Archive for The Lifestyle
One Big Reason I Avoid Dating
Posted by: | CommentsWe’d chatted numerous times by phone and gotten together twice in person—once for drinks—a second time for chai latte and for an outdoor concert on an evening where all the stars in the sky were visible. His last contact with me was to say he really wanted to find a woman in the lifestyle that he could date and potentially marry.
So, we went our separate ways. What I learned last night when we chatted is that he found that sexy, kinky woman in November—the best fuck he’s ever experienced—and has been dating and playing with her for months. Even fell “in love” as opposed to merely loving her (Tank says this is an important distinction). And he told her so. Which sparked him looking for apartments near her home so they could spend more time together.
And then, without warning, she ended everything. Didn’t even offer an explanation. His heart was hurting badly. You could hear it in his voice.
Now, this isn’t the first time I’ve heard this story from men. My very best friend, B1, had this occur after dating a woman for four years long-distance and finally getting a job in the city in which she lived. One day she was telling him how much she loved him and couldn’t wait for them to marry. And literally the next, she was gone.
Drama. Too much drama.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t have time for this sort of shit. Life is too short and I need my energy to run my other businesses.
As serendipity might have it, Tank had just informed me that he didn’t think he could accompany me to a party in a few weeks. He told me so I’d have ample time to find someone else to go with me. So, I seized the moment. I invited Drew. No big deal to me that he’s just broken up with someone—actually, that might make him more horny LOL 
Plus, the photo he sent me of his chest after twice-daily exercise sessions took my breath away. The way I figure it, if Tank finds himself available, the three of us can go together. Drew agreed it would be awesome for us to show up as a threesome.
These last six months I’ve gotten my intimacy, relationship and sexual needs met, all without having to be concerned about whether or not a “guy” was going to still be in my life the next day. And, for the most part, the men I’ve met and spent time with are exactly the type of men I’d hoped to date—who showed zero interest in me since my last divorce in ’99. Ironic, isn’t it.
As a 51 year-old woman, I have far more control as a swinger than I did trying to date in the vanilla world. Important to me as a Leo! Now tell me, why would I ever want to go back to dating?
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.
Adding to the Conversation: First Visit to a Swing Club
Posted by: | CommentsOnly, a couple things about the article struck me. The one that jumped out at me right away is this sentence: “The first visit to a swingers club can be very intimidating.” I responded to it with the following comment.
Rebecca,
Based on my experiences, I agree with the comparison that you make between a vanilla club and swingers club. However, there are ways to make the experience less intimidating. First, whether you’re married or partnering with someone as a single (which I do), it’s important to discuss expectations in advance. Things like: What do you want out of the evening? What will we do if a couple or a single man approaches us? Do we want to play in a private room or try out the couples area or an orgy room? Second, there are “rules” for swinging – some spoken, some unspoken. Clubs tend to put their rules on their websites so you can review them in advance. Third, you do NOT have to play. It’s OK just to watch and observe. In fact, many couples do just this. There is never pressure of any sort to engage in sexual behavior.
You can read about my first time at a sex club at http://www.goodgirlsdontonline.com/2010/03/14/the-step-after-next/
Thanks for letting me comment –
Randi
This morning, I went back and re-read the piece. And I must say, I’m also feeling the need to respond to a few other points.
First, swing clubs aren’t just for “married” folks. In fact, depending on the evening (the clubs I go to are busiest on Saturday nights, followed by Friday evenings), you’ll also find a number of single people—like me!—in attendance. Some come as couples; others come in groups. They may show up after the local bars close just to dance in a more intimate setting. And, they may or may not play.
Second, don’t be surprised if you see men openly masturbating. Or a woman giving a guy a blow job, or a man fingering a woman in a way where all can view her physical reaction, in a more public area like the chairs and sofas near the dance floor. I remember Maestro being shocked by these behaviors on our first visit—and a bit uncomfortable with them. Me? I found them to be very stimulating and erotic.
Third, swingers may talk but for the most part, they are very private and discrete people. Other than when I’m speaking to close friends in the lifestyle, I’ve not heard someone refer to another man, woman or couple by name when discussing their experiences with them. I agree that you need to check out club venues and private parties (a whole separate topic) for yourself. We all have different perspectives and needs. Some will fit better for you than others. However, what you get out of an evening is really more about what you choose to make of it. I know I’ve been to some clubs (and parties) that others have labeled as boring, when in fact I’ve had to be dragged out of the place because I was having too much fun!
Care to comment?
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?
