Hmm, much like BDSM “dating” – a distinction I’ll touch on later.) But I digress.

I discovered this fact yesterday, after our second lifestyle meet ‘n’ greet at a local bar Saturday night. Two of the men that had displayed an interest in me, and who had asked for my number (a first for me – I have never, ever been asked for or given my number out to someone at a bar before) had started the “dating pursuit.” Text messages. Voicemail. Flirting. Initial inquiries to ascertain my openness to meeting again – to go on a date.

I hated dating the first (second and third) time around. And in fact quite assiduously (and adroitly) avoided more than was absolutely necessary and unavoidable, simply by coupling up as soon as it was feasible to do so.

Yeah, I was one of those girls.  Always in a relationship. I don’t think I have been “on the market” for more than a month at a time since I started dating.  This is my dating/relationship history:

  • I liked boy; he liked me. We “went together.”
  • I liked boy; he liked me. I moved in with him.
  • I liked boy, he liked me. He moved in with me. We had baby. We got married.
  • I liked boy; he liked me. We lived together. We had multiple babies, marrying in between.  This one lasted 18 years – score! Eighteen date-free years. Sort of. (Explanation to come.)

There were minor dating skirmishes in between, but those were (thankfully) short-lived. And also largely unsuccessful, because seriously? I suck at dating.

At the end of my last dating-avoiding relationship, I did actually do a bit of dating, but it was married-dating and BDSM-dating. We dated girls. I dated a couple of boys. It was still suckage, but less so, because there was always my married partner in the wings, right? And BDSM-dating is also its own special category, because it’s more like the bar pick-up scenario mentioned earlier. A brief intense date-like ritual of determining if you two are gonna jump in the sack (going to scene) and then the scene itself, which is, now that I think of it, like a very elaborately planned date, with none of the inane small talk that so often goes along with dating.

Especially if you’re gagged.

That initial interaction, if you go on successive “dates” with this person, changes and informs the whole dating process and environment into something a bit less painful than vanilla dating.  I like it quite a bit better.

But now, here I am, about to embark in swing-dating.  Because we are going to local parties, local men/couples might want to enter into the dating ritual with me/us. Because that’s what people do when they want to mate.  They date each other first.  A distasteful, painful ritual that I thought I was through with, possibly complicated by and fraught with even more potential discomfort because now there’s the possibility of  couples dating.

Oh Jesus. Spare me.

The obvious solution is to swing only out-of-town, at conventions like this one in New Orleans, where you do the bar meet ‘n’ greet and then get it on if all are willing (for several intense, compressed days/nights) and then you never have to see them again.  And certainly not date them!

That said, however, being sought-after, and even (gasp) pursued is an interesting phenomena for me. I find one of the guys interesting and cute and…hell, a date with him might even be – dare I say it – fun. The other guy is attractive, but a much more an unknown quantity, as we hardly spoke at all. His voicemail indicates that they host “get togethers” of what he calls “like-minded” friends and thinks that we might fit in well with these people. Since the only context in which he knows us, and the only thing he knows about us, is that we attend swinger events, I have to assume that he means these are swinger parties. but it will take a phone call to determine that.

Ugh. The dreaded phone call.  That may be the real reason I hate dating. (LOL)

Only doing this out-of-town does limit us, however, in ways I don’t particularly like. I love going to the swinger bar parties. Dancing, drinking, flirting with W, being watched, seeing his pleasure in the attention I receive – I love love love it!  As does W.

So…bottom line…maybe I will have to learn the art of dating, and maybe – maybe – even learn to enjoy it.

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