Robert Thirdwall - Swap Talk

What happened to change that life was very trivial. For a couple of years I had been looking at Playboy and every couple of months buying a dirty paperback on the sly. I'd keep them hidden, read them, and discard them. Most of the time my conscience led me to select "classics" like Fanny Hill or safely dated Victorian jobs. There was a seedy suburb between P. and work, however, which broadened my horizons. A newsstand there had a tremendous selection compared with what I was used to, and I branched out, first to a very contemporary book about teenyboppers in miniskirts getting sucked off in class in high school, and then to a book on wife swapping.

They were both wildly fanciful, of course, but at the same time they suggested that even if people lived only half as wildly as they pictured, those people made me seem like a country parson. I had read about odd positions and sucking off in the other books, but the impact hadn't been strong. Helen and I had never tried other positions more than halfheartedly, nor had we ever sucked each other, except onceССtimidly. We had been like sex addicts when we first got married, but only within very staid and traditional limits.

I read the book on wife swapping slowly, savoring and jacking off at every wild party, orgy, key club, and sex game it described. Then, one day when I looked for it in my desk, it was gone.

Two days later it was back. I knew Helen had read it. The circumstantial evidence was enough, but her avoidance of conversation cinched it. I was really worried that she would cause a great scene about it. Nothing was said.

One week later she said, "What did you think of it?"

"Of what?" I replied.

"Of the sex book."

My long hesitation before answering would have been infinitely less tense if I had then had her diary. The entry for the night before this conversation reads:

"Wednesday, March 3: This is getting ridiculous! I've been playing with myself for six solid days over a silly book. I haven't been so horny in years. Be it resolved that tomorrow I'll find out what Bob thinks."

I didn't know what she thought, however, and before I answered I considered several possible lines. I could apologize for buying it, or I could say I thought it was terrible and had gotten it from a guy at work. But perhaps I had an unconscious notion that here was a chance to break up the sexual logjam that was slowly building up in our marriage. In any case, I told her what I thought.

I told her it was the sexiest thing I had ever read. I said the thought of husbands and wives switching partners in front of each other and taking pictures of each other fucking in pairs or groups made me almost unbearably horny. I had a hardon just telling her that much.

All she said in reply was, "Me too."

Suddenly the logjam was goneССor at least in hindsight that seems to have been the moment. She came over and sat on my lap, and we kissed passionately. She grabbed my prick, and I squeezed her breast. In a frenzy we made our way to the bedroom. We undressed each other and caressed each other as we hadn't for two years. Her cunt was soaking. Two fingers went in to the hilt. I sucked her nipples until she moaned. Then she pushed me back and, kneeling, took my cock in her mouth. Stroking the shaft and halls she sucked and licked delicately at the head. It was an amateur job compared to later efforts, but I almost died. Finally, I pulled her up. She mounted me and after some effort got my prick inside her. Just as when we were courting, we looked each other soulfully in the face while she slid smoothly up and down my cock. Harder and deeper she forced herself down on it. Her big tits swayed, and I grabbed the nipples. Then we came together with one of the fullest orgasms we had ever had.

It seems strange that the simple confession of reading the same book and finding it exciting could produce so amorous a reaction. I'm sure she wasn't fantasizing along the lines of the book while we fucked. I know I wasn't. It was just good loving. It must have been that, having grown bored with one another, we had come to doubt our own and each other's sexuality. The sudden revelation that we were both still full of lust must have triggered the reaction.

We cuddled after fucking and talked. I can practically recreate the conversation…

"Can you really imagine someone like Ted Barnes fucking me?"

"I can see you now, with Ted on top of you and me beside you screwing Ann."

"Do you like Ann?"

"Right now I think I like only two things, you and cunt. I think I'd like to slide my hand between the thighs of every girl we knowССwithin reason, Marge is pretty ugly."

"Remember the scene in the book where the guy fucks the girl between the tits? I'd like to have you do that on me while someone behind you felt my cunt."

"Or sucked it."

"Oh, I don't know. That part sounded messy; I don't know if I'd like it."

"What if it was me sucking some girl right over your head while I fucked you between the tits?"

"Oh, that'd be all right." Then she paused. "Do you think well ever do any stuff like that?"

"Well, it's not going to happen if we don't make it happen. We've been married for two years and haven't been invited to an orgy yet."

"Do you want to make it happen?"

"I don't know. Do you want to make it happen?"

We had been playing with each others genitals throughout the conversation, and at this point as the conversation came to a head, so did our play. My hand was slithering all over her cunt. Semen and cuntjuice coated the whole area between her thighs. Now I was concentrating move on her clit. She was grabbing my cock harder and Pumping it steadily.

"Maybe we shouldn't, Bob." Her voice was hesitant.

"Doesn't the idea of it make you want to come, though?"

She was on the verge of coming. "Yes! I want to fuck somebody and suck somebody and lie in a heap of naked bodies!"

I dove for her cunt and for the first time put my mouth to the warm, wet, sultry morass at the center of her ecstasy. She came in seconds, the contractions of her lips gently squeezing my nose and lips, Then, still feverish with extended orgasm, she squirmed around and got my prick in her mouth. I remember warning her I was about to come, but she kept on sucking. I squirted a great dose of semen into her mouth, and I could feet her swallowing it.

Again we cuddled, sweaty and exhausted. On the edge of sleep she asked me, "Are we really going to do it?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I said, and we fell fast asleep.

Of course, we didn't just jump out of bed the next morning, call up some friends and ask them over for a screw. The decision was made, and even though we were both embarrassed about it the next day, we agreed that we would stick to it. But there was much to do and talk about between decision and action.

We couldn't even talk about what to do and how to do it until we knew more. I began to scour bookstores in Chicago for more on the subject, which we both read avidly. Night after night we would lie in bed naked, reading sex books and playing with each other. Good passages we'd read aloud, and then we'd finish by sucking each other off or fucking, often in some new position.

Never had our sex life been so good, even in the first days of marriage. Helen loved the taste of my semen just as I loved the smell and taste of her cunt. Positions that had made us uncomfortable and embarrassed when we had tried them before turned out to be glorious when indulged in deliberately and freely. I developed a passion for entering Helen's cunt from the rear while she was kneeling. Banging it into her with full force only to be met by the cushiony resilience of her rump was a new thrill. And she liked the fact that I could squeeze her nipples or frig her clit from that position.

Helen also went shopping for some new clothes. She had never been dowdy, but she had been a conventional dresser. Now she became both stylish and provocative, at least for home consumption. First she bought some thin nylon bikini panties. But seductive as they were, they weren't enough. So she found a store that sold patterned lace panties. These weren't as sheer as the others, but the added layer of lace in the crotch could be removed to great effect. Once that was done, her bush was clearly visible. She would sit in front of me on the bed in a full skirt with her legs spread, and looking up the dark tunnel between thighs and hem I could see her cunt even to the dark line of her slit, veiled in fine white lace.