In the Beginning
During the very early part of the seventies, I was in college, getting the first of three degrees in art. One of my Graphic Design instructors ran a small agency out of his classroom and would farm out freelance work to some of his students. Through him, I ended up doing a couple of illustrations for a long-since-defunct adult magazine (which led to many more for other publications over the next thirty-five years).
In October of 1973, I got a call from the editor of one of those magazines. “How far are you from Las Vegas?” “About five or six hours away… why?” “A friend of mine told me this swinger couple is supposedly throwing some righteous parties out there filled with all kinds of horny people and shit… you can write, can’t you?” “Umm… yeah.” “Then I want you to go over there and do a story about it and take a few pictures if you can. You’re the closest person I know out that way. Here’s the info…”
Las Vegas was not the originator of the house party, nor did they invent swinging. It just happened that this couple, for whatever reason, was throwing legendary parties back then. Two weeks later, after several phone conversations with the couple hosting the party, I found my girlfriend Michelle and me in a very upscale neighborhood east of the strip. After driving through the gate and knocking on the door, a gorilla in a suit allowed us just inside the door, and no further, while he went to get the hosts.
As we looked around from our limited vantage point, we could see half-dressed people everywhere in a house as opulent as a palace filled with expensive ornate furniture and blue-gray walls with gold accents and, what appeared to be, original paintings on the walls everywhere our eyes wandered and heard splashes and laughter from a pool blocked from our view by a dividing wall at the moment. The few who were still dressed were long-haired hippie chick types in very short skirts and transparent tops with no bra’s talking to, what looked to be, showgirls, in very heavy makeup with shiny clothes so tight they looked like they’d been painted on, businessmen in, what could only be described as early efforts of, leisure suits talking to rock star wannabe’s in tight jeans and blousy sleeved swashbuckling shirts straight out of the movies, and any other human combination you can think of in every age and size. Despite many of them being rather naked. I started to feel hopelessly underdressed and slightly out of my league.
A reel to reel tape player behind a bar nearby cranking Sinatra’s “My Way” and giving way to Humble Pie’s “30 days in the Hole” while the aroma of freshly lit joints filled the house. Those that were already naked or with a towel wrapped around themselves seemed very at ease about it. Some were getting blow jobs, eaten, or engaging in some form of foreplay, and some were simply playfully squeezing various body parts of the people they were talking to. I looked over to Michelle (who’s jaw was squarely resting on the floor) and whispered, “It seems we’re not in Kansas anymore Toto,” just as our hostess arrived. (We wouldn’t meet our host until later in the evening)
She was a stunning-looking tall, tanned (natural) blonde in her early forties wearing a black see-through floor-length cover-up that tied just below her neck, a pair of fuzzy heels and nothing else. She carried herself like she could have been a showgirl at some time in her life and, given where we were, probably was. I don’t remember much about what she first said other than “Hi Doc. Nice to meet you.” because I was busy trying to keep my hard-on from bursting through my pants. (Something she noticed and found amusing enough to thump my cock with her knuckle while saying hello) She gave us a tour, laid out the rules like “What happens here, stays here” (a catchphrase Vegas would adopt as their own later), etc., and introduced us to a few of the other guests before disappearing into a room with several people. I couldn’t see what was going on because the gorilla was intentionally blocking my view, but my imagination filled in the blanks nicely for the moment (he seemed to be everywhere that night).
We wouldn’t see our hostess again until later when she finally returned looking disheveled and exhausted (and high). At that time, I was able to talk to her and her husband (who himself had finally surfaced just moments before), a tall, dark-haired man with a mustache who reminded Michelle and me of Robert Goulet. So, we stood there in the kitchen snacking on shrimp, cheese, olives, and as I snapped a few pictures of them and those that allowed me to and heard about how our hosts had gotten into swinging. A story (which turned out to be quite a redundant story I will hear a million more times in my life after that about “two people who were bored sexually but had a great relationship and were looking for something fun to do together” told in a way devoid of anything really notable or different than I had already heard but, (due to her current condition, it was like hearing about Alice falling down a rabbit hole, so it was, at least, mildly entertaining) and similar to what many other people would tell me that night but went on far too long. We learned a great deal more from other people at the party earlier and later in the evening in different and far more stimulating ways. Everyone we talked to was proud to be into swinging. They felt they had evolved as a couple (“Evolved” seemed to be a word that showed up a lot that night.), and by doing so it had made their relationship stronger, and somehow more real. I would discover as time went by that the Lifestyle was always in a state of constant evolution. It was always changing and re-defining itself.
I asked several people if they had any jealousy issues that may have surfaced once they got into it, and to a person, they all said no. “Just the opposite,” most would say, citing what a turn-on it was to see their spouse with someone else. “It was like watching a very sexy play or movie,” some would say. When pressed further, they would say things like, “How can you be jealous when it’s done together, out in the open, where you can’t sneak around or hide it?” or, “If you have jealousy issues, you shouldn’t be swinging. Jealousy would suggest you have a relationship or personal issue that needs to be resolved. We’re here to have fun, not invite unwanted drama into our lives.” One person even told me that if a person is jealous, it means they’re hiding something they don’t like about themselves. I thought the guy initially was full of shit, but a few years later, I found myself revisiting that thought after watching someone close to me implode emotionally over a jealousy issue and now find I’m inclined to believe there’s an element of truth in what that guy said back then.
Despite our initial nervousness, once we got our bearings and figured out the protocol, it turned out to be a fun (and life-changing) night. The people there were friendly, relaxed, and had a sensual/sexual magnetism about them. “Comfortable in your own skin” was a phrase used that night in a variety of ways and many nights since then. The whole house seemed thick with that vibe. Michelle was relaxing so much (maybe it was from the joint we just smoked… who knows?) she allowed a couple to remove her peasant blouse and then let them suck on her nipples while shooting me a sheepish look. I mouthed the words, “Are you OK?” to her, and she smiled a nodded back. When they undid her pants and slid their hands inside, her head arched back so far I thought she was going to fall back and smash her head on the counter behind her, but she managed to stay upright and began rocking slowly from side to side gasping with excitement now and then before grabbing both of them and taking turns kissing them. I was beginning to understand what many of these people had been saying all night. I must have popped off half a roll of film in less than a minute.
I was so turned on I set my camera down, and as I walked over in her direction, I took my clothes off and headed like a laser to where she stood, intent on burying my cock in her pussy. A few feet or so from striking distance, the woman who had been playing with Michelle dropped to her knees, and as she did so, she turned her head to meet my cock with her mouth and let it travel all the way down her throat in one swift move until none of it was visible. I came immediately, and she continued to hold me in until I had completely shot my load. I look up and see Michelle’s eyes were as big as dinner plates but not in a frightened or angry way. It was a look of complete fascination coupled from cumming herself as she was being fingered. When I finally got within reach of her, she, buried her tongue so deep in my mouth, I thought it was going to pop out of my ass hole and lick my butt.
A short time later, we were naked in the pool with about a dozen other people drinking, smoking more pot, groping, and having fun. (Another quick discovery for me that night was that fucking in a pool was not as easy as I had first thought it might be. It took years of practice to enjoy it and keep from drowning my lover and myself in the process.) Michelle was, at one point, getting her pussy filled on the pool deck by our host. I took some great shots of them, then got back in the pool and slid up alongside them. Michelle reached out and took my hand and held on for dear life so she wouldn’t bounce around so much. I kept watching her face looking for panic or fear… it wasn’t there. She looked like she was in some pleasurable trance with her eyes wide open taking everything in. It was amazing to watch them. I didn’t feel the least bit jealous — far from it. She glanced over to me at one point, and I could see in her eyes she was right where she wanted to be at that moment. I felt closer to her than I had ever before. When he finally came and pulled out, she looked at me and smiled while saying, “I think I could get used to this!” causing us to laugh for quite a while the rest of that evening.
It turned out to be one of the greatest nights of our short lives at that point (we were only nineteen when this took place). I learned a great deal more than I expected to and quickly put that newfound knowledge to use once I got home. Many more followed since that weekend. We’ve gone from P.O. Boxes at the Post Office to screen names on the Internet; Key Parties to overpriced Hotel Events, and everything in between, and we still grow and evolve… we always will.
This story was submitted to our SDC Erotic Writing Contest:
"Our First Swinging Experience" by one of our members.
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