Archive for fears
Is This All There Is?
Posted by: | Comments“What do you want to do, Randi? Do you want to go upstairs and freshen up or do you want to go sit out on the boat dock?”“The boat dock? Was he crazy?” The heat was still oppressive outside, even at 7 in the evening. “I’ll go upstairs.”
“I ran. Into the master bathroom. Man, I looked a mess. Mascara all over my face. My eyes redder than they were when I’d arrived an hour earlier. “Where’s a towel?” I soaked it in cold water and applied it to my face as a compress.
I heard her voice. Isabel was always gracious—and flirtatious—when she interacted with Tank. We’d met her a few weeks earlier With her partner. He’d contacted me online, wanting to learn more about me. I quickly set the record straight that I had a swing partner and wasn’t interested in playing alone. Much to my surprise, he said he had a partner, too.
She asked to chat with me by phone before the four of us met. I thought I’d met a kindred spirit: a jewish woman, a year older than me. Fairly new to the lifestyle with a kink for spanking, not during sex, but beforehand as a stimulant. She’d been the BDSM route and pulled back a bit in favor of swinging.
It was a Friday evening when we all had dinner together at a brewery. The three of them did most of the talking; I chose to sit back and observe the interactions. This was the first meeting with a couple where Tank and I agreed all we’d do is meet—no play.
We met a second time at a meet-and-greet the following Saturday night. She was all over Tank like a wet noodle. And he was into her in a big way. She was getting the sorts of passion kisses I hadn’t had from him in a while. But that’s the life of a swinger—especially when you’re a single. Sometimes your partner is more turned on by newness than by familiarity and what he can have on a regular basis.
Isabel had shown up at his house this evening for a posture assessment. Her body had been wracked with pain for years—sciatica she said—and Tank felt differently—and had offered to see her professionally for free. She’d been without work a long while and had just started a new sales position.
Once I put myself together, I quietly walked down the stairs and sat on the fourth one from the bottom. I watched through the step railings as Tank had her position her body in various ways so he could assess her pain and her multiple problems. She finally saw me.
“You okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
“You don’t look well.”
“I know.”
“We have to get together and play soon—the four of us. I’m sooooo looking forward to it.”
Like I didn’t know. She’d been calling me almost daily to say how much she was looking forward to that opportunity. I remember one day in particular when she called to gush about Tank for 45 minutes. And then called back five minutes later to say how sorry she was not to have mentioned her interest in both of us as a couple.
Before she left, she pulled out her calendar and rattled off dates that she and her partner had available to meet with us. Tank had told her at the meet-and-greet he thought it’d be fun to spend the whole night together as a foursome and have breakfast together in the morning. He agreed to a date a few weekends later. I kept quiet.
After she left, he walked me over to the kitchen table and turned two chairs to face each other. I sat down. So did he. And he held my hands in his. We sat quiet for a few minutes.
“I’m not going to see you any more if you decide to no longer continue our relationship.”
“Well, that’s the problem, Randi. It’s a relationship. That’s now how things got started. You were seeking another swing partner to add to the mix and then things changed. Although I am jealous that you know how you feel.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be. It’s painful to love somebody who doesn’t love you back. I’ve known that for a long time. That’s why I never told you how I felt. Was it ever good?”
“It was great in Palm Springs. Everything was moving along great. Then things changed. I had to focus my attention on my daughter because of what happened on our trip (side note: she’d decided to act out at home and Tank pulled in all the reins on her when he got home). And you wanted more time with me—and I didn’t have it. There were birthdays and high school graduations.”
“But you never asked me out.”
“You never gave me a chance, Randi. Every week you were telling me about a party or who’d written to you to play with us. There was never time for me to ask you out.”
“But you told me to orchestrate everything. I was just doing what you told me to do. And now you’re telling me what I’ve done hasn’t been working. What do you want? You need to tell me. Otherwise, I won’t know what to do.”
“I want us to take a break from swinging. For at least a month.”
“What about us? Do you want a break from us too? I told you a long time ago that if ‘we’ don’t find ourselves going forward as a couple, I will disappear. I don’t think I could be your friend given how I feel about you. It would be too hard for me emotionally.” (But truth be told, I didn’t fully understand why this was so important to me. I just knew it was.)
“I want to see you. But I want us to stop having sex. It’s too much. I need to figure out how I feel about you. Without the physical stuff.”
“So what are you saying? You want to press the reset button? What do we call ourselves?”
“Well, I’m not planning to see anyone else so I would be dating you exclusively. So I guess you’d be my girlfriend. Does that work for you?”
“Yes, only we also need to talk about the rules. What I can and can’t do. I’m not going to call you anymore. If you want to see me, you’ll need to call me. And we need to recalibrate regularly so we know if things are going okay. The airline ticket I gave you for the end of September. It’s yours no matter what. I just need to know if you plan on using it with me. I got us a hotel room and things would change for the bat mitzvah we are to attend if you don’t come with me.”
“I need space, Randi. And I need to make sure that my brain, my heart and my physical reactions match. Right now, this (he pointed to his head) isn’t connecting with you.”
I was devastated. He knew how much I prized an intellectual—a brain connection. I felt like a dagger had pierced my heart.
“I understand. But there’s more. God told me to ask you why you’re sabotaging this relationship. Every time things get good, you back away. And your daughter—there are ways you interact with her that are more like interacting with a significant other than a daughter. Sometimes you talk baby talk to her and she pulls hairs out of your back. Those are more intimate acts. I know the two of you have been alone a long time, but I need you to reflect on these things.”
“I need to think about this. You’re telling me things I haven’t thought about.”
I left Tank’s home that evening, not knowing exactly when I’d hear from him again. Whatever lesson I needed to learn had been set in motion.
The Finale: A Gangbang of a Different Ilk
Posted by: | CommentsWhat I thought would happen—and what actually occurred—are grounded in two completely different mental models. What did I think would happen? The heightened porn version of what Tank and I participated in a few weeks ago at a party. What he knows I like to watch online and fantasize about when I’m not with him.
So you ask. What did happen? Try this on.
Gently lay yourself down on a comfy surface. And close your eyes. Scan the recesses of your memory bank for the most sensual experience you’ve ever had with one other person. Remember in vivid detail what it was like to feel that person’s hands and fingers slowly and gently exploring your body. The warmth of their breath on your skin. How their mouth and tongue felt when they touched your lips and those places that drive you wild.
Then add ten more people (of the same sex) to the picture that exists in your mind’s eye. Or, for me, 11 men who were not only acting in loving, sensual, sexually pleasurable and pleasing ways towards me but with each other.
While I know you who read my blog seek the explicit—I can’t go there right now. Or more specifically, I choose not to share at the level of sexual detail that you’ll find in my previous posts.
The experience touched me at the core of my being. Especially as a woman whose life has been devoid of deep intimacy for much of the last decade. It’s what I’ve craved for years. And dreamed about finding over the last nine months. It continues the path along which Tank has slowly guided me in our private relationship.
And it unsettles me.
My second husband, with whom I spent 14 years, thrived on this depth of intimacy—when he wasn’t severely depressed or enveloped in a manic moment. As our relationship dissolved, like sugar in a glass of ice tea in early 1999, I often sobbed as I drifted off to sleep alone, my body visibly shaking. Uncontrollably. A skiing accident and the surgery that followed to repair his knee and lower leg confined us to separate sleeping quarters for months. Only once did he witness what I was going through —the night our divorce become final—when he held me closely against his body for the last time. Hours before I got in my car to drive 2000 miles across the US to be closer to people who could support me in this transition.
So I got good. Good at pushing my craving underground. Good at putting up an invisible wall between me and my lovers. Good at finding men who weren’t into being pleasured in this manner.
And now.
Now I find myself being inexplicably pulled into situations where I’m enveloped by exactly the sorts of behaviors I’ve worked so hard not to need. They’re seductive and highly intoxicating.
Only, the more I get, the more I want. And I’m scared. Scared I’ll want it more than it makes itself available to me. And I won’t know what to do about it. Scared it’ll vanish. Just like it did before.
Except, I’ve woken up to the possibilities of what can be. There’s no going back to the bubble I created to protect myself. Would you?
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.
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.
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.
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?
