My young wife's first excursion outside the limits of our marriage happened with my full knowledge and encouragement. It was wild, it was exciting. We were scared to death but too hot to care. The risk to a young career naval officer and his darling wife was immense. If we were discovered in our irresistably immoral private adventures we would be ruined. The danger was part of the thrill.
It was the mid 70's and we had been toying with the "wife swapping" idea for a year or two. Every since we'd been approached by another couple to just simply trade wives for the night. Shocked, shocked I say. We shyly demurred but the seed of recreational infidelity had been planted. It germinated and sprouted in our pillow talk over the next several months. Then on a business trip to New York City, I picked up a couple of issues of the popular "swinger magazines" filling one shelf of a sleazy store in the Times Square area. "Select" and "Choice", I think were their titles. That was the major medium for meeting others with similar urges before the internet.
We pored over the ads from others traveling ahead of us on the path to this exciting ruination. They didn't seem to be guilt-ridden sinners or hell bent hedonists. They looked just like us but wearing a lot less clothes and obviously having a lot more fun.
We carefully crafted a brief ad, twenty five words or less. Chose an anonymous picture of Karen, showing all her best parts-and she has some really good best parts-but with her face descretely turned away. Pictures were the hard part, we didn't want pictures that would pass before the eyes of the high school girl working part-time at PhotoMat. Polaroid was our saviour.
We fucked like bunnies at every step of the way. Read some ads-fuck. Take some pictures-fuck. Write some ad copy-fuck. Pick out a picture-fuck. Who ever said "getting there is half the fun" doesn't know the half of it. We finally went public. Once we dropped that envelope in the mail slot at the post office, we were in for a penny. The pound would take weeks of sweaty-palmed waiting. No IM or e-mails in those days. Sin took time. We spent the time fucking.
In all our talk, we were hoping to meet another couple about our age, and like us, just starting into the swinging lifestyle. Someone with whom we could be genuine friends and hopefully more. We had considered all our friends and had even made some tentative moves with two or three of the couples we socialized with. We didn't see much chance in that crowd.
One of the husbands, Jerry, had tried a couple of times to get into Karen's pants. She had even submitted to some really heavy petting with him at a party during the time we were putting our swinging ad together. She quickly reported back to me and I tried to cut Jerry's wife Sheila out of the herd of wives collected in the kitchen of the house party we were attending that night. Sheila was a very attractive little blond and, if we were going to trade wives, I'd trade for her any day. No dice. She was not even slightly interested.
Later that night, in bed, Karen told me that she would have eagerly fucked Jerry's brains out but didn't want to do anything that would leave me out. I related my dry run on Sheila and Karen was not at all surprised. They were casual friends and the sense was that Sheila was very up-tight. Maybe even frigid. I confirmed to Karen for the umteenth time that if she had the chance to get something going with a guy on her own, it was alright with me. Not a jealous bone in my body.
Our entry into extra marital sex got an unexpected start at a formal military dinner and dance the Saturday night after we had sent our salacious ad in to the magazine. Dinner dress white and long gowns. The men were all handsome in their starched colared uniforms. Gold buttons and braid complementing the dime sized dinner medals hanging on colorful ribbons. The women were all beautiful. Karen was the most beautiful woman there. Her pale cream dress set off her lustrous dark hair and late summer tan. Cleavage? My girl had the Grand Canyon of all cleavage yawning below the tiny diamond pendant I had given her for the occasion.
The dinner over, brandy and cigars dutifully enjoyed, the dancing began. Karen was in great demand as a dance partner so she hadn't disappeared more than a couple of minutes when I noticed. About five minutes later she appeared in the open french doors leading to the dimly lit veranda. Making a bee line to me she dragged me onto the dance floor.
"That Jerry!" She said in apparent exasperation. "He just won't leave me alone."
"I should have known. Want me to say something to him?"
"Huh uh. I like it. He just kissed me."
Karen had had at least two glasses of wine with dinner and I had stood in line at the bar to get her two cocktails since the dancing had started. I didn't how many drinks her admirers had been able to slip to her. We were having fun.
A couple hours later the lights had dimmed. The music had gotten louder. The large room was smokey and warm. Karen was missing again. I saw her briefly on the veranda. Then she was missing again.
Karen came up to me from behind. "Let's dance." She said.
.... There is more of this story ...