Welcome back! It’s been awhile, I know. Every time I sit down to write, the plot thickens, twists, and your main character here seems to hit another existential crisis.
I wanted to wait to write about all of this until I felt “settled.” Now, I’m not sure what that means any more. My self-awareness is ever-increasing; my self-revelation is ongoing. Our relationship is changing. It all feels so big — perhaps this is why it’s taken me nearly two years to detail the events that followed our return home from Hedo.
I kept waiting for some sort of conclusion, but the adventure is actually just beginning rather than culminating. Once upon a time I thought I might write a book about our experiences, but perhaps this is a story meant for a blog instead. I’m not sure there’s an ending in sight — every time I feel ready to impart wisdom or share a climax to my story, I realize I’m still only at the start.
Shall we just dive back in where we left off, then?
My last blog post was about our Hedo vacation, when Jack and I realized that this whole “thing” wasn’t just about a sex vacation in another country once a year or so. It was, as it’s aptly named by the older generations, a Lifestyle. We had a vague idea that “this” was “something” that we wanted to do at home, all the time, as part of our lives. There was something about all “this” that felt…defining. A discovery of self.
Jack and I returned home from our trip to Hedonism II in summer 2019 to our suburban family life, but we were changed. We typically talk nonstop; our continuous stream-of-thought sharing is a cornerstone of our relationship. But the week that we got home from Hedo, we were more quiet than usual. We were listening to our inner selves — and also, to podcasts.
I’ve anecdotally heard that the amount of people exploring open, alternative, and/or non-monogamous marriages has increased in recent years due to the easily accessible, free flow of information now available through podcasts. We can hear others’ stories — uncensored, unedited, and self-published — through this medium. When swingers started speaking their truth and putting it out there, it seems that a great many people started listening.
The information that these naughty swingers presented turned out not to be so scandalous after all. It wasn’t (just) raunchy sex stories — it was mostly about relationships. Love, marriage, personal growth, safety, acceptance, desire, wellness, health, mortality, friendships, connections, kindness…life. Perhaps there was more to the swinger story than throwing your keys into a bowl.
The year before, when we were looking for information on Hedo before booking our first trip, Jack found the Casual Swinger podcast. We both eagerly listened to all of their Hedo-related episodes. We enjoyed their down-to-earth style and their comforting, self-deprecating personalities, all interlaced with their insightful ideas and practical advice. Mickey and Mallory sounded like someone we’d be friends with in real life, only much more open-minded and sexually liberated. We returned to their podcast the week we returned from Hedo, eager to figure out what could be next.
We didn’t think we’d ever consider ourselves “swingers.” We had only ever had sex with each other, though we had engaged in sexual acts with others. I had started dabbling with exhibitionism to appease Jack, and to my surprise it was more fun than I had expected. The seed had been planted in my mind; I wanted to see what would sprout. I was emboldened, and open. What were my options?
We decided to both begin with the very first episode of Casual Swinger, in which they detail their origin story. We listened separately on our own devices as we worked in our yard, Jack mowing the lawn and me putting together new patio furniture. I listened as Mallory talked about going to a sex club, flirting with others, and then exposing her inner sex goddess to her new friends. I heard her gush about how arousing it had been — how incredibly hot it was to interact sexually with a group of others. I heard her say that her husband was turned on by seeing her like that, and I thought about how aroused Jack had become when he witnessed me squirt in the tantric class at Hedo.
Wrapping up her story, reflecting on the experience and the whole idea of swinging, Mallory contemplated what it all meant in the grand scheme of her life. Was there anything “wrong” with it? She had been safe. There was consent all around. Everyone did only what they were comfortable with, and it had been fun and friendly.
It sounded a lot like the crazy fun that I had experienced in college. Could I actually go back to that kind of fun, but now with the wisdom and experience of an adult? Did I want to?
Hell, yes.
At the same moment, Jack and I found ourselves flocking to each other. He had stopped the lawn mower and left it in the middle of the yard; I had abandoned my tools on the deck. We glanced around to make sure that no neighbors or children were nearby, and decided to claim privacy in the cool quiet of our garage.
“Do you…?” “I think I want to…” we stammered, trying to form our thoughts into words.
We didn’t quite have the words yet to describe our feelings. Instead, we let our giant grins reveal our thoughts to the other. We nodded at each other, eyeing each other, seeing the other in a new light. He wasn’t just mine, he wanted to open up to others, too. I wasn’t just his; I was a sexual being and I wanted to use this body for pleasure and connection. This was exciting, adventurous. I craved it.
We hadn’t been entirely sure, as we settled back into “real” life after Hedo, that swinging at home was a rational idea. Perhaps this was a vacation thing; perhaps we’d just have sexy flings with others the next time we vacationed in Jamaica. Was this lingering feeling just a leftover emotion from the rush of Hedo? After listening to Mallory describe what being a swinger meant to her, our minds became wrapped around the idea. Our minds and souls were opening up to other possibilities.
After all, we’ve always been sexually adventurous people. We both loved sex from the moment we first discovered it. When we became a couple at the tender age of 17, sex (or rather sexual activity, depending on how you define things) was on the top of our to-do list every date. In college, we were the instigators, flirting with everyone at every party, every social gathering, hoping that things would turn kinky. Naturally occuring quasi-orgy? Yes, please. Flirt, show me your boobs, give me a little touch, dance with me, rub against me…that was how we partied.
It is also, as we now realize, how we best connect with other people. We like to get intimate. We like to show off our silly, sexy selves. We love the adrenaline rush, the titillating anticipation, the culmination of a job well done in the form of orgasm. We like the bond that forms between people who have revealed their primal urges to each other.
Why did marriage and starting a family mean that it had to stop? We were still young, still horny, and still crazy in love. We wanted that alive feeling that we used to get in college when we’d flirt, experiment, explore with each other…and others. What was stopping us now? Who would we be hurting if we continued to explore?
The Casual Swinger couple brought this into the light for us. It was about consent between adults. Sex isn’t shameful; I’ve always believed that, though my conservative upbringing often made me question my belief. Now, Jack and I wanted to embrace our sexuality and push its boundaries. We understand each other, we communicate constantly, and we trust each other completely. It’s no wonder that so many couples we met during our travels told us we’d be well suited for the Lifestyle.
Our minds began to open up to new ideas. Old ideas were pushed aside by options on the menu that we hadn’t noticed before. Suddenly, we were like kids in a candy store — no, 21 year olds in a liquor store. Better yet, 19-year-olds from Michigan visiting the LCBO in Canada. Like looking at the rows upon rows of liquor bottles, we saw that there were dozens of ways that we could be “in the lifestyle,” but we didn’t know exactly what each bottle contained, what they would taste like. We didn’t know the ways in which each would affect us.
We saw this as a hobby at first. Sex was something to do, and now it was something that we could, in some way, do with others. I have always found it important to have something to do with friends; just sitting around drinking and talking makes me tired, especially if the conversation stays platonic and mundane. Talking about sports, stocks, or our children feels tedious to me after some time.
Some couples enjoy getting together and playing board games. Others watch sports together, or host parties with cornhole tournaments. I get it — it gives a flow to the visit, a purpose. We enjoy board games with our kids, and sports aren’t our thing…so what’s an adult supposed to do for fun? When you have a night away from the overwhelming responsibilities of work, kids, and life, what do you want to do? Jack and I want to play. We want to have sex. It’s adulting at its finest.
Ever since our trip to Couples San Souci, meeting the amazingly open people at the nude beach, we’d been saying that we needed new friends. We wanted people that we could be real with. We wanted to be silly, flirty, ridiculous, and wild. We wanted to be our true selves with others who would accept us for the horny beasts that we are. Who might like us not in spite of that part of us, but rather because of it.
What if we found friends who liked to spend their free time in the same way as us? What if our new friends got together with us to have a couple drinks, some alternatingly funny and deep conversation, and then some sexual pleasure? What if we found new friends with whom we could be 100% ourselves, right down to the kinks and dirty talk and roaming hands? When we were able to put it like this to each other, we found ourselves saying, “well, duh!” We were in agreement. We wanted to make new friends that we’d enjoy having sex with.
We’d been to nude resorts, connected platonically with a few couples on vacation, and explored exhibitionism a bit. But how would we go about meeting like-minded friends at home?
By now we were knee deep in podcasts all over the Spotify spectrum. We’d heard the stories of dozens of swingers, researched non-monogamy, revisited Esther Perel, and engaged in long nights of serious yet sensual conversation about the possibilities. And still, we still had no clue what we were getting into. Fantasies are one thing; making fantasies a reality is another.
Several swinger podcasts had mentioned Kasidie as a place to find other couples. When the rush of back to school had finally settled down, Jack and I sat down together one night to set up our profile.
Garnering inspiration from the other profiles on this swinger dating site, we posted sexy pictures of ourselves. We omitted our faces from the public photos, instead showcasing mostly just my toned, little body and a few of our costumes from Hedo. We wrote honestly and openly in our description that we were newbies, but that we were secure in our relationship and with nudity. We expressed my desire to have more experiences with another woman as well as our desire to simply make friends with whom we could be raw and real.
Then, we were presented with the daunting checklist of sexual play preferences. This might be where we took a wrong turn.
Kasidie has a giant checklist of sexual acts. You check off what you won’t do, what you are willing to do, and what you want to do with potential partners. One of the main items, which goes up front and center with your age and body measurements, is your swap style.
Full swap, soft swap, situational? Jack and I had started having this discussion already, weeks ago. We hadn’t had actual intercourse with anyone but each other, and we weren’t ready to just dive in yet. We checked “soft swap.” That might entail fingering, hands roaming, having sex in the same room as another couple. Massage, perhaps.
Some couples consider oral sex a means of soft swap. Jack and I talked. Oral sex meant fluids involved, and I felt squeamish about a stranger’s fluids in my mouth or even a strange penis in my mouth. I admitted to Jack that having a different guy do me doggie style would be far less intimate than sucking on his balls, from my point of view. On Kasidie’s more detailed scale of items willing/won’t/want, I put that I wasn’t interested in oral sex with anyone else. I couldn’t fathom it at the time, and neither could Jack.
That checklist had so many items to choose from. Anal? Nope, not with anyone new. Separate room play? No — Jack and I wanted to stay together. Kissing? I’d make out with a girl, sure, but Jack and I both found kissing so intimate. We decided that we didn’t want to make out with other people of the opposite gender.
In the end, our profile showcased us as a cute but totally inexperienced couple, starting off very slowly. We were willing to have sex in the same room with some roaming hands, end of story. We indicated that we wanted friends, but in reality we were more open to the fantasy than the actual actions that come from a true friends with benefits situation.
Boundaries are necessary, of course. Inexperienced as we were, we put our boundaries around acts. We thought that restricting certain mechanics would keep us safe…from what, though? Disease and infections, sure. But maybe also from violating any morals or values that had been ingrained in us by a sexually conservative society, culture, and family.
It seemed we were going to make a statement about our great love by only having intercourse with one another, and perhaps only kissing one another. We’d probably eventually fuck others, we figured, but we’d only be intimate with each other. We’d never let ourselves feel anything for another person. We had this idea that we could lock up our hearts and emotions and just let our bodies have all the fun.
How wrong we were…