Swinging in the 70s Ch. 07

I woke, mildly hungover, and alone in bed.

I just laid there and thought for a few minutes.

"You, my friend, need to have a talk with your wife," I said to myself, that odd clarity of a morning-after hangover helping me focus.

I lay there, thinking, with that conversation with myself running through my mind.

Men and women are different. I knew that. And I realized that what I was doing, the sex I was engaged in as casual as masturbating, was a male approach. But I was, well, sensitive enough to know it was different for her. So we needed to talk before we passed some point of no return, if, in fact, we hadn't already done that.

So I gathered my energy, rolled out of bed, and went to the bathroom. Bladder empty and teeth brushed, I went in search of my bride.

Okay, that's overdramatic. In a 10 X 50 trailer, there wasn't much "searching" needed. I followed my nose to the source of the coffee aroma and found Monica sitting at the little table, dressed in a T-shirt, her hair unbrushed, smelling of last night's sex.

I poured a cup of coffee, sat next to her, and just looked.

Still cute as hell, even looking a little rough after the night we'd had.

She was looking down as if there was something in her coffee cup that she had never seen before and she wanted to memorize it.

Finally, I reached across the table and brushed the back of her hand with my fingers.

"Tell me," I said.

"Tell you what?" she asked, finally looking up and meeting my eyes.

I smiled then, relieved somehow to be having the conversation.

"Tell me what you're thinking about, well, 'swinging,'" I said.

She held my eyes for a long time, unblinking, her face blank.

Finally, she took a deep breath and started talking.

Monica's Tale

I grew up in a large family. There were nine kids, me, five sisters, and three brothers, in a small, four-bedroom house that Daddy had made usable by setting the attic up as sort of a dormitory for the boys. I was six when I heard my oldest sister talking to the next oldest, telling her how she was pregnant.

I couldn't decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing by listening to them. She seemed frightened but also, well, kind of glad. But they saw me and shooed me away so I'm not sure where that conversation went.

She was married three months later and we all breathed a sigh of relief. There was room, well, there was less crowding, and there was a chance you could get to one of two bathrooms without hoping you could hold it long enough to not wet yourself.

I was seven when I walked in on the next sister with her boyfriend balls deep in her.

She was married four months later.

So when I got my period and, you know, my hair, well, it just seemed natural to say "yes" to the first boy who asked.

Neither of us was, you know, "experienced," and it was awkward in the back seat of his car. It was painful too and he was done in about 30 seconds and that was it.

I was surprised when I got my next period. So far, three of my sisters had turned up pregnant. It seemed natural to me, but I didn't catch and, well, after my attempt, I was kind of off of boys for a while.

The next boy, well, I said "no" twice but then said yes.

I had no pills, no condoms, no diaphragm, and no IUD. I was raised pretty strictly Catholic, complete with the nuns in school and the pleated plaid skirt and all. Birth control wasn't in my, well, my frame of reference I guess you'd say.

But, again, it was awkward and uncomfortable, and I didn't catch.

By then I had followed the family tradition and was spending a year with my aunt. I was in my senior year in high school and after midterms, my one girlfriend and I went to a post-midterm party. I got drunk and then got passed around like a, well, like a joint or something. That was my first time smoking pot too.

And for all of the sex that night, well, it was still uncomfortable and quick and I cried myself to sleep later, just sure that I was knocked up now and wouldn't have any idea at all whose it was.

So I was off of boys. I felt cheap and used and still hadn't understood what others meant when they talked about the pleasure they got from sex. Hell, all I got was sore.

And then I met you, David.

I almost said "No" when Samantha told me she'd like me to go on a blind date. I could picture some boy like I'd been with before, saying "Hi" and grabbing for my ass or something.

But you were different, David.

She smiled at me and brushed the back of my hand with her fingers.

You were older, and seemed, well, "sophisticated" with your junior college big words and talking about Tolkien. And you called me "kitten," and I thought that was so sweet.

But mostly, you were a gentleman, and emphasis on the "man" in gentleman. You were just different from the boys I had been with.

And then, to top it off, when you took me home it was just a sweet little good-night kiss and a promise to call.

She smiled again, took a drink from her coffee, and went on.

When I talked to Sammee the next day I told her I guessed you didn't like me. But she said she had talked to Carl, her boyfriend, and your friend, you know? And Carl told her that you liked me.

She giggled.

God, I sound like a junior high school girl. But that's the way I was feeling.

You called and our second date was riding around in that Chevy of yours and then a movie and you did put your arm around me that time but that was all.

The third date and I realized I was falling in love. Well, as "in love" as an 18-year-old girl can be.

And then, David, you took me on a picnic for our fourth date. I had decided that if you didn't try for more then I was going to.

Do you remember that, David?

"Fat Lenny's cabin on the Kankakee River," I said, "a warm day, picnicking on the grass by the river."

Yes.

And it was different. I suppose it was because I was with a man, not a boy, if that makes any sense. You didn't just get grabby or try to shove your hand under my bra and down my cutoffs or anything. You took your time.

She stopped and smiled and I could almost see the scene playing out on the screen of her mind.

God, that thing you did, putting the blindfold on me and then having me lay back while you would put little bites of cheese or salami or bread or fruit in my mouth or give me a drink from that silly wineskin.

For the first time, I understood what all of the fooforaw about sex was. I felt that pressure building deep in my belly, that tingling between my legs.

You were so gentle, the feel of a button being unbuttoned like a little spider walking across my skin.

You didn't say anything, just gently supported me while I sat and then you got my blouse off, unhooked my bra and got it off, and laid me back on the picnic blanket. God, the sun on bare skin felt so good and I can still remember my nipples so hard they ached.

You hadn't even kissed me when you said, "Relax," and I could feel you scoot around and then you unbuttoned, unzipped, and worked the cutoffs down, my panties going with them.

And for the first time, I welcomed the thought of sex. I wanted it.

But you, you bastard, went back to feeding me, leaving me there, naked in the sun, my hips rocking a little with my excitement.

I have no idea how long that lasted. It was warm and by then I was so damned excited, well, time kind of lost meaning.

And then you kissed me. A real kiss. A man-woman kiss, not what I had from those boys in the past.

Do you remember, David, telling me to relax?

When you started, you know masturbating me, well, that's when I knew I would marry you, even if I had to do the asking.

I never imagined anything like that. Your fingers and your kisses and you took your time.

That pressure in my belly, David, as it built up, was beyond anything. It was like a whole new part of my body was awakened.

That was the first time I was ever brought to orgasm by someone else and so much better than when I masturbated it was a whole new world.

And then, when you took your clothes off as I watched, and I saw your interest, how hard you were, and for the first time it wasn't that I wouldn't just not say "no." Do you remember how I was crying when I said "YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS."

I smiled and said, "Of course I do."

David, you were my first in so many ways. Oh, I didn't have a hymen, you didn't pop my cherry, but then again, neither did that first boy. My brother's bicycle had taken care of that before puberty even hit. But you were the first to, you know, make love to me, not just fuck me. And you were the first I WANTED to make love to me.

She paused then, taking several deep breaths, looking up at the ceiling.

"Go on," I said, brushing a few stray hairs away from her forehead.

I liked, oh, hell, I loved, that you seemed to be proud to have me on your arm when we were still getting to know each other while we were in Japan. I liked that, even when Jenny Richards with those boobs of hers, came on to you at the Christmas Party at the NCO club you gently rebuffed her like a gentleman and laughed about it with me while you walked me home and then made love to me later.

And I liked that you stuck with me when we moved back here and settled into the trailer court. It was pretty obvious that there was a lot of swinging going on, and you were content with me even as women prettier than I am made their availability obvious.

I decided, the first time I watched Heather waving those ridiculous tits of hers under your nose, that if you decided to take the offer I would accept that.

I saw a tear run down her cheek, and I kissed it away. "Yours are more interesting than ten pounds of silicone ever could be."

She smiled and said, "Shush. You asked, now let me answer before I lose my nerve."

Then we got that call from Myra and we talked and we said yes.

David, you have to know that I said "Yes," because I thought it was something you'd like. Surely you understand that.

And, of course, on some level I had known that.

That first night, when you were with Myra and I was with Randy, I was back with a boy. We undressed, climbed into bed, and he just plowed into me, grunting, "Oh, Baby, oh, Baby," over and over for about 30 seconds, getting his nut, and rolling over, his back to me. I don't think he was even aware that I was crying.

I was going to tell you that we needed to stop,

And for the first time in her monologue I heard a flash of anger.

But you were carrying about how good she was, as if it wouldn't bother me that she was my fucking SISTER!

But I love you, David, so I didn't say "no." I didn't withdraw my consent.

She smiled then, and kissed me.

And I am SO glad I didn't.

The second time, remember, we were at a party, and Tony and Fiona invited us to dance. I saw you leave with Fiona and I was okay with that. Tony's a nice guy, I like him, and he wasn't pushy or grabby or anything.

When we danced, you know how Gary and Heather roll back the rug in that oversized family room of theirs and that ridiculous stereo fills the room like we were at some ballroom or something?

Anyway, we danced and Tony whispered in my ear that he thought it would be fun if after the dance I went to the bathroom and when I came back I gave him my panties.

David, I had never done anything like that but when the music ended, I went into the bathroom, peed, and when I went back to the family room I handed my panties to him.

As if that wasn't bad enough, God, I was already blushing so badly I could feel the heat in my face and down my boobs, but he lifted them up like an English hunter claiming the fox's tail, buried his face in them, and then put them in his pocket.

And, again, I was surprised that he didn't just drag me off to a bedroom. Instead, we were a couple for the rest of the evening. We danced, and mingled, talking to others, and before long I realized I was holding his arm with both hands, you know, that way you say shows that I've claimed you.

When the party broke up it seemed perfectly natural to go home with him.

And, once more, I was surprised.

"Here it comes," I was thinking.

Oh, he undressed me, but it was a sensual, and yes, I honestly believe, a loving experience. We were in their bedroom and he had me standing in front of the closet door which was also a full-length mirror. He folded out panels on the sides of the mirror and then it was one of those three-panel things that meant I could see my back too.

David, It took him a full half hour to undress me and by the time he finished I was standing naked, and she blushed my pussy was leaking. God, I was slick all the way down my thighs.

He would unbutton a button on my blouse, touch the skin he revealed, nuzzle my neck, and tell me I was beautiful. In that instant, I believed him.

By the time he had my bra off my breath was catching and when he told me how much he liked them, how they were bigger than Fiona's, and when he rolled my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers while whispering in my ear that I had "great tits," my knees went a little weak.

He did this thing, getting my jeans off.

First, he got to his knees behind me and reached around so I didn't have to turn, so I could keep watching in the mirror, and untied my tennis shoes and then lightly touched the back of my knee so I would lift my foot and he could take them off.

David, I was topless, still in my jeans, and that ranks as one of the most sensual things I ever saw.

Then I watched, understanding how the mouse feels as the snake is approaching, as his hands slowly worked their way up the outside of my thighs and hips and then found the button of my jeans. I realized I wasn't breathing as I watched his fingers unbutton and then unzip them and drew in a sharp breath as he started working them down.

My panties, of course, were already in his pocket, but the jeans were tight and as he worked them down I couldn't look away from the way that long pubic hair right at the fork of my legs was wet. As I watched a big drop, thick and white, formed and dropped, leaving a shiny trail down my thighs.

I watched in the side mirrors as he made love to my ass. Oh, it wasn't that he was, you know, burying his face in my asscrack and sticking his tongue up my ass or anything. It was more like he was making love to it. He was kissing, nice, soft kisses, and using his cheeks, a little scratchy with the stubble, to caress.

I don't know how long that went on. I couldn't look away. Well, it's not like I wanted to look away.

He kissed his way up my back, kissing each bump of my vertebrae separately until he stood behind me. It was a new sensation. I was naked, he was fully clothed, and that contrast seemed to make what was happening even more erotic.

And then, oh, God, David, he did something I didn't think was possible. He TALKED me into an orgasm.

His lips were touching my ear and he was talking to me as his hands touched so lightly it can't even be called a caress.

"Feel the excitement building in your belly," he said, and those fingertips just brushed, barely enough for me to feel them, across the line of my pubic hair.

Time stopped for me, David. He would barely touch my nipples and in that soft, hypnotic voice, and I think I really was hypnotized at least a little, he said, "Feel how hard your nipples are, your breasts aching to feed someone."

He touched everywhere and when I came it was like nothing I ever imagined. I came, running down my thighs, and his voice kept at me.

"Again," he said, his fingertips brushing my armpits the way he had my arms straight over my head.

And I did, another wave running down my thighs.

He finally released me, and release is a good word, I was under his spell and took me to bed.

His clothes were off but I have no recollection of him undressing.

And when he slipped inside of me I came again, unable to stop, not wanting to stop.

And he LASTED, David. Jesus. I could cum and he would hold still while I finished and then he would start over.

Finally, exhausted, I went to sleep.

She drew a deep breath then, meeting my eyes, refocusing. She had been pretty lost in telling her story.

So, yes, David. I want this. I love you. But I think I understand you, too.

The next time it was Frank who took me home while you went somewhere with Lois.

He was different from Tony, and different from you.

For one thing, for all that he's 50, his dick is about as big around as a Coke can. He stretched me like I've never been stretched before. But he's athletic as hell too. He had some sort of background music on, something classical with great crescendos, and he stripped me in time with the music. It was like - drum and cymbal riff/button unbuttoned - violin run/blouse off - horn section blast/jeans tossed in the corner.

Then he lifted me, by then I was slick and ready, lowered me onto his hardon, I wrapped my legs around him, and then he danced me around the room, holding me on his cock and with his hands while my arms and legs were wrapped around him and I was cumming in waves.

Or there was Stan who wanted me on all fours, barking while he made me carry his weight.

She was starting to wind down.

Yes, David, I want to keep this up. I love you, Honey, but you're right.

She giggled.

Variety really IS the spice of life.