First swap: Fang and I

Arlene is wearing a tight-fitting bright red dress. She has had her long blonde hair done and smells like she had just had a shower and then doused herself in perfume. She is carefully but showily made-up, the bold lipstick emphasising her quite prominent white teeth. And she is laughing too much, tittering at everything I say, because she’s nervous. Within half an hour, this girl and I are supposed to be having sex. And my wife will be having sex with Arlene’s husband.

You may wonder why couples go in for swinging – swapping partners for probably just one session. I can’t speak for anyone else, but Tilly and I did it to preserve our relationship, not to jeopardise it. We had been together several years and still had a very good sex life, but you can only have sex with someone for the first time once, and it’s a pretty special feeling. For some people, that’s why they have affairs; not because they don’t want their partner anymore, but because they want to experience that unique thrill again.

The subject came up when some friends of ours split up because they couldn’t come to terms with that burning desire for something new and incandescent that is not going to lead anywhere emotionally but is going to satisfy a need. You never know the real ins and outs of someone else’s relationship, so I don’t have an opinion on what really happened there. The important thing is that Tilly and I agreed it was something we could both handle and which might actually do us some good. So after much discussion and mutual assurances, we signed up to a swinger site.

As with so many things, the internet has made this sort of thing so much easier. You don’t have to broach the subject with a couple you know and risk upsetting your friendship. You join a community where everyone is looking for more or less the same thing. I say “more or less” because there are various degrees and styles of swapping. There’s “soft swap” which usually means oral only because full intercourse is regarded as a bridge too far. Penetration of the vagina by the penis can be loaded with meaning, and I don’t want to trivialise it if it means so much to you, but for Tilly and me, it is just one of many branches of intimacy.

Then there’s same-room sex, which I imagine can be regarded as either safer or even wilder than separate rooms, depending on your point of view.

We went for separate rooms because there was no element of voyeurism in it for us; if someone gets a kick out of seeing their partner having sex with someone else, then good for them, but it’s not what we were looking for.

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So, you have to be specific about what you want – and the great thing about sex is that whatever you want to do, there are people out there who want it too, either because they’ve been secretly wanting it all along or because when you put the idea in their mind, it turns them on.

I wrote the ad and handled the communication because one of you has to do the chit-chat.

There was a couple who looked okay, but there was something about the guy that I didn’t like – and after all, you are potentially exposing yourselves to all sorts of things.

Then came a second couple who seemed too nervous and I wasn’t sure they would go through with it, so I let them down gently – and who knows, they may have been grateful for that.

Couple three was Geoff and Arlene. Same sort of age as us, same basic desires: separate rooms and no holds barred, everything open to discussion on the night. Condoms for penetration but not for oral. No pain or scat (pretty standard stipulations).

How far do you go with the personality vetting? You’re not looking for a relationship, so maybe a bit of intellectual incompatibility is actually a good thing. Geoff was doing the messaging and he could string a few words together, even if he did speak transatlantic internet English. He was a security guard and she was a secondary school teacher.

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We swapped pictures including faces and Tilly didn’t find him repulsive, while I thought I could happily spend some time with Arlene. They wanted to meet at their house, half an hour’s drive away, and that was fine with us. The deal was that each swapped couple could spend up to an hour enjoying their one-off fun, and if they had enough before that time they would just go back in the sitting room and wait, having a drink or whatever.

So here we are, in Geoff and Arlene’s little semi-detached house on a new development on the outskirts of a small town. It could hardly be more normal, more unexceptional or more British. On a Saturday night, most people here would be staying in and watching TV; the neighbours would think nothing of me and Tilly turning up; just friends coming round for dinner. Somehow that added to the sensation of naughtiness – and that’s a perfect British word to describe what was going on. It was harmless fun, but too unconventional to talk about to most people. In sex terms, naughty.

We sat in their lounge and Geoff served some cocktails he had looked up: screwdrivers. It was just vodka and orange juice really, but he enjoyed the name and it made Arlene snigger. We made small talk and I got Arlene talking about her work.

“Miss Didactic,” I said, and the other two looked at me. “It’s just somethng to do with teaching,” I explained, wishing I had kept my mouth shut. “From Latin.”

“The little sods call me Fang,” Arlene confided and bared her front teeth to illustrate the point. “I’m with the younger ones mainly.”

“So you’re a teacher. What do you teach?” Tilly asked

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“Teaching assistant,” she corrected. “And I help with everything,” English, arithmetic, bit of geography. Home economics – that’s cooking and that.”

“Sex?” I asked seriously.

“Just starting a bit of that,” she said. “That doesn’t make me an expert, so…” She blushed, which I thought was quite sweet in the circumstances.

“But you know more than the kids,” I offered.

“Well, I should hope so,” she said. “It’s funny, the head didn’t ask me. I suppose they just assume that everyone’s done a bit.”

“Yeah, tricky one to bring up, I suppose,” Tilly said. “He’s not going to ask you to demonstrate things, is he?”

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“It’s a she,” Arlene replied. “She just asked if I was comfortable with it. Even in my training they just kind of touched on it but they’re more concerned with consent and respect and contraception than anything, like,…”

“Technical,” Geoff suggested, and at the same time Tilly threw in, “Natural.”

“Yes, it’s all changed the last few years,” Tilly observed. “We’ll all have to sign a waiver for this sort of thing one of these days.”

I felt everyone was waiting for someone else to ring a bell to announce the commencement of the festivities. Geoff was too quiet and seemed too much of the boy-next-door to be the MC, but it was his house, so I decided to wait for his lead. I could see Tilly weighing him up and planning how she was going to bring out things in him he didn’t even know were there.

Ten minutes went by and with no sign of action, when there was a lull in conversation, Tilly caught my eye and made discreet nodding gestures involving her wristwatch. I sat up and straightened my back.

“Well, boys and girls,” I began, “Are we ready?” Arlene and Geoff looked at each other and with no visible exchange of information both looked at me. Arlene spoke in a small, childlike voice. Then she looked at Tilly.

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“You and Geoff are upstairs in the spare room,” she said. “It’s quite nice.” Geoff stood up bravely and walked to the stairs, turning to check that Tilly was following him. As they reached the top, a bit of uncomfortable chat began, Arlene walked down the hall and I followed her to what I presumed was the marital bedroom. She turned to face me and I walked firmly over and put my arms around her.

“Kissing is on the list,” she whispered, as she allowed herself to be embraced. “That’s a Daryl Hall song,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“Hall and Oates,” I said. “You like them?”

Before she could reply, the moment overtook her and we were all over each other.

“You’re gorgeous,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said stiffly. “But not too much of that, okay? Smooth talk…”

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“Okay, sorry.”

I reached around and unzipped her dress and it occurred to me that dress designers probably didn’t take into account ease of removal. Or maybe some did. Whoever had designed this one had done a great job, anyway, because the zip moved down straight and smoothly. She was down to white underwear. A small, bright, new bra held her large breasts and a pristine g-string gripped her loins like some kind of rampant cotton alien. Arlene looked at me as if to say, help yourself, so I did. I had her naked in a flash.

“My turn,” she said with a smirk, and undressed me like a mother with a child. Her approach made me say,

“So why did you and Geoff decide to do this?” I asked. “This your first time?”

”Does it show?” she retorted, pretending to be indignant. “You seemed to enjoy kissing me.” I grabbed her again and we fell to the mattress in a full clinch, tongues working overtime and hands exploring. She noticed that I wasn’t hard, which I had been trying to ignore.

“What’s the matter with him?” she asked gently. “Doesn’t he like me?”

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“He’ll be okay,” I said. “Stage fright.”

“You’re a right brainbox, aren’t you?” she said challengingly. “And your wife. Although she’s quite sweet.”

“And I’m not?”

“Fookin’ Einstein wasn’t sweet,” she said.

“You know a lot about Einstein?” I jabbed back.

“I bet he were a right pain to live with,” she said. “Smartarses are.”

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“Am I a smartarse?” I asked, trying not to let it degenerate into an argument but wanting to stand up for myself.

“No, no,” she said. “I’m sorry. But you don’t laugh much, do you? Blokes usually think I’m funny. They laugh at things I say. Specially when they’re trying to get in my knickers. You don’t even react.”

“Maybe I’m shy,” I said.

“Pfft!” she scoffed. “Mind you, that would explain Mr Floppy. Do you like my perfume?” she added, for a change of direction.

“Very nice,” I said. “But I’d rather smell you.”

“What? Perfume costs a bomb and that’s what it’s for, to make us smell good.”

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“I would rather smell your skin,” I reiterated popping my nose between her breasts and into an armpit. “It’s great, and you’re obviously very careful about these things. But I’d rather smell you than Issey Miyake’s idea of what you should be like. Or Mum’s no-white-marks roll-on.”

Arlene was taken aback and also aware of the danger of this turning into a very unsexy dispute.

“You want me to have a quick shower?” she offered.

“I’ll come with you,” I said, and we trooped awkwardly into the en-suite.

Arlene knew the spots to concentrate on and I helped out with the armpits and then her crack.

“There’s no perfume in there,” she said, wriggling free of my invading hand.

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We dried off quickly and took up our positions on the bed as before.

“Any joy with Mr Floppy?” she asked gaily. “Does the real me turn him on? Shall I suck him? What do you want me to do?”

“Just let me do things to you,” I said. “You just relax.”

I kissed her neck and lifted her left arm to expose the blissfully fragrance-free armpit. As I buried my face in it and licked it strongly, she wriggled a little but also gave a happy hum.

“You’re kinky, aren’t you?”

“Am I?” I said. “You’re going to like what I do next.”

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“Oh yes?”

“Get on your hands and knees,” I instructed.

As she turned and moved into position she called over her shoulder, “We’re not doing anal, I thought I made that clear to Geoff. “

“It was up for discussion,” I said. “Wasn’t on the banned list, but don’t worry, I don’t want to do that.”

“What, then?”

“I’m going to lick your arse,” I said calmly and, I hoped, persuasively.

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“Oh my God,” Arlene said, flinching a little as I made my move into her rump. “You’re fookin’ serious.” She fell silent as she concentrated on what was happening and allowed herself to enjoy it. I licked her with love and she knew it. She began to groan with self-abandonment, surrendering herself to the feeling.

“You’d better be careful,” she warned. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Good. You can cum more than once in a session, can’t you?”

“Yeah. But when I cum in your face and your face is where it is, is that going to be okay?”

“Nothing bad’s going to happen,” I assured her, licking slowly and firmly. “You don’t make a mess when you cum normally, do you? Juice is going to come down your pussy as usual.”

“Fookin’ Einstein,” she muttered just as a shudder shook her and she squealed.

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“Ahh. Ahh. Ahhhhh. Oh my fookin’ Auntie Gladys.” She pulled herself together. “Let me look at ya.”

She threw herself onto her back, pulled my face down to hers and we kissed passionately.

“You’re a dirty bugger,” she said happily before her hand found my erection.

“Oooh! Look who’s here,” she crowed.

“I told you,” I said. “Essence of woman is my favourite.”

“Obviously,” she said appreciatively, pulling a condom sachet from beneath the pillow and handing it to me. She watched like a child on Christmas Day and helped me to put it on.

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“This is just for when you’re inside,” she said as she lay back and welcomed my rod into her body. “I want you to cum in my mouth.”

We wrapped ourselves together and pushed and pulled, wrangling, rubbing, grinding, and going for broke in a final sprint to her second orgasm, Then I pulled out and she wrenched the rubber off me.

“Come up here,” she said urgently, pulling me up so I straddled her chest, and she wanked me cleverly and happily until she felt the lurch of my climax. She pulled my cock down and into her mouth and I pumped gratefully, helplessly, my light disappearing into her darkness.

“I’m going to get a t-shirt made,” I said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m going to come to one of your sex classes wearing it. I shagged Fang and it was great. Would that help with your image?”

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Updated: August 9, 2021 — 9:28 am
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