An Unexpected Gift

 (This was written on Thanksgiving, but because the Missy and I are in the backwoods of Missouri for the weekend, internet connectivity has been sketchy, so it’s taken me til now to upload it.)

I am grateful today. Grateful for the unexpected gift of a beating.

I know, that sounds odd (or maybe not, if you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time.) But it’s true.  And I know, it’s Thanksgiving, there is no gift-giving on Thanksgiving. But this gift has me filled with such gratitude that I have to share it here with you, and I believe it fulfills the “what am I thankful for” requirement, though this isn’t something I could share around the dinner table with my bio family. But you all? Why yes, yes I can. And I should (after all, you haven’t heard from me for real in days.) And so I will.

I went over to W’s Wednesday feeling unsure about a lot of things. I left his house later that day feeling re-centered, full of hope and joy and a certainty that everything would be okay. And I know, the fact that he played with me, tied me up and whipped me and said nasty things to me and fucked me, shouldn’t be the content of a “Thanksgiving” post, right? But the other kind, the more conventional kind, where I tell you all about the amazing weekend I spent with my daughter, and the joy and gratitude I feel for my family and loved ones, that will come in a later post.  But now, right this minute, this is what I want to tell you about.

Have you ever heard the saying, “If you say it often enough, it becomes truth?” Most times it’s used when child-rearing. Tell a child often enough he is a worthless piece of shit, and eventually he believes he is worthless. It works when we do it to ourselves, as well. Eventually we internalize the tapes that we play in our heads: “I’m unattractive,” “I’m unlovable,” “I don’t deserve it.”

(As an aside, there is a fantastic book, one of the first feel-good self-help books that came out in the 1960’s, called Psycho-Cybernetics, that addresses this exact phenomena. I found a dog-eared copy in a pile of my father’s books when I was going through his things many years after he died, and though I don’t read the genre for the most part, I found reading this book to be a life-changing event. So if any of what I said rings true to you, go and read it. Seriously.)

Moving on.

There is a thing that W always says used to say but doesn’t so often anymore, that he said from perhaps Day One of our relationship, and that is that becoming familiar with each other, becoming lovers, becoming friends, becoming comfortable with each other, is a kink-killer. Oh, maybe he didn’t say it quite that way. I think what he actually said is that once you know each other well, once you have established a relationship, the edge is gone. And for him, for kink to be really hot, there has to be that edge, of the unknown, of uncertainty. Maybe even, for certain types of play, of fear. Once that’s gone, once you know each other, the edge is gone. That doesn’t mean that the kink won’t be good, but, well, it won’t have the sharpness – the edge – that it once did.

I have spent the last 3 years of our 4-year long relationship trying to prove him wrong. And, I think, succeeding for the most part, showing him the error of that thinking, as I think he has come to see that the deeper you know someone, the deeper you can go, and there, too is an edge to play on. The edge of the abyss: deep and dark beyond imagining (and a far more powerful place, in my opinion.)

And so, in many ways, that tape has been quieted. Not silenced; I hear it raise its querulous voice occasionally still, especially when I see the sharp desire in his face to play with someone new, someone unknown, and I know that he is hearing its siren call, playing that tape in his head again. And…I have learned to accept that. I have learned that, as long as he acknowledges that it is not the only edge to play on (and thus lost to us forever), I can acknowledge that for him, it is an edge that he wants and needs to occasionally explore.

But that is not the only tape that he plays in regards to relationships, and how they work (or don’t.) The other one he says is, “Familiarity breeds vanilla.” In other words, after having been with someone long enough, the kink dies, or at least dwindles. Kind of like long-term marriage kills sex, right? Newlyweds start out fucking like bunnies twice a day, then eventually it dwindles to twice a week, then twice a month, and finally, twice a year. (I just read this line to my daughter. “The solution to that is obvious: don’t get married,” she said. In my head I replied, “Or get kinky.” But I digress.)

Personally I refuse to believe it. Or at least subscribe to it. (And have said so many, many times to W, loudly, vociferously, and at times, petulantly.)

In terms of our relationship, because our relationship is both kink and vanilla, a little less kink isn’t necessarily a relationship-killer.  Even if we aren’t as kinky as often as we once were, we still have vanilla, and we actually like vanilla with each other an awful lot. We like each other, we still have hot sex (though admittedly less often) and when we do play, it’s still intense and as hot and ferocious as ever. But…as he has said, it’s easy to fall into vanilla when you see someone all the time, because you know that there is all the time in the world to play. There’s always tomorrow, or next week. There is not the aegis to do something that you have when you only see someone once a month for a weekend, the imperative to playplayplay! because that’s all you’ll get for a month or more. So you fall into routine and habit (an enjoyable routine and habit, but still…) and the kink becomes something you do every other time you see each other, and then every third time, and then maybe once every couple of weeks. Or the scenes you do become shorter, and where once you might have walked in the door and found yourself in some kind of play scenario all weekend long, going from one thing to another with vanilla time interspersed between scenes, the scene becomes a two-hour event interspersed between everything else vanilla you do that weekend. Or where once he made you wear heels and shackles to bed, or attached a chain to your ankle while you worked at the computer, the shackles now hang on the wall as decoration, your heels are only put on to scene, and the chain, well, who even knows where that is anymore?

And eventually you are proving the adage to be true. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

And that is the sad part. I don’t believe it’s a truth, but because he says it so often, because he listens to the tape in his head, sometimes he makes it true.

We have addressed this, and are working together on ways to combat it. Things that make us both feel connected to our kink and each other, such as setting up some low-key protocols for when I come over to his house. They fulfill my need to know that the kink is still there, while not placing a burden on W to do anything except enjoy the fruits of my submission. ;-) Since these are things that he doesn’t actively have to do (well except for one, small part that I don’t think he minds), and since they are things that have grown naturally out of our four years of knowing each other, and lastly since they aren’t hard and fast “rules” (a concept that always squicks W out somewhat) it has worked pretty well.

But…I do still miss playing more often, and in the ways that we used to. I can’t help it, he is my Dominant, my Owner, my Kinky Partner, the one that makes my kink-o-meter run and my juices flow. It is through kink, when we are in that space deeply together, that I feel our connection the strongest, and in a way that no one else has ever made me feel, not even the Ex.

Also, I’m a ball of kinky energy; I like to play. So, yes, this “we have all the time in the world to do things, we can just enjoy each other’s company,” is terrific, but I need my kink. And frankly, our proximity to each other (living in the same town), or the fact that we see each other every week, should NOT mean that we allow ourselves to settle into 90% vanilla. I just don’t think familiarity has to mean that.

This is how I see it. In a vanilla marriage, yes you could let your sexual interactions become routine. You could let it be a chore. That’s easy to do, and you hear about that all the time (hell, I lived it, before kink, with the Ex.) But it doesn’t have to be that way. Successful couples make the effort to keep things fresh, to stoke the other’s interest and their own in each other. It can, and is done.

Kink couples are no different. And we have such a wider range to play with, to explore with, to experience with each other. Unless we just aren’t feeling it anymore (and that happens to) why wouldn’t you want to play with each other as often as possible? I’m not talking about elaborate, four-hour long or weekend-long scenes. I’m talking about little bits of play here and there, or small scenes, or even just the “bend over I’m going to fuck you in the ass, cunt,” kind of scenes. (Though yeah, the four-hour long going-from-one-thing-to-another type are amazing and sorely missed as well.)  But, as I said, there are ways to combat that. With some effort, with some desire. As we have started to do with the aforementioned protocols-that-aren’t-really-protocols.

What? You want to know what those things are? Okay, I’ll spill:

  1. He chooses a pair of heels and places them at the door for me to change in to as soon I come in.
  2. Before I leave his house for home, I am to grind beans for a pot of coffee and leave his coffee pot ready to go. (I was so fuzzed when I left yesterday I forgot!) :-(
  3. I am to make him hard each morning that we wake together, if he doesn’t already wake that way.

As I said, these are not hard and fast rules, and I don’t get punished if I don’t do them (although I might wish to be, LOL) but they have become part of our routine, and a part that I cherish, not just because of the way it makes me feel to do them, or even because I know that these are not arbitrary rules he just made up to appease me, but because by implementing them, he acknowledged and validated my need for them, and found a way to feed that need while pleasing himself.

This truly is what relationship is about, and this is what makes our relationship so fucking good.

But it’s insidious, that little saying. It worms its way into a person’s brain, into our belief-system, and soon even I start to wonder. And worry. Are we really at that point, the point of such familiarity that kink is no longer interesting?  Or is it (my worse fear, the one that my own “I’m not good enough,” tapes hit on) is it me he isn’t interested in anymore? Maybe I just don’t turn him on anymore, at least in that fearsome, hot, aggressively kinky way that I love?  And that is where I have been lately, wondering and worrying if he just doesn’t feel…the passion…in what we do anymore. But as he is always telling me, I have an overly dramatic sense of things. I read, “He doesn’t want me anymore!” into an innocuous event that meant nothing. Again, my own negative tapes playing. And maybe that’s all that’s going on. Me reading shit into things that don’t mean…shit.

Travel presents a particular challenge for me. For some reason, when we mix vanilla and kink, and when we travel in particular, the kink part of his brain shuts down – whereas it throws mine into overdrive. This is how my head works when I am thinking about traveling:

  • Yay! Road trip! That means Kinky Car Games! I envision playing a game in which I am told to flash truckers (juvenile, I know) or we stop to take bondage pictures, or I am made to use Baldy, with the game being that I have to start or stop every time we pass a truck or come to a certain number sign. You get the drift.
  • Yay! Hotel! That means Kinky Hotel Play! In the bed, in the bath, on the floor, in the window, wherever!! The last time I mentioned this, W said, “It’s just another hotel room. There’s nothing ‘special’ about it.” To me, anywhere that is not home is special. And the added spice of trying to do something nasty in a hotel room and not get heard, well that makes it all the more ‘special’. It has nothing to do with the actual space.
  • Yay! Event! Kinky Event Play! Play before, during and after! Being displayed, being used, being played with off and on, whether we are doing it on the sly at dinner somewhere vanilla or he makes me wear or do something that only we know about, or blatantly at the actual event…I look at an event as an opportunity for full-on, 24/7 kink and/or sex slave play and/or slutty-girl time. And lastly…
  • Yay! A new city/country/place to explore! Places to pervert with clandestine kinky play, or guerrilla rope bondage, or just being made to be aware that even there, in the vanilla world, I am still his slut, still his sex toy, and could possibly be made to do nasty things. Even there.

I don’t expect that these things will be happening 24/7 while we travel, and in fact, W and I both agree that it would get tiring to be doing it all the time, but honestly, for me, sometimes just being told to “keep my legs apart during dinner,” or to wear my chain and lock when we go out that day is enough. It’s the symbolism. It is that he knows about it, that he wants me to do it, that he wants me reminded of our dynamic. For me, if we aren’t actually playing, the symbols are often enough. At least to tide me over. ;-)

I love love LOVE travel with W. We are so very much alike in how we travel, the things we enjoy doing and seeing, and we both enjoy exposing the other to new experiences, places and ideas. We truly delight in each other so much as traveling companions. But that is all on the vanilla plane. As I mentioned above, for me travel is an excuse to mix in the kink, and really instigates and intensifies kink for me. And I very much want and expect it…or I have in the past, until I realized how much W disconnects the two. I have slowly come to realize that kink (and consequently sex) is the farthest thing from his mind when he travels. Even to a kink event. It is not until he gets into “kink space” that he throws himself into that frame of mind. And yes, this has been an issue for me every time we have traveled, although I have tried to circumvent it by making up the travel games, or giving hints, or asking outright for play, which works to a degree.

And by trying to tamp down my expectations.

So then we went on this cruise.

You can see where this is heading, can’t you?  I am already in an anxious frame of mind, worrying about where we are as a kink couple, and then to top it off, we go and do something that is bound to kick all my anxieties into high gear, because I am (being me) naturally going to have all those expectations, and he is (being him) going to do this compartmentalization thing: “this is not kink,” and…it’s going to exacerbate the anxiety I am already feeling. I probably should have said something, but I didn’t want to make him feel pressured, I wanted him to just be him, and I wanted to try and manage my own expectations (in other words lower them by a WHOLE lot.) I even considered asking him not to bring kink toys, but then we had been pretty vocal about the dungeon space on the ship, and Ad was getting into the idea, and…well, fuck. As I said, for me, travel IS kinky.

And, additionally, there was the obvious point that the whole point of this cruise was to be sexual and kinky with a whole lot of other open, sexual, kinky people.  So of course W would feel it, right?

I was so excited. The opportunity to be slutty and kinky and sexual with my Guys in public, in front of everyone, every day – I couldn’t wait! I imagined that W would have me wear things on my rings (I even made some pretty beaded danglies on the way down) and tell me what a nasty, sexy slut I was, and make me behave in just-this-side of inappropriate ways on board. I imagined sex and being tied up every morning in our cabin, and later in the dungeon, and maybe even in the bars on the ship. I imagined playing every night and every afternoon, either in the dungeon or in the sex rooms.

As you have probably guessed, the reality was quite a bit more…tame…than that. We went to the dungeon a total of twice, and the sex rooms twice, with three of those times at my behest. Ad woke up ready for sex every morning, but W…well…it seemed like he had kind of shut down. He was his usual vanilla self, but his sexy/kink self? Didn’t seem to be there. And when it was, it only seemed to be triggered by the possibility of play with others. I was glad to give him that experience, but the knowledge that he just wasn’t interested in doing those things with just me? Kinda made me feel…well, all that stuff from before all that more acutely.

His words, “Familiarity breeds vanilla,” rang loudly in my head on the cruise.

This paints a worse picture than I wish to convey. In all ways except kink, this was an amazing trip.  We had a great time, had some wonderful adventures, and even popped a couple sexual cherries (we three had sex in the playrooms and W and I actually had a “swinging” scene in the playrooms.) The places we went, the relaxation and pleasure in each others company…it was heavenly.  If we had been a regular old vanilla couple or triad, it would have been absolutely perfect.  But honestly, I left the ship wondering even more than before where W’s and my kink relationship was headed. Wondering if he really was bored with me, if he had become so familiar with me that he was no longer interested in kink with me. If he had internalized that tape in his head to the point that it couldn’t be changed.

I will admit to my own fault in all this. When W didn’t seem interested in me sexually or in a kink way, I turned that off too. I made excuses not to want to do things, so that he wouldn’t feel pressured, and so that I wouldn’t be disappointed and feel rejected. And by the end of the cruise, I had decided (and even mentioned to Ad) that on our next vacation, even if it is on a lifestyle cruise, I would ask W not to bring his kink toys. Then I wouldn’t fight so hard for something that he obviously didn’t want. I wouldn’t have expectations then, and be disappointed.

That was what I thought about that last evening on the ship, and as we drove home. What if that was the case? Could I give up wanting those things as much as I did? Could I live with 90% vanilla, if that is what he wanted? I could go on a vacation and live without kink during it (I think) but to give in to a relationship that was mostly vanilla, or in which I was the driving force, the instigator, of our kink…could I do that? I knew that I could make it happen that way – be the instigator – if I could accept that role. He would do it, play with me, if I asked. Gladly. And well. And enjoy it.

But that isn’t what our relationship is predicated on. I even put it in my profile: “I show up, and he does things to me.” That’s the relationship I wanted, and missed.

The damn thing is that even when I am the one saying, “Let’s do this,” it is still good. I still want it. But it’s not enough.  And it’s not why I started things with him. I can get that with Ad, or any other number of play partners. I can bottom to anyone. What I want and need is someone that wants and needs to do those things to me.  And it felt on the ship as if…perhaps that was lost. Whether he had internalized his own tapes, or really just didn’t feel it toward me anymore, I no longer felt that I “show up and he does things to me.”

Once I asked him, “If I didn’t want to be kinky anymore, would you be satisfied with our relationship?”

He had answered truthfully. “No, I want a kink partner.” But now I was asking myself that very question. Could I be happy with someone that I had to ask to play with me every time? That I didn’t feel wanted me with the same intensity that I wanted him?

This has nothing to do with love. I have absolutely no doubt that he loves me as deeply as I love him. But as entwined in a love relationship as our kink is, it is still its own element, and important in its own right. Pull that out – and more specifically, pull out the essential element of our kink, coercion play – and could I be satisfied?

So Wednesday after the cruise came. I had spent all day Tuesday pondering this, and wondering if I should say anything to W. Wondering how to address it, or if I should. Was I just being a selfish, greedy bitch, always wanting more? Was W right, that this was just the price we had to pay for being “too familiar?” Words he had said earlier on the ship when I had brought it up came to mind though: “We have to fight against it,” he said. They gave me hope that perhaps it was just circumstances (his inexplicable inability to mix kink and vanilla) and allowing himself to believe his own rhetoric. Maybe we could fight it. But I was tired. Tired of wanting and not getting, tired of having expectations and having them unmet. So when I went to his house Wednesday I had decided two things:

  1. I was NOT going to bring it up. W knows how I feel, and to bring it up again would only make him unhappy; and
  2. I was not going to have expectations.

What this meant was that I wasn’t going to treat going over to work with him like a potential play date. I got ready to go to his house, and I didn’t do the things I normally do, in anticipation of even the possibility of play (shave my cooch, wear something sexy or at least wear a thong, put on make-up, do my hair.)

No expectations. Not even my heels at the door.

Until I saw them there. I don’t think the sound of my heart jumping in my chest when I saw them was audible, but it sounded deafening in my own ears. My mouth went dry and for a moment, tears actually obscured my vision. I know, ridiculously emotional reaction, but one that I couldn’t help. I walked quickly into the other room to hide my reaction. Then I returned, put on my heels, and we had our work day. It was a lovely day, and every time I moved I felt my heels on my feet, and every time I walked I felt them, and my heart soared and I felt light as air.

Still, when he said something about me needing a sound thrashing before I left, I didn’t let myself get my hopes up. He’d said that before and nothing came of it, and I didn’t want to want it so bad that I asked for it. If it happened, it had to come from him. It wouldn’t work any other way.

The afternoon wore on, and finally I was done with work, and he mentioned turning the heaters on upstairs. He mentioned play again, and though I smiled, I schooled myself not to react too much. While the heaters kicked on, we sat downstairs and talked and I fed us ice cream. Until he said, “Hand me some rope.”

Just that casually.

My heart did a stutter-step and I swallowed as I reached for his bag. I want him so very very badly that it is like this for me, painful, when he decides he wants me too. But I played it cool, and dug out rope. I don’t know if he saw my hands shaking when I handed it to him. And soon it didn’t matter, because he was doing something that made any shaking impossible: tying my hands around his hard cock.

It started as silly play, with us both laughing and joking about what he was doing. Then suddenly it wasn’t silly.  Suddenly an amusement turned into something more for him, and I could feel the change, in the air, in him, in myself. My pussy clenched, and I could feel the wetness between my legs.  We spent the next hour with him forcing my mouth down on his cock and forcing me to pump him with the hands that he had tied excruciatingly tight around his cock. I ended up with rope around my ankles and waist and neck. I ended up exhausted, with a sore jaw and fantasies that he put in my mind of being made to do this to other men. I heard his words, and felt how hard he was, and realized I had instigated none of this, it was all him.  And then he untied me, and told me to turn around and get on my hands and knees so he could fuck me from behind. First in my cunt, then in my ass. “Make it come,” he said, over and over, as I struggled to use hands that he had rendered useless. “Do it, you little whore,” he commanded, whipping me across the back and shoulders. And I did, whimpering in pain and ecstasy. Then he got out Baldy and made me do it again, and again, all the time telling me to “Come! Do it, slut,” until his words and the words in my fantasy (being made to masturbate in front of a roomful of people) were one and the same. I was shaking, and sore, and exhausted, by the time he let me up off my hands and knees.

But he wasn’t done yet. Without a word he yanked me up and tied me between the posts in his downstairs front room, my legs shaking from my orgasms earlier and my thoughts fuzzy. And he flogged me ferociously until I could barely stand. Until I was shaking like a leaf and begging him to stop.

It was an incredible, blissful, wonderful afternoon. And all weekend, I have been holding my knees open, my ankles crossed, while I write. And thinking about him, and our afternoon, and smiling.

So what was this gift that I mentioned in the beginning? It’s simple. It was the gift of hope, and of him showing me he still wants to do those things to me, and that maybe we don’t have to accept that “familiarity=vanilla.” He’s right, it could mean that. But it doesn’t have to. And I don’t think he wants it to any more than I do.

No wonder I forgot to make his damn coffee, right?

Wicked Wednesday – Social Butterfly

I recently saw a tattoo that’s been going around Pinterest: “Accept nothing less than butterflies.” I love that saying, and not just because I vacillate so often between being a butterfly and having butterflies, either. It really does epitomize how I feel about life, and how it should be lived: full on, baby.  I enjoy that feeling of contentment and comfort that home and my steadfast loves bring me, but I always want to know that there are butterflies still to experience, whether they are from a new adventure, an exhilarating challenge, a crazy, wonderful new idea, or simply thinking about my men and the joys and intimacies and depth of the connections that we share.

Oh, and the butterflies that come from flirting with a new lover aren’t bad either.

I got to experience all of those things this past weekend, as well as be a (social) butterfly.

The weekend started Friday night when someone I have dated a couple times, and with whom I have begun to negotiate a play relationship,  came over to hang out with W and I.  I had had to cancel our previous date, and when he asked me if I was available Friday I talked to W and then made a suggestion: why didn’t he come over and watch (and possibly join in) while W and I played?  I didn’t think we’d ever played around him before, and although I talk about what we do here, and have tons of pictures on Fet of us playing, there’s nothing like getting a feel for how someone plays than by actually watching them do it. I am always a little anxious when I start to negotiate a play date with someone who’s only seen my pictures or read my accounts of what we do, because that is such an incomplete picture. I’m nowhere near the painslut/crazy maso that it might appear – W just knows how to get the most out of me. ;-) So this date would serve a couple uses: W and I would get to play; I’d get to spend some time – out of the public eye and ear – with my friend; W would get to talk to and know him a little better and he W; and he’d get to observe our dynamic firsthand.

It was a blast, all the way around. They both beat me up a bit, I had a couple explosive orgasms, we talked and laughed and drank and had chocolate martinis at the Chocolate Bar afterward. And I got the sweetest follow-up text later, indicating that there is a distinct possibility that we may actually move this into the “play-partners” realm!  So I am quite thrilled.

Saturday morning I had an appointment with my hair lady. I’ve been playing with colors for the past few months, and she had done some “corrective” work last time, because I had decided I wanted to go back to reds as opposed to the fun blonde forelock I had been sporting.  But as the time came to go back and get my hair redone, I started missing my sassy blonde, and I knew I was going to have her redo it all over again. But she is a better hairdresser than anyone I’ve been to previous: she wouldn’t just do what I wanted, the condition of my hair be damned. She is willing to get there, but she wants to do it in a way that will cause the least damage to my hair.  So we worked out a compromise, and in doing so settled on some really vibrant red highlights that I ended up LOVING.

And that also gave me an idea for the party that we were going to that night.

Here’s the thing: in all our planning and talking about and anticipation of the swinger party, I had forgotten one tiny detail: it was billed as a themed party, with the theme being “Gods of the Arena.” Costumes were not required, but were encouraged.

So, maybe I hadn’t exactly “forgotten” that part.  I just sort of…ignored it. At most of the swinger events we’ve attended, very few people actually dress to the themes of the parties. ~shrug~ And besides which…togas? Seriously? So…I decided I’d wear something sexy and slutty and sultry and we probably wouldn’t be the only ones not dressed in costume.

Boy, was I wrong! Of the 20 or so couples there, a mere handful were not costumed.

But, in an odd bit of serendipity and last-minute ingenuity and inspiration, I wasn’t one of them.

It was all my hairdresser’s fault. That gorgeous red that she put in my hair reminded me of a length of shimmery, sheer red cloth that I had sitting in a drawer.  I started thinking about what it would look like wrapped around my body, with nothing on underneath…and a costume idea was born.  I’ll have to find some way to thank her, without having to show her the picture of my “toga.”

Because honey, this wasn’t your mama’s (or Caesar’s) toga!  (Maybe Caligula’s, though.)

This is me doing my “Goddess” wave.
And this is me showing off my “Temple of Love!” ;-)

The party was a huge success (for us at least. I haven’t heard/read any other accounts of it yet.) The venue was amazing and the size of the party absolutely perfect. We met several new couples, I practiced handing out our “swinger calling cards,” W was amazingly adept at introducing us to new people and not letting me sit on the sidelines and watch, we had a little bit of fun in a sex swing (no, I didn’t get the public fisting I had hoped for from my Kinky Bucket List, but we were no slouches, lol) and had some yummy sex (with each other) in the “play” room. I think I might have gotten flirted with by some lovely ladies (a couple that actually read this blog, a joy and a surprise in and of itself – hello there!!) ;-) and maybe a boy or two as well!  And with W “opening up” conversation with people (my least favorite part of any party) I swung (pun intended!) into full social butterfly mode and made W proud of me (I think) by flitting about and talking to lots and lots of people.  And best of all (to me)? He knew exactly when I was peopled out.  No, he didn’t give in and let me go home right then (he is MUCH more the cocktail party animal than I am!) but that was good. I need to be pushed a little beyond my comfort level at these sort of things, and he knows it. That’s how well he knows me, and how well we work together.  We really were a smashing team.

And my costume was a huge success!

And then there was Sunday. Hard to believe I had scheduled myself so heavily over the weekend. I know myself well enough to know that I need time and quiet to recharge. But really, it couldn’t be helped. I didn’t want to miss my Friday date, the party on Sat was something W was totally looking forward to, and the NaNoWriMo Pre-Kick-Off party was something I had never attended and didn’t want to miss.

Except I almost did.

First I tried to weasel out of it by just deciding I was too tired, but Ad was having none of that. And truthfully, I know he would have been disappointed in me if I’d bailed on the writing thing because of a swinger party.  W was also insistent that I go, and furthermore, he knows me well enough to know that I was feeling anti-social enough that I might go and not speak a word to anyone except the one friend I was meeting, which would have been a shame. So he gave me the imperative that I was required to meet and talk to two other people besides my friend T that I was meeting there. So, I got ready to go…but realized as I was getting out of the tub that I was running behind. I arrived 15 minutes late…and, for a moment, almost let myself use that as an excuse not to go in.

Almost.

Really what made me go in was the fact that an old friend, whom I hadn’t seen in more than five years, but who had recently moved back to town, had said she was going to be there.  I couldn’t just not show up! So in I went, and was surprised and delighted to finally meet Malflic after having chatted back and forth on Twitter and our blogs for some time. And it’s a good thing I did, because my friend never showed up herself! I was bitterly disappointed, but…such is life. I ended up having a great time (even when the subject of 50 Shades of Grey came up because I said I was writing erotica.)

But oh yeah I was ready for something different when I got done! And that different turned out to be meeting the Guys at the Zoo to play with the Letter Z. We had a great time (and I am so sad to see the Alphabet Challenge going away!) We continued on our merry way to supper at a favorite pizza dive here, and a pitcher of beer later, we were at W’s, playing with rope. There was something I wanted to do, and I talked the Guys into giving it a try. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, it didn’t come together the way we had hoped…but never fear, the next night it did (more about that in another post!)

And that, my friends, was my weekend playing Social Butterfly!  How was your weekend?

Check out the rest of the Wicked Wednesday players by clicking below!

Wicked Wednesday – A Scavenger Hunt from the Big Easy

We actually managed several Scavenger Hunts while out and about in New Orleans.

This is the first of them: Balcony.

Flashing may be the order of the day on Bourbon Street, but I have never really been comfortable with it before, nor ever done it! This made me feel especially wicked, as well, because I had to ask one of several young men sitting at a table across from us on the balcony if they would take the snap.

“Sure!” he readily agreed.

I could see his eyes go wide when he saw my “accoutrements,” but he never asked about them. Later, as we were leaving, though, I heard him whisper to his friend. “Did you see those things she was wearing?” I like to imagine that curiosity about them will have him thinking and wondering about them long after the other run-of-the-mill tittie flashers have faded from his memory…

Check out the rest of the Wicked Wednesday crowd at the link below!

NiN and Our First Sex Club Adventure

We’re back!  Safe and sound, and in (mostly) good repair. ;-) The swingers didn’t manage to convert us to vanilla, but we didn’t do anything to corrupt any of them, either. ;-) We met some new people, ran into some old friends, did some dirty dancing and a lot of eating and drinking, enjoyed some sight-seeing, some Scavenger Hunting, a little Rope on the Run for the letter N (New Orleans – we had to!), had a lot of sex, I dressed slutty and W was the epitome of a sharp-dressed man.  We didn’t take many pictures but we did manage to make it to the sex floor this time – twice! I got kissed by girls (twice!) and felt up a few times by random men, but we didn’t have sex with anyone other than each other.  We also didn’t do any kink to speak of: the “dungeon” was a joke, and while the sex rooms were opulent and sexy and sensual and a voyeur’s and exhibitionist’s dream, we realized that swinger sex is just too…well, too damn tame for us.

And we’re a whole lot of too kinky for them, that’s for sure.

We ended up going down to NOLA earlier than we had originally planned, leaving Tuesday night and staying over in Memphis before driving the rest of the way Wednesday so that we could arrive in time for the Naughty in N’awlins parade down Bourbon Street, and that night’s party at the famous New Orleans sex club, Colette.  I’d hoped for an intense BDSM scene at the hotel (I think I mentioned my “brave new me” in asking for what I want) but we were both too tired by the time we got to Memphis to do more than crash. The next morning, I realized W was already in vanilla/swing/travel mode, so I asked again, and we had a bit of hot rope-and-sex (and yes, of course there were pictures of it – yumm!)

W really is in either vanilla or kink mode. I am just going to have to accept that when he’s in vanilla mode, if I want to play, I gotta ask for it, because he just won’t think of it. Sometimes he still doesn’t switch over, but at least there’s the possibility of doing something if I ask.  And I’m getting better at it all the time.

In a new game, while he had me tied on the bed while he fucked me, he told me I couldn’t make myself come. He said he wanted me horny and thinking about sex on the drive down. And it totally made me think about it (!), though since he had switched back to non-kink mode for the drive down, I don’t think he realized how well his plan had worked! LOL

We got checked into our hotel in time to head down to one of the private parties.  The hotel is right on Bourbon Street, but at the end near Canal, so it isn’t in the heart of all the noise and drunkenness, for which I was glad. The hotel is really nice, and kind of an oasis from the madness that is Bourbon Street, which was good for me too.  I’ve never been on Bourbon Street, and it was a little overwhelming!  And damn, but I wasn’t dressed nearly slutty enough for that crowd!  I also realized I am just not as much fun as some of those women. They can party! But we had a good time, and then we walked in the parade down to Colette. Later my friend Mj, who happened to be down in NOLA for a professional convention, said that the parade itself, and the swinger convention, was the talk of her colleagues at their cocktail party the next night.

It’s fun to be the talk of the town. ;-)

We had a lot of fun at Colette. W had been there before, and knew what to expect.  I had been in a sex club before so I had some idea, but this was much wilder than what I had seen before.  Also, this time – as directed by W – I was an active participant.

He knows my triggers so well – and his own.

After we had a chance to take in the scene downstairs a bit (bar, social area and dance floor) he took me upstairs and right into the “porn room,” where people were already fucking and sucking on the couches in front of the big screen porn movie.  He ordered me to my knees so I could blow him, and then he bent me over the end of a couch where two other couples were having sex and fucked me from behind, encouraging a guy that was watching us to feel me up while he did so. It was surreal to have him fucking me and hear them introducing themselves above me, and W treating me like a commodity: “Sure, grab her tits. She’s got some nice ones.  She’s a good little fuck.”

It was pretty freaking hot.  When he let me up I sat on the floor and licked him clean (Him: “You know what to do,”) then zipped him up while three or four men looked on. I stayed on the floor like that for a few minutes, loving the feel of being at his feet, discombobulated, a creature of sexual service and nothing more, while the men stood around and talked. For the first time I wondered if we might actually be able to mix our kink with this scene.

Next we headed over to a hallway where there was a two way window and you could watch people having sex on the massive bed inside. He decided to give the voyeurs another option than the window, and, holding me standing against him, finger-fucked me to multiple orgasms right there in the hallway. I recall opening my eyes at one point and seeing rows of feet & shoes ringing us as people watched. I couldn’t bring myself to look up into their faces, tho W did tell me that one particular pair of women hadn’t been able to take their eyes off us the whole time – one of whom was a woman that had leaned down and kissed me in the theater after I had complemented her on her shoes.

Then it was back downstairs, where we chatted with a guy whose girlfriend or wife was showing off her hood piercing. He asked me if I’d ever seen anything like it. Yeah, well, you know I couldn’t resist, and soon he was staring open-mouthed at my pierced cooch, and waving people over to look at it. I think mine were a bit much for most of them, and his wife/girlfriend was decidedly cool to me after, though he mentioned wanting to touch them several times during the course of the evening.  I was glad that W didn’t hear him asking to touch them though, because I really didn’t want to go there with him. W had a lot of fun though, grabbing, pinching and pulling on my piercings until I came right there on the barstool while our new friend looked on.  Him: “You’re doing that right here? Right now?”  Heh. Contrary to my earlier thoughts, that was my first clue that we might be a little much for some of this crowd.

I mentioned it to W the next day though, because while we understand our dynamic, of course, (he was in “Jade as fuckmeat” mode) and it’s a turn-on for he and I, I realized that it had confused the guy we were talking to (his gf was obviously very much the one in control in that relationship, as many swinger women seem to be, at least in regards to who gets to do what to whom.) We had some good discussion about that. I don’t want people to see him as domineering or an asshole, but I also don’t want to lose our dynamic either, because that is what turns us on.  But in certain instances – in the theater earlier, for instance – I could see that it turned on many of those men too. It’s kind of a dichotomy, I think. The women are in control (and often the instigators) of the sex play, but many (of the men, at least) seem very intrigued by, and turned on by, women like me. Women that want to be controlled, that they can use, that they see being used the way W uses me. W is very cautious not to make waves in that community by showing that side of ourselves (and himself) but I have a feeling that there would be a whole lot of those men that would get off on it. I am less certain of the women’s reactions in that situation, and maybe that is part of W’s (understandable) reluctance. The women that might be curious/excited by it would possibly be fewer/farther between, and he doesn’t want to ruin his chances by scaring off some potential playmates. Though, in my opinion – if they aren’t into this kind of play, then I’m not interested in them. I really have no interest in vanilla sex – unless W is making me do it, which, by definition is not vanilla sex. ;-) The guy with the hood-pierced gf is a prime example though of the sometimes contradictory situations this places us in. I could see he was intrigued by something unusual he sensed in our dynamic, but he was also uncomfortable about it, because he didn’t understand it and what he saw/sensed flew so directly opposition to what he knew about the swinger dynamic/his own dynamic. I didn’t want him to think ill of W in that situation, but I also didn’t want to encourage him (or encourage W to encourage him) because the very discomfort I sensed in him (I believe there was a submissiveness in him) was unappealing to me.

So, it’s a bit of a conundrum, but one that conventions like this are allowing us to feel out, explore, and discuss, as we figure out what works for and what doesn’t.

As I said, W knows my triggers and his own, and we had hit on more than a couple there in the sex club.  By the time we got back to our room later that night, he was revved to go, as was I. He drug me into the room and pushed me to the floor.

Me: “I have to pee.”

Him: “No. Drink mine first.”

Me: “No!” Even as my cunt twitched.

Him: “Either do it first, now, or while you’re on the toilet. Your choice.”

I took him in my mouth and drank his piss while I voided my own drinks into the toilet. When I gagged, he pulled out of my mouth and pissed all over my cunt as I sat there. It was nasty, and wrong, and warm and sensual all at the same time, and I loved him for making me his piss whore.

Then he drug me into the bedroom and fucked me senseless.

And that was our first official swinger sex party.

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.

***************************************

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.

A Swinging Night – Part 2

So hey, let’s get back to talking about fucking, shall we??!?

When last we left our intrepid heroine (moi, of course) and her faithful…er…semi-faithful?…okay, would-be manwhores-if-they-could-be companions (actually that’s not an exactly correct description either, but it sounded so good I had to type it, so we’ll leave it)…they were waving goodbye to the last of their party-hosts’ guests and settling down to the real business of the night: some hot sexy fun.

But first Jade had to be restrained and blindfolded.  I know, how strange, right? Actually, the blindfold part is strange, and in fact I do not recall another time that I have been blindfolded for sex, and only my ex has done so for play. Of course that other time was for a slapping scene, not quite the same thing as happened here. In fact, this was about as far from a slapping or even BDSM scene as one could get, and still be tied up.

This was swinger BDSM.

Here’s the deal. I really cannot fathom getting off on a straight “vanilla” swinging situation. No matter how much I try, it just does nothing for me – unless W’s making me do it.  It can be subtle, not really a directive at all, but more my own desire to please him, knowing what will do so; or, as in this situation (and in the time before that on the cruise) unsubtly: as in a direct order.  I loved being told I was going to do it, period. Loved loved loved it. Didn’t want to to do it – for real, and not because I’m not attracted to S, our host, but just because…I assumed it would be vanilla sex and…well, see above.  But…give me an order, tell me I have no choice, tell me to do it, and, hell… just remembering W telling me I was going to do it is making me wet all over again.

So, yeah. My orders for the night? “Make them all want you, Jade.” No, of course I can’t make anyone do/feel anything, but I knew what he was after, and I dressed appropriately, and  turned on my flirt, and soon, well yeah, I think there may have been a chubby or two in the room.

And that kind of energy electrifies me.  Makes me happy and flirty and bouncy and slutty. So by the time everyone left, W’s second directive of the night: make myself available to be fucked by our host, if he chose to do so, was an easy one to obey.  It turned me on to know I was turning W on by doing what he wanted, by being the “party girl” he wanted me to be.  S wanted me, that much was obvious, and his partner, J, was into the Guys, so…I behaved accordingly.

And then S brought out a pair of cuffs, and things got even more interesting.  Because Jade’s second most-favorite thing, after being told what to do? Is being made to do something. Tie me, force me, make me helpless and unable to say no.  “The thing I love about W tying Jade up,” our host had said earlier to the others, “is that once she’s tied up, she can’t get away, and I get to do what I want to her.”

Yeah, that.

Apparently we all like that.

So, there I was, on my knees, with wrists in cuffs and secured to the door frame. And S asked W for his assistance in tying my legs apart.

Here’s the difference between W and vanilla guys, tho (and what we do and “Swinger BDSM.”) S just wanted me secured so that he could fuck me, more a mental securing than something to cause real discomfort.  W spread my legs and then tipped me so that I was balancing on my knees, and then tied my ankles, tight, into a position that would be (and was) murder to maintain, especially when there’s 200 pounds of rutting male banging into you from behind.  Not so much Swinger (Fucking) BDSM.  Remember “Sometimes, I don’t want to be half-killed in some spectacularly intense bondage scene. Sometimes, I just want to be tied up and fucked“? Yeah, that.  The funny part is that, observing W’s handiwork, S said almost the same thing. “I don’t want to hurt you, I want to fuck you,” he said. I was down with that.  Apparently sometimes I want Swinger BDSM, too.

But it’s still gotta be BDSM. There still has to be the mental headspace: “Your instructions are to fuck him if he wants to.” (Check.)  And it’s even better if there’s the physical aspect: Jade tied up, unable to resist? (Check.) Even better was looking over and seeing my Guys watching. They had J, the “she” of the couple, between them on the couch. Ad was playing with her cunt and W was mauling her breasts.

But their eyes were on me, at least momentarily.  And for that moment, it was blazingly hot, everything I could have hoped for. My Guys watching me get fucked by someone else–even while they had another woman in their arms.

Yeah, I’m that kind of selfish bitch. And that’s why swinging doesn’t work so well for me. All my attention, even when I’m being fucked by someone else, is attuned to them. I can’t help it. I’m there for them, I’m being fucked by W, even when someone else’s cock is inside of me.  When I perceive that I don’t have that same level of attention–well then my “hot” goes away. It sucks. It’s a delicate balancing act, for them and for me. How to keep myself attuned enough to the other guy so that he gets what he wants, while most of my attention is focused on the Guys. And for them, how to balance their very real interest in this other woman with paying enough attention to me.  I don’t like being that needy. I don’t like that I want their attention so much. But I do. And there’s just nothing to be done for it.

Being within touching distance helps. If I can be there, at least able to touch her or them, that helps me feel a part of things. And–maybe–if we did the separate room thing, that could work, because then I wouldn’t be able to be the center of attention for them, and they could focus on her without worrying that I’d be feeling left out (and yeah, I know how fucked up and selfish it is to feel “left out” when I am being fucked by someone else.)  But of course then I would lose a big part of it for me–knowing that they are watching and enjoying watching me get fucked. Feeling like I am being made to fuck for their pleasure. I don’t know. We’re still working on how to make this work for us all.

As it was, I knew that they were enjoying her and what they were doing. I knew that I had done what W wanted, and I had seen the pleasure and heat in his face when he saw me being tied into the doorframe, so it was all good.  I would make it work.

And then the world went dark.

As I mentioned, I haven’t had a blindfold used on me much since the Ex. “I like to see the look in your eyes,” W has said many times. Cool…

But being denied sight does some interesting things to the rest of your senses. Sharpens them. Makes you focus in ways you might not otherwise. And suddenly I was all about touch and sound.

Moans, grunts, sighs. A sharp breath, a growl of satisfaction. The feel of S’s hands on my flesh, of his flesh meeting mine, of his body, heavy and insistent.

And in my mind, I imagined that the Guys were watching me. That watching me was turning them on, and that they were using that heat to fuel their interactions with her, the same way I used my own excitement over them watching me to turn me on, to make me whine and mewl and come when S fucked me on the floor.  And later, when the blindfold came off, and I could “help” a bit with touches here and there, I thoroughly enjoyed watching them take her, first one and then the other.  I love watching my Guys fuck, if I can at least “assist” in some small way.  And I loved the sound and sight of Ad coming in her mouth, something he is seldom able to do with anyone but me.

So, yeah, it all worked out in the end.

Will we do it again? I don’t know. Ad is still fairly ambivalent about the actual sex part, tho he loves the atmosphere. And W and I are still trying to find our way to making it work for us both. It’s definitely not a closed door…but not one that is wide open, either.  We’ll see.

A “Swinging” Night – Part 1

In my last post I said that I would talk more about the real-life application of the the way kink and swinging intersect for us.  I actually had some good discussion about this with Ad in our “debrief” of Saturday night.  As a new adventure for the two of us–actually for all three of us–I wanted to talk with him about what worked, what didn’t, if he enjoyed it, what might have gone better, etc., just like W and I do after a particularly strenuous or edgy scene.  What he told me didn’t surprise me in the least, and talking with him actually helped clarify some of my own ambiguous feelings that I’ve been having.

I’ve had swinging adventures before with the Ex. Only a few times though, because he really didn’t like them.  We both preferred three-way, either MFM or FMF.

I’ve come to realize I still do.

It seems like swinging–two couples, four people–should be balanced, and that that balance should make things easy. Each couple pairs off and does their thing, right?

Well sure, sort of.  Of course, our particular situation was a bit odd to start: three men and two women. But still, it was pretty close to swinging, with the other woman getting to enjoy my two guys while I got to be with her man. In theory that should work…and in practice, it did, to a degree.

But honestly?

I’m just not into swinging as a concept. I don’t want to be separated from my guys while someone else does me. I don’t care if they’re doing someone else, I’m cool with that, and in fact find it hot to watch. But I want to be right there with them when they are, engaged, interacting–or at least snuggled up in the bed next to them enjoying the show while they are.

There were a couple of things that made this very hot for other reasons though–and those all had to do with kink.  Using kink to corrupt swinging kinda works for me. Kinda. But…I’d much rather play on the hard end of the coercion scale. It’s not that I don’t like the couple we did this with, I do, quite a lot. And it’s not that they don’t have a kinky side, they do, and that’s cool. But really, being coerced was really what made it work for me.

But what Ad said to me, and what I have to agree with him about, is that, although the actual “getting down” with other couples in the typical “swapping” scenario is not an ideal way for either of us to have sex, being in that atmosphere is great, and we both love it. Going out to a bar, or hanging out, with a group of lifestylers is much preferable to any vanilla gathering. We can talk and flirt with others openly, I get to get my sexy on, Ad gets to be the touching, affectionate person he is, and the topics of conversation aren’t censored. I can flirt with both my men and talk openly about who we are and what we do, and even about our unusual sex lives.  The sexy dancing, the teasing and flirtation and open admiration of others is lovely.

Neither one of us wants to not do those things.  But neither one of us enjoys the negotiations and sometimes awkwardness of getting from sexy talk and flirtation to actual sex (nor are we especially skilled at it.) And if we do manage to get there, the truth is that the “swapping” part of it, where we aren’t actually sharing the experience with each other, is also not our preference. He, too, wants me to be involved, to be there, “assisting.” He also gets his greatest pleasure and gets most turned-on by having me being an active part of his sexual encounters.

So…I don’t know what that means for future forays by he and I into this. I’ve told him that whatever he is comfortable with is fine, that he won’t be judged if he doesn’t want to “perform.” But that may not actually be the case. Swinging is about swapping, an exchange, tit-for-tat, right? So, given a situation where sex is happening, there might be expectations. I just don’t know. I’m not experienced enough in these things yet to know.

Of course there are the non-sex parties. The meet and greets at bars, the dances, and the cruise will be one long party where nothing is expected but what you want to make of it (many of the folks on the lifestyle cruises are “lifestyle friendly” not actual swingers, who just enjoy the sexy, permissive and sexual atmosphere–much like Ad!)  So those things are cool. But the rest…we’ll see.

And as for me…well…it’s all bound up in kink for me, and without kink, the swinging part just doesn’t work. Now a drunken Jade being used by several men at a party would be hot too…but again, that isn’t (usually, from what I can tell) how these swinger things or the swinger dynamic works. So…we shall see.

Anyway…on to Saturday night. Which was fun, and did work on several levels for us all.

Let me give you the set-up.

We arrive at their suite at the hotel right on time. There is another couple there, and we all get to talking, and then another couple arrives, and then one more.  It was fun getting to know some of the Midwest people that are going on the cruise in November, but I know as the evening goes on that the real show is going to be happening later, after everyone but us leave. The couple that is hosting the party is a couple we played with before on the ship, and that W had played with even before that.

So I knew what the expectations were, and even more so, I knew what W’s expectations of me were.  I had, in fact, been fulfilling those expectations all night so far. I was dressed very sexy, in an extra short dress, stockings and garter belt and super-high heels, and no panties.  Something that I wasn’t flaunting, but…there might have been a glimpse or two here and there. The fact that I was wearing stockings and heels while everyone else was in jeans was not lost on any of them, I’m sure.  But I hadn’t tried to dress sexier than them–it was a swinger party, I thought everyone would be dressed up.

And also…regardless of what anyone else was wearing, I knew W wanted me to dress sexy, so that’s what I did. He wanted to be able to show me off, so I wore something that would turn heads.

I was also doing my damndest to charm and flirt with everyone, male and female, because I knew that that would please W as well.  It wasn’t hard to do, actually, because the desire to be liked, to be loved, by everyone is a deep one for me.  So, really, I was just my natural, people-pleasing self.  And actually, that size group is ideal for me and puts me right in my comfort zone; any larger and I start to feel intimidated and end up withdrawing.

My guys were holding their own as well, being friendly and flirting with our hostess quite a bit, making everyone comfortable with the concept of having an “extra guy” around (which was easy because hey, they were obviously interested in our hostess, which attention I think she loved.)  I was very proud of my guys and saw that the other women there knew how lucky I am to have them both – and also that I share.  Happily. :-)

There were a couple of funny moments during the evening too.

One: Ad is sort of hidden off to one side in the kitchenette. A couple arrives and gets the intro to W and I and the other couple. They start talking, and suddenly Ad steps out from the kitchen. “Oh!” says the guy of the couple that had just arrived. “Who are you?!?” (It is obvious from his tone that he’s thinking “single guy alert, single guy alert!”) “I’m Ad,” says my guy. “Ohhh…and um…” the other guy fumbles around for a moment, trying to find a way to ask it nicely. “He’s one of my guys,” I chime in, from the living room. All heads swivel my way. “That one,” I say, pointing to W, “and that one,” pointing at Ad, “are my two guys.”  I swear he looked totally flummoxed for a moment. Then, “Wow, you get two, huh?” “Yeah,” I say. “Actually, Ad insisted I find another one.  That’s how I got W.”  A moment of dead silence, then nervous laughter all around, and we all move on.

Two: One of the women asks me about the tattoo I have on the back of my neck. “That had to hurt!” she says. “Oh, well, uh…” I start to say, trying to find a way to say I liked it without actually saying, “I’m a freak!”  W doesn’t have those qualms, though, lol. “Well there’s something you need to understand about Jade,” says he. “Jade likes pain.” Another momentary silence as they all consider just what kind of creature they have in their midst.  Then the nervous laughter, and we all move on. Until the man next to me says, quietly, “So, you like pain, huh? What kind?” W knows how to flush them out, doesn’t he?  Now it’s my turn to be flummoxed. How much/how little do I say?  “Let’s just say,” I finally reply, “that I’m a very kinky girl.” And leave it at that. I can see his interest is peaked all night though, though his wife is decidedly less warm to me after that. That could be because she isn’t feeling well, though.  I guess we’ll see.

But sooner rather than later everyone starts to leave…and it’s just me, Ad, W, and the hosting couple, our friends.

And then the real fun begins…

(to be continued)