You've Come A Long Way, Baby

First published on lifeontheswingset.com - Oct 30, 2015

I spent some time recently reading through some blog posts I wrote early this year. Those memories, plus a few experiences I had this week that have reminded me how far I’ve come in my open relationship adventure.

I was recalling our first swing date with another couple and remembered how freaked out I’d been about being naked in front of people. I wasn’t (as) nervous about the sex; it was really about the nudity. Sex is about doing. I’m good at doing. Nudity is about being. I’m terrible at being. Before becoming non-monogamous, I was rarely naked, even when alone in the house. Especially when alone in the house. Friends often accused me of being like Tobias Fünke (Arrested Development) who was a ‘never nude’ and even showered in jean shorts.

Since we opened our relationship, I’ve become so comfortable being naked. It’s almost effortless to hang out or wander around naked after playtimes, at the local nude beach, or alone in the house. Much of the associated fear and discomfort related to my body has eased, and I enjoy it much more. This is all a good thing, since we’re heading to Desire Resorts in a couple weeks, and I’m assuming I’ll be nude much of the time while I’m there. A year ago, I doubt I could have contemplated such a vacation.

We had a date with one of our wonderful unicorns this week and it was great. Really, really great. At no point did I wish I was alone reading a book or watching Netflix. Since our first, clumsy night together, we’ve really gelled, and our chemistry has gotten better and better. That in itself is interesting because she’s someone we hang out with regularly in a purely platonic fashion. She and I do yoga together weekly, and there’s no flirty spark when we spend time together in that realm–though I did forget myself one time in the change room and laughingly scold her about sending my husband home to me with above-the-collar hickeys. But when we start kissing, and start getting naked, wow are there sparks. It’s a really fun paradox.

My other experience this week was a first sexy-date with a guy I’ve been chatting with for a while and met up for a coffee and a walk last week. We have a really easy banter via text, but both of us are slightly awkward penguins in person. Plus, he’d never been with anyone but his wife; they married young and had had no previous sexual partners. I had no problem being his gateway-slut into the deep end of non-monogamy (in fact, it was quite a buzzy thrill to get to be that person), but wow, was it ever awkward.

I think one of the main issues was that we’re both pretty submissive (as is his wife, which is why they’ve had trouble clicking sexually). I can take charge a bit, especially to initiate things, but generally during sex, I like to be told what to do, or at least, enthusiastically encouraged what to do. So with him being completely in his head and freaked out because every single thing we were doing he’d only ever done with his wife, and me trying not to go too fast or too far, happy to ‘ruin’ him but not wanting to break him, it wasn’t the smoothest ride.

I’m definitely willing to give it a few more shots, though. I remember that ‘deer in headlights’ feeling I had when I started getting down with new partners, and I’m willing to step-up and attempt to be more dominant with him to see if he relaxes more while being bossed around. It’s really not my natural inclination, though, so we’ll have to see how it goes. Maybe it can become something I enjoy–variety is what non-monogamy is all about, after all–but maybe we’ll discover that someone else would suit his needs better. It’s a fascinating place to be in, though, as the ‘experienced’ one, considering that I still feel like such a n00b much of the time.

So as much as it’s galling to quote a cigarette ad from the 70s that exploited feminism to sell ‘slim’ cigarettes to women, it does feel like the an appropriate title and summary. From my first, panicked moments of non-monogamy to becoming the guiding hand (and lips, and pussy) on someone else’s adventure, I have come a long way, baby.

I Only Need What You Can Give - Recalibrating Expectations

I’ve been trying to work out a new approach to my secondary relationships because what I’ve been doing hasn’t been working for me. I spend much of my time riddled with self-doubt and angst--and sometimes bouts of ugly-cry tears--based on the communication whims of my partners. I just can’t do it anymore, nor do I want to.

I feel like I’ve got a couple options as far as response to the communication disparity. I can demand changes of my partners, or I can figure out how to be okay with what I’m getting. If I do the first, things may or may not change in my relationships, so I think I will be served better by the second approach, and that’s what I’m working on.

Being that I’ve been at this open relationship thing for less than a year, it’s difficult to shake the monogamous mind-set of seeing relationships as having to be a certain way or they have to end. Non-monogamous relationships don’t have to follow that model because none of my partners have to be everything to me. Accepting them for who they are and what they have to give me will free me from much of the angst I’ve been experiencing when communication doesn’t look the way it does in my ideal scenario.

Part of this shift in mindset comes from radical acceptance. I was messaging with a long-distance partner with whom I wanted to video chat/masturbate together, but it’s not really his thing. He was careful to make it clear that it wasn’t just me he didn’t want to do that with, and I had a very clear moment when I realized that even if it was only me he didn’t want to do that with, it would still be okay.

Of course, I would love to be special in my partners’ eyes. I would love it if they thought of me as often as I think of them, but it’s truly okay if they don’t. And my acceptance is not meant to be an acceptance of being treated poorly. I have a history of being a doormat, but this isn’t coming from a belief that I don’t deserve better. None of my partners are treating me poorly, they simply aren’t as chatty as I am, and don’t tend to initiate conversations as often as I do.

When I’m in a healthy headspace, I can see that for what it is--they’re busy, they don’t feel the need to connect as often as I do--but when my overly anxious or depressed brain is calling the shots, the message I hear is that I’m unimportant, merely a convenient set of holes they use when they’re horny and ignore when they’re not.

By recalibrating my dependence on the external stimulus of text messages for affirmation, I’m hoping to take away some of the power my illness can hold over me, much like my ‘I love you’ tattoo does--well, brain, you’re telling me I’m worthless, and that my friends and family wouldn’t even feel a loss if I wasn’t around, but when I was healthy, I took the time to get these words inked into my skin, so I’m going to believe them rather than you.

Thinking about love was the other part of what spurred me to thinking about a change in mindset. I’m not currently in love with any partners other than my husband, but I’ve worried that I might fall in love with one of them, and they might not love me back. I have in the past developed feelings quickly and intensely, so this has felt like a real risk. But I’ve come to realize that although it would be nice to have someone reciprocate those feelings, I don’t need that. My love wouldn’t have to be a selfish love that depended on being returned. I could simply love someone because I did, and I could enjoy loving them, and that could be enough.

As luck would have it, after pondering this topic all day at work, I heard from one of my partners that he needed to take a break from our physical relationship. He’s going through some things and needed some time to figure it out. I was able to freely and honestly tell him that it was just fine, that I was available if he wanted to chat, and that all I want from him is what he’s able to give.

All that said, I also need to figure out when I need to back away if something isn’t serving me well, when investing in a relationship that causes me more pain than joy isn’t in my best interest. In an ideal situation, I’ll be so zen that I won’t feel the pain, but I know that’s not realistic.  I’ve come to realize how one-sided one of my relationships is and I think I need to put on the brakes. I’ve had warning signs since the beginning that it wasn’t going to be a super-smooth ride, but I blithely ignored the negatives thanks to the sense-altering buzz of New Relationship Energy (NRE). I don’t feel like I need to give up the relationship entirely, just recalibrate my expectations of what I want out of it, as well as how much time and effort I’m willing to put into it.

It’s hard, though, because when things have been good, it’s been really good, and I let myself get swept up in a lovely world of make-believe where we get closer and closer. I think we may have reached our limit of closeness, though, and I know that with time, I will be okay with that. I’ve got some awkward and painful days ahead of me as I get to the other side and grieve the relationship I thought we had/were building. Once I’m through the hurt, I will come to embrace the one we’ve got.

This is a pattern I’m doomed to repeat if I don’t get myself sorted. I’ve already been through it once, and fuck, did that ever suck. I was heartbroken and miserable, and also felt incredibly guilty that my husband had to watch me going through that over another guy. I’m hoping that this time won’t be as bad because I know what I’m in for. It sucks though. I really like him. But I don’t have to stop liking him, I don’t even need to stop crushing on him. I just need to ditch any expectations I had of this becoming more than a casual thing.

Grieve the fantasy, embrace the reality. My new mantra.

Getting to Open - Part 2

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Getting To Open: A Non-Monogamy Origin Story

(First published on Life on the Swingset)

Let's blame it on Dan Savage -- or more accurately, send him a thank you pie -- that Flick and I opened our relationship less than a year ago. We'd had 21 years of mostly successful monogamy, but after seeing a live recording of the Savage Lovecast last October, we started discussing our relationship and what we wanted it to look like in a way we never had before.

We were in a really great place in our relationship, celebrating 18 years of marriage and having better sex than we'd had in many years, perhaps ever. There'd been the usual miscellaneous ups and downs in our partnership, and we’d had a few years of lacklustre lovin', a common occurrence in long-term partnerships, but due to a variety of reasons, we had over the previous year, come together better than ever.

Partly, it was due to me being in my 40s and coming into a confidence I hadn't dreamed of in my younger years. I'd been incredibly insecure in my 20s and it had been hard to own my sexuality. I'd had a few bisexual adventures, with Flick’s consent to explore outside our marriage, but other than admitting my attraction to women, I just couldn’t step up and announce what I wanted in sex, though admittedly, I don’t think I knew myself. In my 30s, I'd essentially tried to shut down my sexual self after an indiscretion of the non-ethical kind had come to light, and I’d slut-shamed myself into turning off all but the essentials, even long after Flick had forgiven me and moved on. I backtracked all our baby steps into exploring kink and other more adventurous sexual play so that I could be the good wife I thought I should be.

Fast forward 10 years of hairshirt-wearing good behaviour and I slowly found myself again. I saw my doctor and a couple Psychiatrists, and learned that I wasn’t just high strung, but had Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Figuring that out, and getting some treatment, let me label the constant worry about how Flick might react to my sexual desires and get some distance from the debilitating thoughts. Slowly, I was able to be a complete person again, a person with a sex drive that wasn't abnormal or deviant, but that was a healthy, essential part of her.

Sitting in the theatre at the live podcast listening to Dan and Dr. Lori Brotto discuss studies that showed the key to long term couples' sexual happiness was sexual adventure, I knew Flick and I had to shake things up. What kind of adventures could we have?

Public sex was the first thing I thought of. I’d recently read an article in the local queer weekly newspaper about a sex club operating downtown. I’d had no idea that such a thing existed, but now that I knew, I really wanted to go and get fucked in front of an audience. I’m a raging exhibitionist, but it has to be in an appropriate setting (Hey, anxiety!), and a sex club was the perfect combo of both appropriate and public.

High on both of our lists was a threesome with another woman. I'd really wanted that to happen when I was doing my bisexual explorations in my 20s, but the women I'd played with were partnered and our guys weren’t into the tradesies proposal I put forth. I’d had no idea how else to find someone (this was back in the mid 90s when internet dating wasn’t the default setting).

Shortly after we started discussing various options, I had a work trip out of the country for a week. While I was away, Flick told me about a hot, flirty Brazilian woman he'd met at the conference he was attending.

“Ooh, I'm sad you didn't score and tell me all about it," I messaged.

"O.o"

":D"

"I didn't know that was on the menu," Flick answered.

"I hadn't realized until recently, but it is," I replied.

In that moment, I didn’t feel the sick dread I'd always felt when a hot woman flirted with him. Gone was that ever-present sense of she's so much hotter/sexier/prettier/more fun/wilder/buxom than me. He'd be crazy not to leave me for her. All I felt was arousal and giddy excitement that he could have an awesome adventure, and that I could get all the vicarious details. I hadn't heard the term ‘compersion’ at that point but I was feeling it. I was feeling it right then and also later on as I lay in bed grinding against my vibrator and imagining the possibilities. Oh was I feeling it!  

The hot Brazilian woman no longer felt like a threat because I'd come into owning my awesomeness. Flick could go have an adventure, but then he’d come home to me. He’d be crazy not to.

When I returned home we fucked like crazy -- the other thing good for the sex lives of long-term couples: separate vacations. We planned our next move, booking New Year's tickets at a local swing club my one openly open friend recommended, and we started talking threesome.

(To be continued)

The Incredibly Wet Journey

I had no idea until very recently that I am a squirter. It wasn’t something that had ever come up in partnered sexual experiences or solo play. When I’d heard it talked about, I figured it was something that you either could or couldn’t do, like rolling your tongue (can’t) or liking cilantro (also can’t, yuck! why would you sprinkle soap on your food?!). If it was something I was capable of, you’d have thought it would have come up at some point in the previous twenty-six years of my sex life.

The change began (along with so many awesome thing in my sex life) with Dan Savage. I was getting my perve, er, education on listening to his Savage Lovecast and heard one Cooper S. Beckett chatting about swinging. This led me to track down the Life on the Swingset Podcast, and his book My Life On the Swingset: Adventures in Swinging and Polyamory, where I read the epic tales of the njoy Eleven dildo.  I must have it!, I thought and rushed to the njoy website, where I discovered the price tag. I must have the less expensive model!, I thought, seconds later, and hauled out my credit card to order the Pure Wand.

I really just thought I was ordering an awesome new toy. I have a decent toy collection but I’m always excited to try things that come highly recommended, and when I held the cool metal curve of the Pure Wand in my hands about a week later, I had no idea what I was in for (or I’d have put down some towels).

Within about 5 minutes of using the toy, I felt an irresistible need to bear down against it, and then felt a crazy sensation as fluid started gushing out of me. It wasn’t anything like a clitoral orgasm, but it felt really nice, and really wet. “Holy Shit! I just squirted!” was the text that went out to my husband and the fella I was sexting at the time. After I stripped my sheets to launder, I was back online to order a waterproof Liberator Fascinator Throe to protect surfaces from my new skill.

Things progressed from me ejaculating only with the Pure Wand to it happening with other toys with any sort of g-spot curve to them. Then an intrigued play partner got very inquisitive with his long fingers and made me gush repeatedly one evening. The more it happened, the more likely it seemed to happen, and I started packing a Throe with me anytime I had a date outside the house, as well as ordering a second one to cover the couch when I had dates at home (much easier than having to haul it with me from room to room).

Once I figured out what it felt (and sounded) like just before, I started getting a little too results-focused and that would often kill any potential release. Relaxing, and enjoying the build of sensations was much more effective in getting me there. I’ve also had partners who’re entirely too fascinated with my ability and hammer away relentlessly at my poor g-spot until I’m begging for mercy (and left pretty sore the next day).

Recently, there seems to be a cascade effect that happens, much like multiple orgasms. If a toy or a partner has set me off a few times, I start having deep waves of spasm and continue to fountain with only clitoral stimulus, or sometimes, without any stimulus at all. It’s starting to feel more profoundly pleasurable as well, regularly causing me to burst into a bout of hysterical laughter or tears related to the intense release.

Occasionally, I’ve gone off unexpectedly, like when Hot Mama was fucking me with her lovely Feeldoe and got hosed down as we played in a club one night. I’d thought that the curved shape of dildo or fingers was an essential part of stimulating the Skene’s glands to produce the fluid until this week when I was being thoroughly fucked (for the third(!) time that afternoon) by a delightful young partner (with almost no refractory period), and I went off like a geyser all over him. It was the first time I’ve squirted in response to good old-fashioned PIV, and it looks like I’m going to have to make sure I warn future partners that it’s a possibility.

And perhaps buy stock in Liberator, since I’m probably going to want to order a few more Throes.

Scheduling Woes

Scheduling is possibly the most complicated thing about my open relationship, and very likely, it's the same across most open relationships. Between working a couple jobs, hobbies, appointments, my husband's dates, and social events with our 'mundane' friends, trying to schedule my dates is an exercise in juggling and judicious use of a shared google calendar.

Add the spouses and partners of said dates into the equation, it’s amazing anyone ever gets laid.

So when the spouse of one of my partners doesn’t co-operate, and insists that he and I only get playdates when she has a date, it adds another level of challenge. When she blows up our date because hers fell through, that’s simply not cool.

When Flick and I decided that solo dating was something we wanted to explore in our opening up process, I’d thought it would be easier to date other people in open relationships because they’d understand a lot of the challenges inherent to the lifestyle. I'd assumed it would go more smoothly, but that isn’t always the case.

I’m pretty adaptable and laid back. In fact, I’m a total pleaser and will bend backwards to make things easier for others. I understand that it’s challenging to plan things, since I’m in the same boat, but after every date with one particular partner has been rescheduled, changed, and/or shortened many times, it starts to feel like it’s not worth the effort. In the past, I’ve just rolled with it, but when the most recent playdate became a maybe-just-drinks date, then a definitely-just-drinks date including the spouse who’d blown up our playdate plans, I’d had enough.

I wasn’t willing to go sit across the table with the person who was fucking with my night and my sex life, and not in the good way. My husband had a date scheduled to come to the house that night, so I needed to clear out for the entire evening. When coffee or a drink was offered in lieu of a night of great sex, I was pissed right off. At least if dinner and a walk was on offer, something that would take a similar amount of time to a playdate, I might have felt differently.

So I opted out. I decided I’d rather spend the evening elsewhere, even if that was by myself having dinner, reading, writing, or whatever, rather than try to make conversation with the two of them when I was hurt and angry. It felt rude to insist that only he and I went out, which was one of his offers, rather than the three of us, so I didn't feel comfortable doing that. It is a bit of a peek into my psyche that despite being hurt and angered by someone else’s selfish demands, I didn’t want to seem selfish or rude to her.

Since I needed to be out of the house, I messaged another fella I’ve been chatting with online and enquired if he’d be able to meet for a drink and a meal. We’d tried a few times to make plans without success--due to complicated scheduling--but he was free that night so we met up and had a lovely first date drinking beer and chatting.

The evening worked out as well as I could have hoped for, but I’m left with a dilemma about future plans with Mr. Yoyo. I’m trying to decide if it’s worth the effort of making plans when nearly every one of our dates so far has had to be changed. He and I have had some really hot, satisfying sex, and we have had good times hanging out platonically on our own, and with our spouses as a foursome. I don’t want to throw away the friendship with a couple who is open and understands living a bit of a double life, but I’m not sure if it’s worth continuing the sexual relationship when I’m often left feeling fairly disposable.

Yet I also feel torn because she’s his wife, his primary, and her needs should be most important to him. I want my needs to be most important to my husband as well, and I know if I needed him, I could ask him to cancel his date, but I’d only use that in an extreme circumstance. I think that she takes advantage of this primacy by using her veto for non-emergency situations. I know she is not completely comfortable with his dating, despite their having been open since the beginning of their relationship, but I think she needs to be in or out. Agreeing, then messing with his dates doesn’t seem like the loving thing to do.

And if it only affected my date and I, that would be one thing, but in open relationships, one cancelled date can cascade down a line affecting multiple people. Mrs. Yoyo’s date falls through, cancelling Mr. Yoyo & me. If I’d done the same, that would have affected Flick and his date Hot Mama, which would have affected her husband and so on.

I understand that there are complicated feelings related to your spouse dating and fucking other people. Just because I get a lot of compersion from setting up the bedroom for Flick--making sure the bed is made up with the Liberator Throe; condoms and lube in easy reach; clean towels in the bathroom--it doesn’t mean I’m immune to jealousy over knowing he’s having really special experiences without me. I feel it and accept it as part of the price of living the amazing, fulfilling life we share. A price I gladly pay.

There's a good chance I need to make sure I only play with partners whose spouses/primaries feel the same way.

Hands Off!

I'm a big fan of touch. In fact, I like touch so much, I touch people for a living. I'm a hugger. I love getting my hair washed at the salon, I love spa treatments and massage therapy. I love my body touching other bodies when we chat, when we dance, when we fuck. I even enjoy the occasional inappropriately close brush of a body against mine in a busy nightclub or bar. But even if we've been incredibly intimate previously, I don't want you touching me intimately if I haven't given you permission in that specific situation!

And I really hate that I'm going to have to use my words to make that clear. Using my words is hard!


I'm a conflict avoider from way back. Making things tidy and easy (for everyone else) is what I do best. It's probably partially due to my anxiety - taking responsibility for everything regardless of whose responsibility it really is, coupled with not really believing that I deserve to ask to be treated the way I want to be treated. As a woman, I've been socialized to defer to men, to let their needs be more important than mine (there are potentially violent ramifications to non-compliance with that patriarchal trope, which has been made even more clear over the past year and more with the rampant online misogyny, but I probably digress).

So why is it so hard for me to tell someone not to touch me like that? Maybe I feel guilty because although we'd played previously, I'm not really into doing it again, and I haven't ovaried up to telling him that reality. And his lack of appropriate boundaries isn't a small part of that lack of desire to let him back in my pants.

I really like his partner and would be very happy to have a friendship with the two of them. They're cool and interesting and great to talk to about the lifestyle, but I'm leery of putting myself within hands reach.