Archive for Communication
CNN, Are You Serious?
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I first read this article (“The Downside of ‘Friends with Benefits’”) the day it was published. The premise is that “friends with benefits” have more “concurrency” (several relationships at once) is speeding up the transmission of STD’s because they don’t protect themselves given they know each other. Evidently, people in romantic relationships tend towards monogamy and thus don’t have this issue.
Really? Huh. What’s wrong with this picture? Who made the assumption that people with multiple partners don’t use protection in their sexual relationships? Or that “friends” don’t talk about the subject? Or that romantic relationships imply monogamy?
When I was 26 years old and divorced from my first husband, I went to work in a hospital in the town in which I’d gotten my college education. One of my closest friends was a woman in Human Resources, Barbie, who interviewed me when I came to the organization. She was gorgeous: tall, perfectly proportioned no matter what she ate, dark brown shoulder-length hair long and thick eyelashes, and porcelain skin accentuated by a perfect smile. I idolized her.
Not only did we see each other at work, we exercised at the same gym four nights a week and went out together on Friday evenings for happy hour as part of a group of about ten women. One of those evenings she stumbled onto Jim. He projected as the perfect gentleman—and had a terrific job. They quickly fell in love and saw each other every moment they could. The rest of us loved him too. We all socialized together. What a gem of a guy.
Several months later, I sauntered to Barbie’s office—we had planned to go to lunch together that day to plan the upcoming weekend’s activities. Only I was told she was home ill. Ill? I’d just seen her the evening before and she seemed just fine. Something didn’t feel right. SO I took a chance and called her at home. Her ex husband, who I also knew—a really sweet guy—answered the phone.
“What are you doing at the house in the middle of the day?”
“I’m doing some laundry for Barbie.”
“Laundry?”
“Yeah. She needed some help.”
“What’s going on? What’s the matter with her?”
“Hold a sec. Let me see if she wants to talk with you.”
Barbie sounded fine when she got on the phone. Didn’t seem like she had a cold or the flu.
“Hi. I was worried about you. They said you were sick so I thought I’d call and see if there was anything I could do to help.”
“No. Nothing you can do.”
“You sure.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“You ok?”
“No. Not really.”
“What’s going on, Barbie?”
“Jim and I broke up.”
“Over what?”
“He didn’t tell me he had herpes and now I have it too.”
“Oh my God.”
Only what she didn’t know was that the “oh my God” was not so much for her as it was for me. My mind immediately flew back to my activities two weekends earlier. Barbie had gone out of town for a conference. And Jim had called me, wanting to know if I’d like to play tennis. Having nothing else on my calendar, I immediately accepted. We played outside for hours. Afterwards, we went back to his condo for a beer. When I tried to get up to leave, my whole body ached something fierce. Jim had me lie on the floor on my tummy and proceeded to give me a slow, sensual, full body massage. Before you knew it, we were fucking our brains out in his bedroom. We went through a box of condoms. He had great endurance. The (unprotected) oral sex was also fantastic. Before I left, we both agreed not to say a word about what had happened.
And now, here I was, listening to Barbie tell me he has herpes. And that she did too. I panicked. I wondered if I did. Who would I see? In a hospital, words gets around, no matter which physician you saw or the Hippocratic Oath. Nothing stayed confidential.
As soon as I hung up the phone, I made an appointment at Planned Parenthood, the only place I knew I could go and spill my guts.
Twenty-five years later, I can still recall that phone conversation as though it happened yesterday. It left an indelible imprint on my mind. And a lesson that’s served me well through the years.
Suffice it to say, I don’t buy that people in romantic relationships are monogamous. All you have to do is look at the number of people on the Ashley Madison website where affairs are GUARANTEED. Or that the communication about sex and STD’s is heightened in these sorts of relationships. Nor do I buy that people in concurrency relationships—people like me—aren’t strict about the use of protection. Because we are.
But then again, that sort of story wouldn’t ever make the news.
Adding to the Conversation: Your First Threesome by Dan and Jennifer
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As a swinger, the title of the video, “Your First Threesome: Who Should It Be With?,” created by Dan and Jennifer, caught my eye when it was mentioned on Twitter. I couldn’t wait to see it. And now, I can’t wait to comment on it.
The video was created based on a question submitted by a woman. Something to the effect of: My boyfriend and I decided to participate in a threesome. Who should it be? Should it be a close friend who’s comfortable with the idea or should it be a stranger, but a clean stranger of course?
I agree with one statement: It’s a bad idea to have a threesome with a complete stranger. That’s where my agreement ends. And my concern begins. A concern that caused me to tell Tank about what I heard.
“They said it’s probably not a good idea to have a threesome with a close friend who’s comfortable with the idea. They made it sound so black-and-white.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Wasn’t your first threesome with two girlfriends who knew each other?
“Yes. And when I was married, my wife and I had a threesome with a close friend of hers that I dated in the past.”
“My point exactly. I’m not seeing the problem in having a first threesome with a person you know and trust. Someone who’s comfortable with the idea.”
“What am I missing here?’
“Well. There’s one question everyone needs to answer. And that’s ‘why.’ Once you agree on the ‘why’ with your partner——the rest doesn’t matter.” The answers to who what, when where, and how easily fall into place.”
“You’re right. It does.”
My answer to the option of inviting a friend to join in would have been “it depends.” It depends on why you want the threesome in the first place. And sometimes, inviting a trusted friend who has similar motivations to you is the perfect choice.
Unfortunately, Dan and Jennifer also miss this critical conversation in their follow-up video called “5 Tips to Make Your First Threesome More Successful.”
They go on to say that a first threesome should be held with a third person who is experienced—what they call sexually social. While I agree that experience is very helpful, based on what I’ve seen and experienced, it really helps to make the situation lighthearted and enjoyable. This is NOT a test of sexual prowess or skill. Because, at the core, swinging isn’t about the sex—it’s about enhancing the relationship a couple has by adding a variety of amazing intimate experiences to it.
I’m also not fond of their online site recommendations to find a third person for a threesome. SDC tends to be for the “beautiful” people—at least in my community—which has more than a million of people living in it. AFF (Adult Friend Finder) members don’t all necessarily understand or embrace the mindset of swinging (as compared to wife swapping behavior). And Kasidie includes other sorts of fetishes like BDSM, kink, and the like—which may be too much for first-timers.
The reason I prefer Swing Lifestyle is that people of all looks, sizes, and ethnicities are members. (Disclosure: I do not sell memberships on behalf of the organization.) Many are professionals in their communities. People you interface with every single day. And most understand the mindset and rules behind swinging. One of which Dan and Jennifer also neglected to mention in their 5 Tips video: No means no. Period. End of story.
I’ll stop here. If you have the chance to watch one or both of the videos, please feel free to add to the conversation. I’d love to hear your comments.
The Little Engine That Couldn’t
Posted by: | CommentsShe left her wristwatch at my house. I waited a couple days to see if she’d contact me. Not about it per se. But to thank me for hosting her and her husband for dinner and play. Only, she never sent a note. Which saddened me. I’m a stickler for common courtesies.
So, I wrote her and said I had it. It took two weeks of e-mails back-and-forth for us to find a day and time to meet. She suggested doing so at a grocery store in the middle of the day. 12 noon to be exact. A grocery store? I was speechless. What was I missing?
Perhaps I should go back to the beginning.
A few weeks ago, Tank and I went to a swinger’s meet-and-greet a mile from my home at a locally-owned restaurant. I’ll bet at least 150 people were there—identifiable by the multi-colored beads that they’d been given when they checked in. Dancing outdoors under the stars. Eyeing each other as though they were at a high school dance.
I’m sooooo into Tank that I’ve little desire to flirt when he’s around. Plus, when left to my own devices, I tend to be a shy person. Midway through the evening he left me on my own for a while to get us some drinks. But first, he’d given me an assignment.
“Baby, I want you to approach a guy. Any guy. And flirt with him. I’ll find you.”
The first man I approached barely spoke three words to me. That corked me. He’d just demonstrated while I’ll have work forever, teaching people how to schmooze. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a married man laughing at what he’d witnessed. Not being one to miss an opportunity I approached him.
“I don’t think he’s all that interested in me. Or anyone else who’s here for that matter.”
“Well, then, his loss is my gain. Why don’t you have a seat and chat with me. My wife is off somewhere. I’m sure she’ll return soon.”
And she did. Followed soon by Tank. Both of them were bearing drinks. The four of us hit it off immediately. And much to our surprise, when Tank and I returned to my house and viewed their profile, we realized they were seeking a couple exactly like us.
“Randi, I’d really love for us to be with a couple.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just more into groups—you know, a few of my girlfriends and lots of black men with large cocks.”
“I know, babe. But I think you’ll really like the intimacy of being with one couple even though they’re new to the lifestyle.” Whaddha think?”
Trusting Tank implicitly, I invited them to dinner at my home two weeks later. They quickly accepted. But, I must admit, I harbored a bit of a concern about the wife. She seemed more reserved that her husband. While she didn’t flinch when her husband kissed me with his tongue at the meet-and-greet, she hadn’t responded outwardly to Tank’s warmth, which is infectious.
I spent several hours the two days before they arrived getting ready for the evening. Arranged to get my full Brazilian wax done early. I love being soft and clean. Went to three grocery stores for fresh flowers and the perfect ingredients for our meal. Made sure the house was clean. Made dinner from scratch with several chocolate dessert selections. And selected what I considered to be just the perfect music.
The dinner conversation was delightful. That’s when we learned that the wife had grown up a very good girl, the perfect daughter, just like me. No dates in high school. No real sexual adventures till she’d met her husband.
We had a blast playing Twister. My idea. I’d been trying to figure out a way to get us all into contorted physical positions so we could have a few laughs. And sure enough, leave it to Tank to cause me to tumble in a fashion that put my ass with its pretty little dark blue and magenta flowered thong in the air and my black skirt around my breasts.
The agreement was that the losers would shed clothing. But instead, I saw the wife take off her top and her husband his shirt. “Hmmm. Maybe I’d figured wrong about her.”
After a second round, of which we lost again (you’d think we’d be winning given that Tank is a rock climber and can easily contort himself into multiple positions), the wife took off her skirt and her husband his pants.
And, as only Tank can do, he gently asked a few questions of the wife.
“What do you like?”
She looked away from him and her husband—and didn’t respond.
“You must like something that you husband does to you.”
Her husband piped up, “Can I respond for her?”
“Actually, I’d like to hear from your wife. In her words.”
(Whispering) “Uhmmm. I don’t know.”
“Well, what does her husband like? You’ve been married for 16 years and have a couple kids so I’m thinkin’ you know him well.”
(Laughing softly) “Yeah …”
I couldn’t contain myself. I spoke up. “Can I tell them what I think you like with me?
“Sure.”
“You like anything I do that allows me to look in your eyes at the same time I doin’ I to ya.”
The husband looked at me. “And how long have you two known each other?”
“Three months. But we talk about sex all the time.”
Her husband came over an gave me a wet kiss. “Any chance we could go to the sofa?”
“How about we go upstairs, to my room?”
I led the pack. Shedding my top and skirt along the way. With the wife behind me. I know how much men love to look at women’s asses.
Tank opened the sliding door to my balcony and led me outdoors. “Let’s give them a moment to play with each other and get comfortable.” A few minutes later, we walked back in.
The husband immediately shifted his attention from his wife to me. He sat on the bed, with me in front of him, and undid my bra. He fondled and kissed my breasts, taking each in his mouth. And then put his right hand behind my neck and pulled me down for a kiss. I started massaging his cock and got on my knees to take off his jockey shorts to get a better look at his uncircumsized cock. And positioned it inside my mouth.
By this time, Tank was kissing the wife and was caressing her body, His hands are amazing. They can soften me in a moment. But she seemed a little stiff.
After ten minutes of quietness in the room, I made eye contact with Tank. He immediately came over, put me doggy style on the bed, and proceeded to fuck me from behind. I squealed. And yelped. Loudly. Enough to alert anyone who was listening to my enjoyment.
Then Tank stopped. And turned me back over to the husband. As he went back to the wife.
For the next hour, I was miserable. The husband tried to give me oral. But it was clear he didn’t know where my clit was located or that it was something he needed to stimulate. I whispered lessons to him.
“Stimulate my clit. Here’s where it’s located. You can suck it, pull on it, tease it, lick it. Want me to show you how I masturbate?”
While he seemed eager to learn, his sexual prowess was at a first grade level, at best. I was mortified, I hadn’t signed up for a shitty evening. He was behaving like the little engine that couldn’t.
It was easy to get him off orally. And to sound like I was enjoying myself. For many of my adult years, I’d learned to fake enjoyment. But no sounds out of the wife. And I’d noticed that every time Tank got close to making her come orally, her body froze. Like she didn’t want to come. Or, wasn’t all that familiar with the sensation.
All through this experience, her husband kept baiting me.
“Touch my wife. She likes it.”
“No. she hasn’t asked me to. Nor has she reached out to me.”
“But she won’t do that. I know she likes it though, Kiss her, OK?”
“NO. She has to appear receptive. And she doesn’t right now. She’s in charge, not you.
“Oh, come on. Just for me. Won’t you do it?”
“I will not. She needs to want it. And she doesn’t seem to right now.” By this time, Tank had heard me. I’d propped myself up on my left elbow.
“You look so content, baby.”
I smiled. Content? CONTENT? I was bored out of my mind!! All I could think of was “get me outta here. NOW!”
After what seemed like forever, things came to a close. The husband and wife got dressed and Tank escorted them to their car. I finished cleaning up from dinner. When he walked back in, her gave me a long hug.
“Babe, how ya doin’? You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes. I do.”
“It was horrible. Awful. The guy didn’t even know where my clit was or how to stimulate it. You’d think he’d never had sex before. Geez. What do you think their sex life is like?”
“Good question. The wife wasn’t all that responsive either. Every time I’d get her close to cumming, she’d push me away. I’m not sure what’s going on with them. But it’s like I promised you, baby. If you didn’t get fucked well, I’m here for you. What do you need?”
And that’s when I saw the watch.
Tank and I had one helluva fuck session that night. One for the memory books. It was hard and long—and delicious.
The wife was at the checkout counter when I arrived at noon. I asked, “Do you have a few minutes to chat and catch up?” She acknowledged that she did.
She was all talk when it came to describing the prior weekend’s out-of-town activities with her husband, children, and her husband’s niece. They’d attended her son’s soccer tournament and toured a museum. Drank a lot of booze. I learned that even though they were new to the lifestyle that her husband wanted them to play with others every Friday and Saturday evening. And that she wasn’t sure she had the energy to do so. Even though she was starting to feel a sense of addiction to the sex they were having with strangers.
I’d looked at their online profile before driving over that day. No one had “certified” their play with them so I suspected the experiences weren’t all that noteworthy to others.
I decided to relay to her in a comical way my unpleasant swing experiences with Maestro, in the hopes of letting her know that she was in charge, not her husband. (see About Last Night). She was quiet. It was hard to read her reactions through her dark sunglasses. Right before we parted ways, she softly said, “I think I have a lot more learning to do.” I chuckled inside, thinking to myself, “Honey, you and your hubby have a lot of learning AND talking to do. I hope to God you aren’t put in an uncomfortable situation any time soon.” But, having worked as a therapist in a former life, I’m very clear that I don’t own her challenges.
Tank and I are bound to see them again at another meet-in-greet that’ll take place in three weeks. Frankly, I’m not looking forward to it. Good thing my parents taught me how to be gracious and to put on my game face when honesty isn’t called for.
And, in case you’re wondering, I still trust Tank implicitly. I’ve no doubt we’ll find a couple or two who are just right for us.
Yes!! I Passed the Interview!
Posted by: | CommentsB4 answered the door in a midnight blue button-down shirt and light-colored slacks. My sense is that he’s in his mid-50s. I’ve never been good though, at assessing someone’s age.
We immediately received a tour of the house. I counted at least three bedrooms; there may have been more. I 
wasn’t paying all that much attention. My eyes were fixated on the gigantic family room. Even with two sets of king-size mattresses in it, there was plenty of room for an entire set of large leather furniture, with room to spare.
Beer in hand, Tank and I joined B4 at the kitchen table. Having never been interviewed for a gang bang, I wasn’t sure what to expect. What I did know is that I didn’t fit the “mold” of the typical women that B4 sought out for these situations. I wasn’t a college girl—not even close to being in my 20s. And I definitely don’t weigh 120 pounds nor do I come close to being 5 foot 6 inches or taller in height—unless I have on my fuck me shoes.
“What’s the most men you’ve been with at once?”
“I did five last Saturday evening for a couple hours.”
“How many men would you like? I was thinking eight.”
“That sounds good to me. I like that it’s the symbol of infinity.”
“But that means I’ll need to invite at least 12. And 10 may show up.”
“I don’t see that as a problem. As long as Tank is included.”
“Yep. He’s in the count. Are you open to anal?
“As long as someone doesn’t try to stick a 10-inch cock up my ass. And they use lube.”
“We have lots of lube here. Do you do dp?”
“I haven’t yet but I’m very open to it. And I have my own lube.”
“What type of men do you want?”
“I like younger men. Guys my age and older just don’t seem to fit as well with me.”
“What about black guys?”
“Sounds great to me! I like BBC’s.”
That’s when Tank jumped in. “Actually, she likes BC’s—big cocks—white, red, brown, black, green—it don’t matter! And if we’re talking BBC’s, the B stands for brainy—she like ‘em smart.” I laughed and gave him a kiss on the cheek. My man knows me well.
The questions went on for about 45 minutes. And I had a few of my own.
“How long does the evening last?”
“We usually start around 7. It can last as long as you’d like.”
“What type of men will be here?”
“Well, they’re all bi. Are you OK with guy-on-guy behavior? Some oral and some anal?”
“Absolutely. I’d like everybody to have a good time. How does the evening usually start out?”
“Any way you’d like. Some ladies like to start playing right away. Others like to chat and get to know the guys for 30 minutes or so. Are you available the first Tuesday in May?”
“Yes. In fact, I just had a business trip cancel for that day. Does it work for you, Tank?”
“It sure does, baby.”
“Good. Let’s plan for that night.”
By the time we’d finished up our conversation, B4 had identified several men to invite. Tank knew them all. Even though Tank isn’t bi (he calls himself a “pleaser”), I knew he’d joined in the fun on several occasions. Just not recently, which made me curious. But I knew better than to inquire.
B4 shook my hand as we left. It was all very business-like.
Tank led me to my car and gave me a kiss as he opened the door and motioned me inside. “Drive safe, baby. And call me in a few minutes so I can talk you home. I want to know what you’d like to have happen in a few weeks.”
As I drove off, I couldn’t help but wonder: “What does one wear to a gang bang? Then it dawned on me. “Holy shit. How do I prepare for an evening of being fucked by eight men?” I’d felt intermittent pain for over a week when there’d only been five. That’s how I learned through a Google search that Preparation H wipes can be used as a vaginal compress. “Would Tank be picking me up and taking me there and home? Or would I be left to do this on my own because his daughter would be at his house? What would he like his role to be? Did he want to orchestrate like the other night or would he expect me to direct traffic? And, what did I REALLY want?”
Stay tuned for more . . .
About Last Night
Posted by: | CommentsWe’ve met before. Back in early September. On a Saturday night. At a swing club. I was with Maestro. B3 was with a woman friend.
He says he saw me the moment I arrived. Actually, what he noticed were my legs. I was wearing a hot pink silk dress with a low cut V neckline. Extremely form fitting.
Maestro and I were seated on a sofa in the main room where the music was playing when B3 approached us. He asked if we’d like to join him and his friend at a high top table near the entrance to the couples-only room. Maestro immediately said “yes,” before even seeing his lady friend.
Maestro sat on my left, B3 on my right. He asked if it was OK to flirt with me. Before I could get my answer out, Maestro said, “Yes.” While I was getting over the shock of him not asking me, I felt a hand caressing my upper right thigh. At that moment, B3’s friend arrived at the table. I knew right away that she wasn’t Maestro’s type. She was at least three inches taller and weighed at least 25 pounds more than him. She sat on a chair to B3’s right.
In my right ear, I heard B3 say, “She’s new to swinging.”
Maestro replied, “So are we. No big deal.”
B3 responded, “So let’s go into the couples room.
To which Maestro replied, “Great.”
The next thing I knew I was being led in by B3. And my man, who I hadn’t seen in two weeks, was literally running to a love seat with this other woman. Before I even got seated on a sofa, they were making out. So, I turned to B3 and said,
“What just happened here?”
“You’ve been swapped.”
Swapped? SWAPPED? I didn’t give permission for this to happen. I thought the women controlled what took place with her partner.
“So . . . what are you expecting me to do, I asked him.
“Whatever you want. But, I’d really like a blow job, if you wouldn’t mind.”
By this time, Maestro and the other woman were on the bed. He was totally nude. She was still clothed in a black and white dress. Nothing too revealing. Maestro was eating her pussy with great zeal while she reciprocated by stroking his cock. Everyone was watching them. There had to be at least 30 voyeurs inside and outside the room.
I felt trapped. Not knowing what to do— this was only my third time at a sex club—I did as instructed. I knelt down on the floor, undid the zipper on his pants, pulled out his cock, put it in my mouth and started sucking and licking it, all the while trying to keep an eye on Maestro.
“Do you like?”
“Ohhhh, I love it.”
“How fast would you like to cum?”
“If I cum right away, then I’ll have time to recover. And being over 50, I’d like to cum at least once more tonight. So bring it on, baby.”
I obliged. After which I quickly repositioned myself back on the sofa so I could watch the action on the bed. All of a sudden, I saw Maestro position himself on top of this woman. And enter her bareback.
“Oh my God, he doesn’t have a condom on. And he’s a doctor.” I blurted out to B3. “What do I do?”
“You can do whatever you want.”
“So, I can stop him?”
“Sure.”
“How do I do that?”
By this time, the adrenaline rushing through my veins had taken over. I didn’t wait for a response. The crowd had gotten bigger. This had become a show. I got up, walked over to the bed, and very quietly whispered in Maestro’s ear:
“Get off of her. You don’t have a condom on.”
Then I knelt down next to the woman’s head and whispered in her ear, “Don’t you ever pull that shit on me again. You know better. He needs a condom.”
“What, what? He asked if I was clean and I said ‘yes.’”
“I don’t care what he asked you—or how you responded. Don’t you dare do this to my man again. If you don’t know the rules, you need to ask B3 to tell them to you.”
By this time, Maestro was fully clothed. I escorted him out of the couples room, through the main area where the music was playing, into a small and dingy private room. Once inside, I locked the door. In a soft, very controlled voice, I said:
“What the hell did you just do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what came over me.”
“You of all people. You’re a doctor. You should know better.”
“I know. I know. I’m sooooo sorry.”
“Well, sorry doesn’t make up for any disease you may just have been exposed to. And what am I supposed to do? We haven’t had sex in two weeks. Do you really think I’m going to play with you now?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“I think you need to do a lot of thinking. You don’t even know if she’s on birth control.”
We left soon afterwards. The drive back to my place was eerily silent. Not like any 40-minute drive we’d ever had before. Maestro slept a few hours before sneeking off before dawn the next morning. It was to be the last time we ever slept in the same bed. Only I didn’t know that at the time.
Whew. Back to last night with B3. We met at Applebee’s at 6 o’clock for cocktails. Only there wasn’t a seat to be had at the bar or at a table. B3 greeted me with that fact. No smile. Just a gruff:
“It’s too busy here.”
“Yes, it certainly looks that way. What would you like to do?”
“Let’s go talk outside.”
“OK. Uhmmm . . . I don’t know of any other place with a bar around here that won’t be packed. It’s spring break and the dinner hour. How about Starbucks? It’s two miles away.”
“Fine. Just fine.”
Huh. He didn’t sound fine. When we got to Starbucks, he didn’t order a thing. Not even a bottle of water. All I heard was, “I hate this place.”
But I wasn’t about to leave. I walked outdoors and took a table in a corner. And proceeded to tell him my version of that fateful night many months ago, as a backdrop to the conversation we were about to have. I also told him about my swing partners. I learned he’d just broken up with his partner—for the second time. And old girlfriend. Not the woman I’d met.
Within minutes I knew he’d lost interest. That was just fine with me. I wasn’t the same person he’d met—and he looked nothing like the guy I remembered sucking off that night. He’d gained at least 20 pounds. And he still hadn’t smiled. From the moment he saw me at Applebee’s, he looked angry—and his tone of voice sounded even angrier.
We parted ways in less than an hour. How interesting. I’d come full circle. A little older— and a hell of a lot smarter about swinging.
Welcome to Randi Buckmen's adventures in intimacy—beyond the world of sex. Hear how I’m embracing the possibilities of what can be while remaining a “good girl” in the public’s eye. How did I go from being celibate for three years—and wearing flannel pj's to bed with socks when I was married—to where I am today?
