Robert Thirdwall - Swap Talk

Bras were something else. After trying very thin ones and very low cut ones, she decided to try wearing none. The experiment was a great success. She had never looked sexier than she did walking around the house in a miniskirt and a soft velour top beneath which her tits swayed and bounced, the nipples making points of cloth jut out. Some deep Vneck tops designed to be worn with a blouse under them did still more, as did a couple of seethrough blouses she picked up at a boutique.

All of this shopping produced more than just nightly strip shows, however. She also set about redoing my wardrobe in moderation. I was too conservative to go in for much visible change, but she did supply me with net teeshirts and briefs and some real lowcut boxer shorts that made my equipment particularly noticeable. She even went so far as to take out some of the double layers in the net shorts. When she was finished my cock and balls were no more concealed by my underpants than her pussy was by hers.

What all of this amounted to, however, was playing for time. When it was all over, we either had to put up or shut up. It seems strange, really, that during this period when we were enjoying sex more than ever before we should have been preparing for additional sex, but perhaps it was the anticipation which honed the edge of our inexhaustible lust for each other. This interim period between decision and act was in part delay, but also in part acclimatization. Reforming our habits of sex, reading, and dress also strengthened our resolve and got us ready for bigger and better things.

Finally, the day came, after three or four weeks, when we had to make some definite plans. First and easiest, we decided to buy a polaroid camera. Second, we decided not to write to any swap magazines like the ones we had bought. That still seemed too sordid to us, and the pictures people sent in to them weren't too inviting. Third, we decided to seduce some of our friends into wife swapping and group sex so that at least we would be among beginners.

The question was how to go about it and with whom. We made a list of couples we knew, which was fairly long. Then we cut out those neither of us liked or those one of us didn't like. Next, we cut out a few on grounds of unattractive appearance. Still the list was fairly sizeable, perhaps a dozen couples. Finally came the hard part, trying to guess who would be amenable and approachable. This, after several hours of discussion, pared the list down to three. We picked one by lot, Judy and Dave Harris.

Our mode of procedure was to be cautious but insistent propaganda combined, when the time was right, with indications of willingness on our part.

Fortunately, we had easy access to the Harrises. They were a couple of years older than we were, but I worked with Dave and, as Spring was coming on, played tennis with him. Judy and Helen were close friends from college and went swimming together regularly. They were both very open and frank people, easy to talk to.

My approach to Dave was semidirect. Locker room conversation being what it is, I brought up the subject of wife swapping in the abstract, saying I had been reading about it. I ventured the sentiment that I wondered what it was like and then let the topic ride.

Less than a week later Dave brought the subject up. I was amazed to have gotten a nibble on the first cast. His discussion was abstract and curiosityoriented, like mine, but he was clearly interested, even if he himself didn't notice it.

Helen approached Judy through the topic of divorce. Judy had slept with one other guy in college, it turned out, and had tried to put it out of her mind. But Helen's talk of divorcing one man and then sleeping with another brought it out. They concurred that it wasn't particularly hard to imagine screwing someone else and that they had both known a man or two since they had been married whom they wouldn't kick out of bed.

We regaled each other with our successes and at the same time described our prospective lovers' hidden areas to each other. While I kissed and nibbled gently around Helen's blonde crack, she stroked my prick and told me that Judy had silkylooking, dark brown cunthair and firm Ccup tits. I told her Dave's penis was shorter than mine when it was soft, which was the only way I had seen it, and that he had a lot of black hair on his thin body. She leaned over me, and we sucked each other to orgasm.

But if the first round was won, there were many others yet to go. After a month or so, Dave and I had talked, at least in theoretical terms, about sleeping with each other's. wife. He hadn't rejected the idea; he had brought it up. The subject arose, too, between Judy and Helen. Dave, it seems, had talked around the whole subject to test Judy's feelings, and Judy wanted to test her own reactions on Helen. Helen said she felt Judy was ready to express either horror or amenability at the idea, depending on what she herself said.

"You mean your husband actually suggested that you sleep with Bob and I sleep with him?"

"Well, he didn't actually suggest it, but he implied it."

Helen waited before answering to build up Judy's tension, then she said, "Is he good in bed?"

Judy took this as an affirmative answer and, laughing with relief, answered, "I think he is."

Both of them walked on in a humorous vein, as if the whole thing were a joke, but the die was cast. We decided to invite them over for dessert some night, keep them guessing, and then hit them with it on a second evening.

The first night went perfectly. They were nervous when they arrived because they had a hunch something was up, but a couple of drinks relaxed them. It was clear that they were ready if we tried to broach the subject because Judy was dressed in a short skirt and buttonfront blouse instead of her almost invariable slacks. This was fortunate because it made Helen's costume look more normal. She was wearing a miniskirt, unusual for her in public, and velour top without a bra. Both of us were conscious all evening long of both Judy's and Dave's eyes following the sway and bounce of Helen's tits like a hypnotist's pendulum.

Conversation deliberately took an offcolor turn. We covered avantgarde movies, books, mores in general and girly magazines. I knew they subscribed to Playboy, and we talked about the efforts of that magazine to make the Playgirl of the month seem like a normal allAmerican girl. Then Helen turned the conversation:

"Why don't you show them the pictures you took of me?"

Even intoxicated, they looked startled and wary as I went to get the pictures. Since we were both so casual and open, however, they soon relaxed again; and we sat on the couch looking at the snapshots. They were all standard Playboy type shots but all quite modest. Skirt hiked up getting out of a car, clinging blouse, bluejeans undone a button or two over bare belly, and finally, on the very bottom, a picture of a different sort. Helen was stretched out on our couch, legs akimbo, stretching her arms and yawning. In the fullness of her stretch, however, one bare breast had lifted out of the restraining hold of her lownecked top, the nipple just peeping out. And her miniskirt had rumpled up over her abdomen revealing the bottom two or three inches of her white lace panties diving between her spread legs. Through the panties, of course, the nest of hair cresting her prominent mound could clearly be seen along with the top of her honeydewed slit.

"Oh, you shouldn't have shown them that one, Bob!" cried Helen.

"Why not? It's better then anything in Playboy!" replied Dave, his eyes glued to the snap.

All four of us looked at Helen's pretty cunt for a while, but no one made any further move. The night had reached its climax; the final act would have to wait until we met again. Dave and Judy left fairly soon after that, and Helen and I retired for a good fuck after amorously rehashing the evening's events and tantalizing each other with anticipatory accounts of the Harrises' sexual prowess.