She , He: The Initation

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“A bustier? Corset? Maybe one of these shelf bras? No…that’s too much…or too little…isn’t it? What does one wear to a swinger’s party, anyway? Does it even matter? Don’t the clothes end up in a pile in the corner when it’s all said and done?”

Her mind whirled with worrisome questions as she clicked through hundreds of possibilities on dozens of websites. “Oh! I like that! Oh shit…too much.” On top of having difficulty finding something she was drawn to wear, she needed to keep the cost down. It’s not like they had a ton of money to spend on this adventure.

Mousing back to her browser window she rapidly typed in the URL of the swingers group from memory. “I ought to know it by heart…I’ve entered it a thousand times already,” she thought.

She clicked the “photos” tab and then the “parties” folder. As hundreds of images began to load, she scrolled slowly down the line up looking for pictures of previous parties…the actual party part. From what she had learned, there was a party and then there was the after-party. Most of the thumb-nails were obviously the post-party festivities. Acres of naked skin and various body parts in an astonishing variety of couplings, three-somes and groups. “Not what I’m looking for right now,” she muttered. She had already spent hours poring over the collection, wondering if she’d have the nerve to go through with their plan.

Finally finding what she was looking for, she studied the photos for clues as to the appropriate dress for such an occasion. Heels. Heels seemed to be just about de rigueur. Almost every woman had on ridiculously high heeled shoes. There were a couple of younger ladies wearing cute ballerina type flats and look…that one, older woman with the hippy hair and long legs was actually barefoot, “and her feet are DIRTY,” she noticed.

No-one was modestly dressed…they all had that much in common. A flash of bare breast here and there, and there and here some brave or brazen soul had opted for letting it all hang out. Various bad-girl lingerie looks seemed popular, as well as sheer blouses and mini-skirts and “are those shorts crotchless?”

One pretty young thing sported huge hoop earrings and a thong and that was it.

Besides the thonged PTY, there were a handful of other twenty and thirty somethings, but the majority of the crowd seemed to be closer to her age. Muffin-tops overflowed tight jeans and purple veined bosoms bulged unbecomingly. She glanced down at her own body seeking reassurance that at least she wouldn’t be the least desirable one there.

“Maybe I can lose ten pounds really fast,” she thought, eyeing her stomach. Her post-babies pooch bothered her. No matter how many sit-ups she did, it never seemed to pay attention to her efforts and no matter what the occasion was, she was always conscious to do her best to keep it camouflaged. The rest would pass muster, she guessed, comparing her tiny, still pert girls to a set of mottled monsters she saw on one lady. “And, my legs are still pretty good,” she consoled herself.

Glancing again at the monitor, she thought, not for the first time, “Do I really want to do this?” and stoking her resolve, returned once again to her shopping quest.


They had been married for twenty-seven years and they had been good years. She felt lucky to have such an understanding, kind and yes, still sexy husband. Their relationship was strong, they had a good life together and she considered herself to be a fairly happy person. But, as the years went by, she had begun to feel a sort of dissatisfaction. Not with him…he was wonderful…but, with life in general and with sex, specifically. Especially with sex and especially lately. She just couldn’t seem to get enough and what she got just didn’t seem to satisfy her. He did his best, but no matter what, she always seemed to be horny. Thinking back over the past week, she tried to count the times she had masturbated. She never even unplugged the damned vibrator anymore. It lay there, always ready, just under her side of the bed, tempting its use every time she entered the room. There had been days she had used it to the point of splitting open the tender skin of her clitoris. And still, the…tension…(she didn’t know what else to call it)…never seemed to subside.

Always accommodating, he had tried to keep up with her. He was actually pleased that her sex drive, which had experienced a bit of a dip during their child-rearing years, had once again blossomed. Always the more adventurous one, he had encouraged her to explore her fantasies and desires and when the internet finally arrived in their little town, he gave her two thumbs up when she discovered its underworld of erotica and porn.

Over the years they had from time to time driven into the city and discreetly shopped the less dubious “adults only “stores. Trying to look nonchalant, she would browse the stands of magazines, thumb through racks of sometimes confusing outfits, (“How do you even get this on? Where does THIS hole go?”) and hefted huge dildos cevizli escort like a pro. “Which should I get, honey? The 10″ or the 12?” (she ended up getting the 8 incher…the larger ones were just too intimidating.) His presence by her side supplied her courage she wouldn’t have had by herself.

But, by and by, the sparkle and flash of their fun and games began to become boring. One can only read so many tell-all stories filled with buxom babes and stiff stallions before becoming somewhat calloused. Being a remote witness to the sexual escapades of others used to have her hot to trot for some play time of her own, but after a while, they barely dampened her panties.

But then Al Gore invented the internet (snicker). And, then the internet became available to every Tom, Dick, Harry and Beth and she gained access to a world beyond her wildest imaginings.

Realizing she was gently tearing slender strips of lip skin off with her teeth, she mentally admonished herself to stop. It was a habit she had developed during childhood that tended to re-surface when her mind was working on a problem or project. She didn’t mind it…it seemed to help her focus, but her dentist had been aghast (she also chewed on the inside of her cheek.) She had never bothered to find out why and she had never gone back to that dentist. Now, curious, she typed “cheek biting” into her search engine window and clicked on the first result. “Morsicatio buccarum,” she read, “(also termed chronic cheek biting and chronic cheek chewing) is a condition characterized by chronic irritation or injury to the buccal mucosa (the lining of the inside of the cheek within the mouth), caused by repetitive chewing, biting or nibbling.” Scrolling down the Wikipedia page she grimaced at the pictorial display of diseased mouths and quickly clicked the exit button. It was one thing to do something unconsciously and in ignorance…it was quite another thing to do something consciously and with knowledge.

Anyway…she loved the internet! The wildest, most random things would come into her head and she could just enter it into the magical Google box and instantly, all known knowledge in the Universe (or, so it seemed) appeared before her eyes.

Thinking of this, she wondered what the most searched inquiry was. A quick search revealed the following, in this order: sex and s e x. She giggled. “At least I’m not the only one! The whole world seems to have sex on the brain!”

Wondering again at the intensity of her own sexual itch which couldn’t seem to be satisfyingly scratched, she briefly entertained the idea that she might be entering menopause. She had skipped a period a few months back, but had been fairly regular since then, except for that missed month and a bit of a heavier flow than usual. Suddenly the thought that her period might start and put a wrench in things made her glance at the calendar above her desk for reassurance. Good…if her body stayed true to its normal schedule, she should be fine. Not that she or her husband had any problem with period sex but the general swinging public might.

Biting her inner lip for focus, she once again clicked the swinger’s site tab. The party was only two weeks away and more and more people were signing up to attend. Besides being intensely curious about who would be in attendance, she was also a bit wary. Thank goodness this particular website required its members to post photos on their profiles. Not that digital pictures couldn’t be altered or that people didn’t use decades old pictures of themselves from time to time, but she was on the lookout for a particular couple that she wasn’t at all interested in running into and she knew she would recognize them if she saw them.

That couple was one of the reasons it had taken her so long to dig up the courage she needed to go through with this. When she and her husband had started “playing” on the internet swinging sites, she had been swept up in the titillation of it all and had been all for it, especially since he was, too. They had posted their profile on several sights and had corresponded back and forth with several couples as to possible get-togethers, which had eventually led to them deciding to attend this upcoming party, but one email they had received had shocked and yes, scared, her so badly that for several months she had sworn off the whole scene.

It was a private message sent through one of the sex-chat sites they visited from time to time. Opening it, she had read through the message which introduced the couple and indicated that they were interested in a possible swap and/or three or four-some. It was “signed” by them both with a cryptic post-script from him: “She would love to use her special tool on you both. See pics.”

Remembering to scan the attachments for viruses and getting the all clear, she opened the first file.

At first, she didn’t know what she was looking at. Then as her mind un-boggled itself and she understood, her fingers couldn’t move the erenköy escort cursor fast enough to the X button. Her heart in her throat, her mind flashed back decades to the year she was four and had been traumatized while watching The Twilight Zone. It was the “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet” episode in which William Shatner is the only person on the airplane to see a gremlin on the wing. When the monstrous face of the creature suddenly appeared in Shatner’s window, she had flown out of her chair so forcefully to hit the off button on the set that she had broken it into pieces. From that night on, all of her nightmares featured that grotesque face.

The picture depicted a couple…a man and a woman standing or sitting side by side…”American Gothic” came to mind but he was on the left and she was on the right. Between them, instead of a pitchfork, the wife held the “tool” which her husband had referred to proudly in the air at the end of her arm. It was her arm. That was the tool. She had no hand at the end of her arm and …

Gagging as she fully understood, she had quickly shut down the computer, her excited curiosity transformed into fear. That evening she had shown her husband and although he thought it was just a prank and tried to reassure her, she had told him she was done with this type of experimentation and wanted to pull all of their profiles off of the sex sights. When he suggested de-activating them for a while to see if she wanted to reconsider, in the spirit of compromise, she agreed.

Months went by and as things have a tendency to do, the intensity of the horror of that moment faded and she found her thoughts began to agree with her husband’s assessment that it was just someone’s twisted idea of funny. Or, it also occurred to her that perhaps it was some far-right religious type trying to discourage the swinging life-style. Surely this couple couldn’t be serious…or even real, for that matter, she convinced herself as her itch began its incessant yammering once again.

Sometimes, she wondered if there was something wrong with her. Was she normal? Did others women experience these same feelings and desires? Did they experience them with this level of intensity? It seemed as if sex had almost (almost?!?) become an obsession…it was rare that the thought of it wasn’t at least readily available in her conscious mind.

And, of course, there was that little all-knowing, self-satisfied, condemning voice in her head that would pop up from time to time and remind her of the concepts of sin, hell and eternal damnation for even considering the things she was contemplating.

Although she had divorced herself from the church and her religious upbringing years before, these thoughts still had a tendency to plague her. A god that would create human beings, give them sexual desires and then judge them for attempting to fulfill them just didn’t make sense to her. A child of the sixties, she had soaked up the zeitgeist of the sexual revolution and now every cell of her body ached for that freedom, herself.

Mentally shaking herself, she focused once again on what was really important…what to wear?

They were on their way! In fact, they were almost there!

The past two weeks had flown by and “do I dare” would be a moot point in a few short hours. Either she would, or she wouldn’t, but not until she was actually put to the test would she find out. He was all for it, of course. She would never have brought it this far if he hadn’t been. Once again she put to words verbally that which she often thought, “Honey, thank you so much. Thank you for all of this…your understanding, your willingness, your support. You are such an amazing husband!”

“Mmmm hmmmm,” he answered, with a smile. Not taking his eyes off the road, he reached out and gently cupped her knee in his hand. “All I want is for you to be happy, sweetheart… for us to be happy together.”

That was first rule they had established between themselves when she had first broached the subject with him. Whatever they did, they did together. Most of the women she had corresponded with in the community also had this agreement with their husbands and partners, but others had a more open agreement which allowed for individual exploration. She was personally glad that her husband would be a constant presence and it actually excited her on to think of him witnessing her being pleasured by and pleasuring another man…or men!

Oh my! Two men and her…that was her hugest fantasy. Being filled from behind and in front, their total attention on her. Talk about yummy! Her thighs pressed into a tingle as the vision filled her head.

She had thought he would want to participate in the fun and games since he had enjoyed the online play and had a healthy and hearty appreciation for other women’s bodies but he had demurred. “You are all the woman I want or need, my dearling,” he had said. “Dearling” was their affectionate name for each other. They didn’t throw it around, esenyurt escort so when he had used it in his answer, she felt secure in reassurance that he would be there for her, all the way…no matter what. His part would be to support and encourage her. His pleasure would be gained from hers.

Returning from her reverie, she saw they were almost to their destination and her stomach jumped in nervous excitement. She was mentally reviewing her wardrobe choice when they turned off the highway into the parking lot of the hotel. Hotel? Hmmmm…more like motel…or just plain dump! This place did not look like what had been advertised on the website.

“Ummmmm…ick!” she whispered her thoughts out loud.

“Ummmmm…I agree!” he responded.

The place was run-down, to say the least. The parking lot was cracked with weeds, the pool was a thick, green slime. Some of the windows had been busted (was that a gun-shot hole?) and repaired with duct-tape. They parked next to the office and went to check in.

A stench of ancient cigarette smoke and stale beer hit them as they entered the lobby. A large, older woman manned the desk, her hairy chin worked busily as she chewed on her dinner…what looked to be half of a hotdog hung, bobbing from her mouth.”

“May I help you?” she managed to muffle around the meat.

“We’re here to check in for the “Evening of E(XXX)rotica.”

She waved her ample arm over to a corner of the lobby where a draped table sat, “They won’t start up for another hour, but that’s where you’ll go. Let’s get you registered and you can get up to your room to “freshen up” she ogled at them.

“Ick and double ick,” she muttered as they drove the car around to their room. All of a sudden she wasn’t so sure about this at all. The wife of the husband and wife team that organized this group had told her that it was a challenge to find a public place that was willing to accommodate their type of activity, but this was worse than she had imagined.

“Maybe the room will be better,” he said encouragingly as he keyed open the door.

Stepping in, her shoe stuck to the carpet.

“GROSS!” Suck, suck, suck, her feet belched as she walked past the bed to the bathroom.

A pubic hair rested on top of the safety paper on the toilet seat.


Turning back to the room she rushed the bed, flipping back the spread and then the sheets.

“I wish I had a black-light,” she muttered as she bent close for inspection. “They look clean, but I have my doubts. I have some very strong doubts. In fact, my doubt meter is going crazy.”

“It’s just for tonight, honey,” he tried to reassure her. “We can stand anything for just one night. Why don’t we have a drink and then you can get changed. I want to see you in the outfit you picked out.”

She smiled at him gratefully. He was such a positive person. He had always had the gift of taking a bad situation and making it better. She grabbed her carry-all and, closing the bathroom door behind her, called to him, “Go ahead and mix me one, I’ll be out in a few.”

She usually preferred a glass or two of a hearty red wine when she drank, which wasn’t frequently. Focusing on applying a false lash to her eyelid (she was going all out tonight!) her mind once again started up its yammering…

“You know why you brought along the hard stuff…it’s because you know you’re going to need to be drunk off your ass to go through with this.”

“Oh, shut up!” she distractedly answered herself, clumsily wiping at the gooey excess seeping into her eye. “More important things here…I’m might be about to permanently blind myself.”

“A perfect way to blind yourself to what you are getting ready to do…”

In one of her email exchanges with the wife of the organization team, she had been told (in confidence, of course!) about the other couple who helped put on the group’s events.

“They are both very enthusiastic and involved at the “before” party, but by the time the “after” party rolls around, she’s always had so much to drink that she passes out. It never fails. She just lays there and he goes on about his merry way playing with whatever women will have him, which are quite a few, not surprisingly. He looks and is built like Mr. Clean. Just to give you a heads up. Of course, this is just between you and me.”

She had wondered at these revelations. Mr. Clean didn’t appeal to her, at all and why, really, did that woman drink herself so drunk that she couldn’t enjoy the full experience?

Finally getting the second set of spider legs secured to her now reddened eye, she wished she had Googled whether to put eye makeup on before the fake lashes. “Well, now’s a fine time to think of that,” she chastised herself. “No way am I starting over. Not with these things…and not with this plan.” She steeled herself against her initial repulsion of the setting and the resulting tinkles of warning that had been sounding in her head that kept pinging “This is a bad idea…this is a very bad idea…”

She finished the rest of her make-up in a rush, eager to get that drink in her hand. Not stopping to examine the results, she quickly slipped into the ensemble she had put together. Bending over, she flipped her head up and down to fluff her hair. She had decided it looked sexiest when she let it simply hang over her shoulders, which, tonight, would be bared.

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