Archive for Intimacy
What I Did On My Weekend Vacation (Part 1)
Posted by: | CommentsUp until this past weekend, I haven’t spent three whole days with a guy in seven years. And . . . it’s something I horribly miss. Having someone to wrap your legs and arms around on consecutive nights. Getting more than an hour or two to have sex—and fucking more than once a day. Not having to worry about setting the alarm so we can take off in opposite directions.
But I was also scared. Scared that I would enjoy it so much that I wouldn’t want him to leave. Or cry myself home on my five-hour drive. Or, experience the funk that can sometimes happen the day after spending a lot of time with someone you really like.
To help manage my fear, I tried my best all weekend to be present in the moment—even though I’m hard-wired to live life in the future. And, I made it through just fine. No begging him to stay. No crying. No funk. What I do have are some really memorable Kodak moments.
I relished in eating the breakfast that Tank made me one morning. Not any old breakfast either. Yummy Denver scrambled eggs with raisin toast (already buttered for me) and apple slices.
I learned I love being bitten. Hard. On my neck. My back. My shoulders. I felt like a kid in high school using make-up to cover the marks when we ventured outdoors into the warmth of the desert sun. Damn good thing I already had a bit of a tan!
And every day, he’d wash my back in the shower. You know, the spots that are hard to get to on your own, no matter how imaginatively you contort your body.
Saturday, in particular, was memorable. Let me start in reverse—at the end of the day—as I wait for the photo to tell the rest of the story.
Tank wanted prime rib for dinner. There was no argument from me. You don’t grow up in the heart of the Midwest and not be a carnivore. But we didn’t want the chains that were in abundance—Ruth Chris, LG Steakhouse, Morton’s and the like. We wanted a locals hideout. The place no one reveals unless you prompt them several times.
We found it alright. We were the youngest people in the place—by at least a decade—until a kid showed up with his parents. According to the woman who was part of a singing duo that started at 6 o’clock that evening, we got the very best seats in the house. Beneath one of the band’s main speakers. Seated next to each other, we got to see every single person who walked into the joint. The people watching was fantastic. Especially the married guy in his 70s who was fondling and flirting with a single woman at the bar as his wife watched them.
Our meal ended with a huge slice of chocolate cake—the fudgy, moist kind—and a great chat with the female singer whose husband had fingered many a guitar with the Righteous Brothers and other major Motown recording artists.
After this sort of meal, you don’t really have many choices, other than to retire to the sofa for a while. Which we did to watch some of the tennis matches that had played that day at the BNP Paribas Tournament.
Now, one of the things that attracted me to Tank is that he loves to talk. No sooner had I found the Tennis Channel on TV, when I heard:
“Didn’t you say some couples contacted you recently?”
“Yes.”
“Can I take a look at them with you?”
“Sure.”
We huddled over my laptop on the coffee table, reading their online profiles. A few of them interested both of us so I designated them as friends to remind me to write back to them about us. Then, I heard Tank say, “Could you pull up my profile? I want to read it. I think it’s got old stuff on it.”
So I did. It showed Tank being two years younger so it’d been a while since he’d updated it. He placed the laptop in front of him. After erasing his fantasy—to find a swing partner—he started writing.
“I currently have a swing partner and we are totally enjoying playing as a couple. I must say it’s so much more enjoyable and exciting to play as a couple, which I never realized as a single guy, and has given me a whole new outlook on swinging.”
I didn’t say a word.
What Shall I Do?
Posted by: | CommentsHe didn’t show up exactly as I’d planned it. In fact, he shouldn’t have shown up at all. After meeting more than 50 men following weeks and weeks and weeks of responding to e-mail inquiries, I’d found a swing partner—Meiplé (you’ll understand why he fits this name by listening to this song). We seemed to mesh really well together, albeit he was 21 years younger in age. Some day I’ll formally introduce you to him.
But for now, suffice it to say in a prescient moment, right before breaking his arm and needing a box full of screws and a plate to fix it, Meiplé gently nudged me to find a few more partners. For some reason, I’d never considered having more than one. Heck, it’d taken all I had just to find him. Actually, he had found me. And now he was encouraging me to “stay on the market” and continue my search.
Given that the only rule I knew at the time about swinging was that “no” means NO, I started e-mailing men who expressed an interest in partnering in their online profiles.
One particular day, a profile popped up that I’d not seen before. My little fingers quickly hit the keys of my MacBook Pro.
Hi,
When you say you are seeking someone to share this lifestyle with, are you looking for a girlfriend who is into the lifestyle – or merely a steady swing partner? I ask because I seek the latter. While I have two swing partners (one local, one outside the state), both have very busy lives so I find I still have unfulfilled playtime on my hands :-) Please let me know if this holds any interest for you –
Thanks!
Randi
The next day I got a reply.
Hi,
My name is Tank and I wanted to thank you for writing to me. I am definitely looking for a steady swing partner. It is a lot easier to have fun when it is shared and single guys get a lot less hits then a couple. I would love to help you with your unfulfilled playtime. Just write me back if you wish to meet and we can set something up. My number is … if you wish to call.
Sincerely,
Tank
Sincerely? Who closes an e-mail on a sex site with “sincerely?” I wrote him back immediately with my availability. And then, voila, I had a cancellation occur on Saturday evening. So, I took a chance and called him. I wasn’t about to let a perfectly good weekend night go to waste.
We set up a place and time to meet. I’d drive an hour to where he was located—not a problem since I had a bunch of time on my hands to kill. And then it dawned on me . . .
“Who are you? I just realized I know nothing about you!”
“Well. Who would you like to get to know? The man who rock climbs? Or the guy who has a teenage daughter? Or the one who works in healthcare?”
I was speechless. Who was this guy, really? No one responds like this to a question, unless he’s really smart. Ah, wouldn’t that be perfect!
I drove. We hugged outside the restaurant. After ordering dinner, I completely tuned out what he was saying. Ever have a billboard flash in your head with neon lights on it? Mine said, “Wow. I could marry this guy. And he’s not even Jewish.”
When I finally came back to my senses, I realized I’d agreed to follow him to his house to share a bottle of wine. We’d only known each other about 45 minutes by this point. Thirty minutes after that I found myself laying on the floor of his family room with my ass in the air—my right leg was pressed against his left hand while the left one was trying to resist the push of his right hand. You see, he’d noticed I wasn’t walking properly. An exercise injury I’d sustained almost three months earlier that no treatment had alleviated—up until that evening.
I arrived home the next day around noon, with plans to see him again the following weekend. He understood the “i” word: intimacy. That to swing well as a couple, we’d need to create a high level of intimacy between the two of us. Which meant spending time together one-on-one in addition to our playtime with others.
Hmmmm. The last time I saw Tank was almost two weeks ago. How shall I wake him this morning? Any suggestions?
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?
