Chapter 8: Swingers

I called Lyle to see when we could get together with them again, suggesting that we liked all five of them ‘a lot’ and wanted them in our circle of close friends. I didn’t elaborate more than that, since they might not be inclined to engage someone in intimate ways outside of their own circle.

In my research about threesomes and moresomes I’d learned that there were an almost infinite number of arrangements that three or more people practiced when in a relationship with one another. The general term was polyamory – a group of people who loved each other. Some groups were chaste, and others engaged in sex. Bisexuality was an option for both men and women. Some groups did not engage in sex outside the group, others did, and sometimes with various restrictions the group agreed.

Lyle seemed ecstatic that I called, and told me that all five of them felt the same way about us. We planned a communal dinner for an upcoming weekend.

Saturday we made our pilgrimage to the picturesque town of Dillon and the Henson home as usual for dinner. We carefully orchestrated our arrival, staging when each of us arrived at the front door. Ally and Sheila hung back at the car, fussing with some warm dishes in the back of the car that we brought to share in the dinner meal.

Fran went inside first, greeted her mother, and then planted a lip lock on Dave that made his hair curl and probably gave him toe spasms. She even did a cute little thing with her hips that I knew signaled that she wanted sex in the worst way. I caught the end of the kiss as I came through the door.

Jean met me and I realized she had planned for my arrival. We started a very passionate French kiss that continued for well over a minute as our tongues danced in each other’s mouth and our hips ground together. This time I was a full and eager participant with her, and I’m sure she got the message that I wanted to engage more with her.

When we broke apart, she fanned her face with one hand. She mumbled, “Wow, that was hot. I could do with a few more of those.”

In that instant, Sheila and Ally came through the front door carrying the casserole dishes from the car. Any further action with Dave or Jean ceased at that point. Later, Fran and I would explain to our cohorts what had happened and what we felt.

From that point on, Fran hung out with her dad, and I stayed close to Jean, engaging her in conversation or telling her how appreciative of her meal efforts we all were. A few times when I was close to her, I subtly touched her shoulder or arm. Conversely, I felt a number of touches from her on my own body, and as I think back on it, some weren’t all that subtle.

At one point I was sitting on the kitchen counter. Jean came up to me, standing between my knees; she looked up at me and ran a finger down my cheek. She gestured that I should lean forward. I did and we kissed again, bringing to a boil any nearby liquids. When we parted, Jean’s eyes were closed and she appeared off in fantasyland.

As we slowly drew apart, I used one of my fingers to stroke down her cheek, continuing slowly along her neck, and then down across her upper chest right to the V that her dress formed between her breasts. I then ran my finger back and forth along the sides of the V, occasionally pulling the material away from her body by an inch or two.

I whispered to her, “Too much? Want me to stop touching you?”

Jean moved away finally. She whispered, “Not one bit, and no, it’s not too much; it’s not nearly enough.” She paused and added, “Careful, you’ll give me some dreams that’ll keep me awake and stimulated in an erotic way all night.”

I allowed, “Me too; such lovely fantasies to dwell on. Maybe we should make them a reality someday soon.” On that note, I hopped off the counter and strolled out of the kitchen just as Sheila and Ally came in to help serve the meal. I didn’t look back to see the look on Jean’s face.

I found Fran and Dave in the other room sitting tightly side-by-side on the sofa looking through a photo album. One of Fran’s hands moved slowly up and down Dave’s nearest thigh, often coming dangerously close to his groin. He had an arm around her shoulders, and was using a finger to stroke her opposite ear and neck – obvious erogenous zones, and areas I knew made Fran exceptionally horny and sexually responsive. I thought they made a cute tableau.

Without batting an eye, I said to them, “What’s in the old album, anything a new boyfriend might be interested in seeing?”

Dave didn’t miss a beat. He turned the album towards me. “Take a look. Here are pictures of Fran and Sheila back a few years when they were cheerleaders at Dillon High School. Ally’s standing in a couple of them, too.”

I looked and was impressed with my girls. They were easy to spot, and each had that look of innocence and awe about the world to them. They were invincible. I think they’re still that way, at least to me.

“That’s cool. Sometime I’d like to scan some of their old photos onto my computer so we can recall them and share them.”

Dave lit up, “That’s a great idea. Maybe I’ll do that. I could email them to you as well as their aunts and uncles when I am through. As you can tell, many of them predated the age of digital photography. Look at the front of the album.”

I flipped to the first couple of pages. “Wow, this is Jean. Is she pregnant with Ally in these shots, because I see a very young Sheila and Fran?”

“Excellent guess, and quite correct. I’m guessing when the photo was taken she had two or three more months before Ally was born.

I studied the photographs. Jean was stunning even pregnant – especially pregnant – she was adorable and looked so loveable. I could easily have fallen in love with her then, as I felt warmth and compassion about her now. She’d truly only gotten better with age.

“Jean is beautiful.”

“I’ve always thought so, but her first husband didn’t think of her that way.” Dave chortled.

“His loss, our gain.”

From behind me, Jean’s voice surprised me, “You guys can be my fan club. It’s nice to hear you talk about me as beautiful in the present tense. I don’t always see myself that way.”

I took her hand and pulled Jean to me as she came deeper into the room, “Yes, you’re beautiful.” I gestured to the photo album, “Maybe more today than back then. I love mature women, and that’s why I love your daughters. They each have a genuine maturity about them that doesn’t dampen their enthusiasm for life. They obviously get that from you.”

Jean kissed me on the lips; however, it was a short peck of a kiss. “Oh, you are a flatterer. If I didn’t know better, I’d think ... Well, you don’t need to know what I think right now.”

I stood and gave her a peck on the cheek and a hug.

Sheila and Ally came into the room from the kitchen. “We’re ready everybody.”

The six of us sat down at the dinner table. Jean was at one end of the table and Dave at the other. I was to Jean’s right. We’d just started to eat when I felt a bare foot rub up my left leg. I looked over at Jean and smiled benignly. On and off for the rest of the meal, we played footsie under the table. From the occasional looks I got; I think she was really getting off on the subtle game.

Dave and I did clean-up, a relatively easy chore since most of the work involved rinsing dishes and putting them in a dishwasher. Dave packaged up the leftovers and put them in the refrigerator.

The girls and I got our coats and went to say goodbye. Jean jumped up from her chair and pulled me into a large hug right in front of Dave. Over her shoulder I gave him a ‘What can I do about this?’ look, but he didn’t seem at all concerned. Just as we broke from our hug and goodbye kiss, I saw Fran repeating the goodbye gesture on Dave out of the corner of my eye. After her departing kiss, Ally and Sheila moved in for kisses, just not quite as sexually aggressive.

In the car on the way home, we compared notes. It turned out that there were two games of footsie being played at the dinner table, and other than the deep kisses and a couple of obtuse comments, nothing else was notable about the visit. We did laugh and speculate about the senior Hensons.

Ally stopped us cold with a supposition. “Do you think our parents are swingers, and that’s why they’re so open, and why they don’t seem to care when they see each other making out with someone else? They even seemed to enjoy watching each other kiss Fran and Steve, although it was hard to read the looks on their faces, and they each warmed up to our coming back at them without much effort.”

There was a long silence, and I could tell that Fran and Sheila were digesting that idea. After about a minute, Sheila recounted, “You know when I was a senior in high school, we were all out at parties or sleepovers, but I got to feeling bad and so I went home. When I banged around coming into the house, maybe around nine p.m., mom, dad, and Mr. and Mrs. Whitter were all upstairs in the master bedroom. By the time, I called up that I was home and got upstairs they were all standing around in their bedroom, and Mom was talking about redecorating or something like that. I blew off the whole thing ... except ... now that you mention it, the bed was a mess and Mom and Dad never leave the bed that way. I remember thinking it was odd, but I went to my room and went to bed.”

Fran nodded, “I had a similar experience. When we were juniors the school had a power failure and they released all of us a couple of hours early. Sheila, I think you went off to be with your friend Jackie, and I went home. When I got there, mom and Hank Davis were there alone. Mom looked disheveled, and Mr. Davis wasn’t wearing any socks, a point that bothered me for some reason. As I play that back that afternoon, I wonder...”