I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when I realized I was hyper-sexual. There were typical things like straddling and rubbing against my grandpa’s leg at two, persuading a friend to stand in front of a mirror to look at each other’s vaginas at nine, and humping hard-nosed teddy bears at 12. That same year I went to second base with a girl in her hot tub and soon after let my older brother’s friend grope me in the back seat of our 15 passenger van. Yes, it’s clear to me now. When I turned 12 something inside of me awakened and my progression toward sex goddess began. I was so desperate for THAT feeling. My vagina was magnetic to everything because nearly everything I came in contact with gave me THAT feeling. Perhaps the most fucked up thing I recall that year is leading my 5 year old brother into a closet and trying to get him to touch me there. I knew nothing about penises at that age except that with 5 brothers they were a daily sight to be seen, flopped everywhere and made me laugh. I certainly had no desire to touch one. I didn’t even realize that sex entailed a penis entering a vagina. I was still pretty innocent, just very curious about these amazing new sensations I felt between my virginal 12 year old thighs.
At 14 I got fingered and gave my first blow job. I remember the first time I had an orgasm. I discovered that an ab exercise in which you keep your legs pressed together and lift them to a 90 degree angle made me tingle in that special spot. Needless to say, I had a 6 pack that year and all my friends wondered how. For Christmas I received an electric toothbrush. Undoubtedly one of my favorite gifts of all time. Who knew that beneath the toothbrush was this magical little piece of vibrating metal that could make your clit and vagina explode into a million mind shattering pieces? Everyday before and/or after school I would lay spread eagle on the bathroom floor with my trusty toothbrush and lose all bodily control. I cleaned an infinite amount of puddles off that floor. My mom thought an electric toothbrush was a practical gift for a 15 year old with braces. Little did she know that it would be a game changer in my masturbation history. I found curling irons made for decent dildos too, although I didn’t yet know such toys existed. My first time consuming alcohol at 15 led to my first threesome. My best friend and I touched each other, her boyfriend fingered me. I was still a virgin, so watching them have sex was mind blowing. It felt awkward and wrong, but I could not look away. It launched those sensations to a whole new level. A month later I found my cherry getting popped in the back of my brother’s ugly friend’s car. I was way out of his league, but desperate to experience what sex was all about and he was the first guy to show interest. I dated him for a month, then moved on to one of my brother’s much hotter, older friends. He was my first anal experience. I remember thinking it felt like I was pooping myself every time he would pull his dick out. I fucked another guy for a month or two senior year. I enjoyed his big cock, thinking to myself “oh wow, that is a really full feeling, guess size does matter.” He was the first guy to eat my pussy, even licking it after he fucked it, dirty and heavenly at the same time. I was hooked on oral after that, leading to the second most fucked up thing I should never admit to. We had a pug. He liked sour cream. Brutus and I shared a moment. Or two.
The summer after graduation I met my husband. I wasn’t yet 18, he was nearly 22. For him it was a love at first sight kinda thing, but I wasn’t immediately drawn to him or his sweet shyness. His more assertive friend asked me out and we fucked a couple times. Worst sex of my life. My husband ended it by admitting to me his friend was engaged and to call him if I ever wanted to hang out. After a month I found myself wondering why I wasn’t giving this guy a chance. He was thoughtful and genuine. He had a real career unlike all the boys I’d met and looked pretty darn cute in that military uniform. He was the first guy who wasn’t presumptuous about getting in my panties. He wasn’t a boy, he was a man. A week into dating I was ready to fuck him. My dad had curfew rules, I certainly wasn’t allowed to stay the night in his dorm. My husband respected my dad and his rules and it drove me insane. I needed him inside of me, damn it. I would look at him with my big brown eyes and flirtatious, careless smile and tell him we had time to go back to his dorm. He would smile, squeeze my hand and say no. I was still 17 at this point, he was far more concerned about consequences than I was. We ended up having sex on the day before my eighteenth birthday. I don’t remember many details from that day, but I know our sex life quickly evolved into something beautiful. Full of newness, desire, passion, tenderness, experimentation. My pleasure mattered too, he took his time, we discovered each other. Sex with love was a different world. Seventeen to twenty was a time of growth and learning. I felt the sting of jealousy, hurt, and insecurity when I found out he watched porn on a regular basis. I blamed him for making me feel these things. Was he not satisfied with me, with the sex we had, with my body, wasn’t I pretty enough, thin enough, were my breasts too small? I wanted to be his whole world, as he was mine, but I obviously wasn’t enough. When we married after three years, the porn issue continued to be our only significant disagreement. I spent many hours scouring the computer for images and videos. He deleted his tracks, but often left traces that were recoverable. Thousands of my tears were lost to the sadness his porn habit brought me. I was on high alert when we were in public, watching his eyes as an attractive female passed, hoping he wouldn’t notice. I worried about his female coworkers. Did he ogle them all day, fantasize about them, flirt with them? I literally made myself nauseous for years considering these things.
It all changed 7 years into our marriage. My best friend (the one I had my first threesome with at 15) and I have always had a thing. I spent a night out partying with her and her sexy boyfriend. Their lust for each other was visible and contagious, they oozed sex appeal. We had a drunken threesome in the back of her SUV. We kissed, she touched me, he made her cum nine times, and fucked her so good my panties were dripping. It was the most erotic thing I had encountered thus far in my life. I went home with an overwhelming sense of guilt, but a driving need to have this sort of experience become a part of my life. I chose not to be honest with my husband, knowing he would be devastated. However, it sparked the most memorable, life changing conversation we’ve shared. We stayed up until the early morning hours spilling our darkest secrets. That honesty was new to us. There had always been love, but that night we realized we never had that deep, soulful connection. We weren’t just husband and wife, we were now friends. We learned that we were both sexual deviants and agreed that girl play and same room sex was something we were interested in incorporating into our sex lives. My best friend and her boyfriend visited soon after and we played out that fantasy perfectly. They became our favorite soft swappers for the next three years. We had one other couple we soft swapped with, but it never went any further. I never felt the desire or comfort to allow my husband’s cock to enter a pussy other than my own. What if she was tighter than me? What if he liked having sex with her more than me? What if he started developing feeling for her? Too much risk and insecurity.
One day my husband forwarded an ad searching for adventurous couples for an international adventure. We sent in pics, videos, skype interviewed, and eventually got the gig. We spent an unforgettable week in South Africa filming various sexual and heart stopping thrills for Playboy TV’s Sexcape. Soon after we were asked to be a resident couple on Playboy Swing. We were soft swap only, but decided to dive in head first, maybe we were ready. The desire was there, so were the nerves. Our first full swap was on camera. We were having sex with our spouses, I was watching a guy rail his wife hard. I turned to them and said, “Wanna swap? You need to fuck me like that.” And we did. No one knew we were having our swinger cherries popped on national TV and no one could tell. We fit in, we felt at home, so free and alive. The sex my husband and I shared post-swap was the most intense, passionate, and earth shattering of our thirteen years. We felt more connected than ever. Life was grand and we were IN. Fast forward two years. We could not be more content with where this journey has taken us. Continuing to learn, push boundaries, experiment. WE are our first priority. Communication and honesty is flourishing. We are in this together. Whether it will last a lifetime or a few years, we don’t know. As long as we both continue to feel empowered by the freedom that comes with being ourselves, we will proudly call ourselves swingers.