“You want me to do let you put what where?!” The failed swinging experiment.
4th February 2014
The fun kind of swinging!
So, you know. I thought I should broach this topic. Swinging. And not like the photo up there, think a warehouse space, with lots of rooms, with lots of people… just shagging. Every which way you can think of.
It’s not really kinky per se, but there is a lot of kinky people who swing.
I just don’t happen to be one of them.
When she suggested the idea to her husband she was quite surprised that he was not upset. On the contrary he seemed quite interested. It took them a while to find the courage but they finally gave it a try.
They both liked it and it improved their sex lives for a while. But the one thing my client had not expected was feeling jealous when her husband had sex with women who, in her opinion, were better looking and more sexy than she was.
Although she is an attractive woman she began to feel more and more insecure. She decided not to take part in swinging any more but her husband is now disappointed and blames her for suggesting it in the first place. – taken from this article
It’s not one of my foray’s that I’m particularly proud of, however it gave me an insight into myself that I would never have gotten otherwise. And I probably could have handled it better, however stick a 24-year-old in a swingers club and you get all kinds of weirdness. Hindsight is such a wonderful thing.
This was possibly about the 2nd or 3rd year that I was out into the kinky scene in Sydney that my then D-type (dominant/master/sir/whatever) and I had been out partying on a boat with a lot of other people and this one girl was hitting on me pretty hard. She invited us to go to this club that they would be at later, what kind of club I ask. A couples swingers club…
I went rather quiet at this as I tried to work through all the varying emotions that raged inside me. The D-type and I were in a monogamous relationship, this was new territory that we never discussed. So my emotions ranged from curiosity, to jealousy, to disgust, to lust, to self-hatred that I would even contemplate going to such a thing.
My D-type had such a hard on for her that even though I thought I wouldn’t be interested, he basically said we’re going. My tentative communications of “I’m not sure I want to go” weren’t taken seriously. Emotionally I felt like I was in a whirlpool. We got home and basically dressed up to go to this place. Which is pretty funny in itself right, why would you dress up to get undressed?
We got to the warehouse and were buzzed in, we signed in and paid. I started to freak out silently. The guy behind the counter fit my thoughts about what a swingers club operator would look like. He was hairy and shirtless. He had a huge gold chain around his neck. And he was leering at me. I literally hid behind my D type at the time as he talked to this disgusting man about protocols and rules before we walked in. I felt a bit like Dorothy. I wasn’t in Kansas any-more Toto.
I had the urge to dig my heels in and not budge when he said we should go inside.
But I went. There was a huge room that had rooms coming off it. There was a spa in the corner with people in it naked. I wondered if there was spermination going on in there. I mean, all those spa bubbles right? All those men? All that sperm! I might have dry retched at this idea and asked where I could go for a smoke. I needed a smoke. I was advised there was a smoking roof. I ran up the stairs and into the night. I bent over and slowed my breathing before finding a corner I could lean against. I refused to sit on the couch, gods only knows how much contamination was on it. It could be like a dna & juice party. Yes, there was more dry retching as I rolled a cigarette. I decided at this point that this place was not for me. At all.
A couple came through the doors as I lit up and wandered over to me. They asked me why I still had my corset and skirt on. I advised that we just got here and I don’t want to take them off because I wasn’t comfortable in doing so. They tried to urge me into at least getting into a towel.
The thought of actually removing my clothing was so horrific to me that I decided I needed another smoke. Before I’d finished my first.
My head was literally buried between my cleavage with a cigarette hanging out of the side of my mouth while I furiously rolled another. So sexy. I know. I put the class in classy.
At this point I started to also get angry. Angry at myself for being there. Angry at my D-type for making me come because he wanted to stick his dick in the girl who was clearly hitting on me and not him. Angry that I didn’t fit in here, I was the odd one out, again…. He found me chain-smoking on the roof about 45 minutes later and asked if I was going to come inside. I thought about it. And said probably not. He then ranted at me that he’d paid for us to be here and the least I could do was give it a go.
Inner debate: He has a point, he paid a lot of money for us to be here. Yes but he only paid it because he wants to fuck that girl. But he still paid so stop being an ungrateful bitch and give it a chance. But it’s all so disgusting, why why why am I here? Can’t I just leave? Stop it. Go and put that stupid towel on. FUCK!
Outer conversation: Yeah ok, I’ll give it a go. Where are the change rooms?
So I changed into a towel. That I had wrapped around me as tight as I could have it and followed him out into the stomach churning DNA pig pit as I called it in my head. He led me over to the girl who had hit on me and her partner. I felt like a lamb to slaughter. Sure she was cute enough and I’d have probably done her if I was single. But that he was pushing me turned me off her quicker than anything you could think.
My bisexuality is not a show for whoever I’m with at the time. I don’t fuck girls for their amusement. Their pleasure, or any other stupid reason. I fuck girls because I want to. I find them attractive, I love the way they smell, taste.. I love their softness, their intelligence… I love the soft sighs, moans, and the way they wrap their fingers in my hair and scream.
I am not a bear on a chain to dance to anyone’s whim. I guess this is why people keep telling me I’m not submissive, but that’s another story no?
She picked up where she left off with her flirting. I just wasn’t as flirty, if anything I might have been about as interesting as a door. I wasn’t feeling it. I felt self-conscious in a towel surrounded by sweaty old men who were making me feeling gross. And then she said that she’d love to whip me. My D-type thought this to be a wonderful idea. I figured it was better than letting anyone stick anything else in me so I bent over. She swung wildly. The end caught my belly. I cursed and told him to tell her to pull back. She’s missing. She swung again and totally hit my stomach. For anyone that’s been whipped, wrap around is not nice. It makes me crankier than a bear with a sore tooth. Especially when it’s hitting my stomach. This time I sighed and actually moved my ass so that her blow connected to it and not my stomach again. My D-type was obviously too busy wondering how he could fuck her to actually tell her on where she was going wrong with her swings. This time she wrapped and got just above my hip bone. It hurt like no one’s business. To the point that my eyes teared up and I had a blood blister straight away. That was it for me. I stood up. Thanked her and advised that I needed a cigarette and that I’d be back soon.
I ran off back to the roof terrace. My solace. To lick my wounds, cry a bit and chain smoke some more. I don’t know how long I was up there. I was just sitting there with my towel… praying to whichever god would listen that I hoped he fucked her soon so I could go home. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so worthless, alone and useless as I did right then.
At one point my D-type came up to check on me to see what was taking me so long. He asked if I was going to go back in. I said no. I asked him if he’d fucked her yet because I wanted to leave. He said no. I advised him that I would really freaking appreciate it if he went and did that as a point of priority so that we could go. I told him that I would stay on the roof until he was ready to leave and would appreciate if he could let me know when that was so that I could get dressed.
I gave up waiting for him to come get me by about 3am and decided to go find him. He was with a group of men watching her get face fucked by some other guy while her partner was explaining to the guy how he wanted her choked, gagging and crying. Maybe he was waiting for his turn? I have no idea. I started to go to sleep on the stool with my head on my hands on a tabletop.
We left at some point, I have no idea what the time was. He never got to have a go with her. I was secretly happy, yet also really really angry. That we stayed somewhere he knew I was having such a horrible time at. For his own dick that didn’t even get what it wanted. And that was when I started to resent him. That little black dot of hate in my heart blossomed this night.
Like the woman in the article I measured myself against every woman that was in that place and found myself lacking. Even though several men told me otherwise on the night, I brushed them off because at the end of the day, they just wanted to stick it in and I wasn’t going to let them.
Moral of the story? Don’t ever let anyone talk you into doing something that you’re not comfortable with. It’s just not worth the emotional turmoil that will inevitably follow.
And ever since, every time someone says that I’d enjoy a swingers club – I politely tell them that they actually turn my stomach and I don’t really want to spend a night vomiting. However I’m rather happy to have a bed full of people who I connect with and really do want to shag and enjoy that a lot more. But thanks for the offer anyway.