WARNING: This story contains explicit descriptions of sex. It is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.
I had a strange time with my sexuality growing up. I developed really early; I was that girl who suddenly scored the hot, sticky interest of every boy in her primary school because she came back from summer holidays wearing real bras while all her friends were still in crop tops.
But I also enthusiastically discovered the joys of masturbation really young too, in my bath tub, alone, using the water from the shower head to come to a bubbly climax. So as far as I was concerned, I didn’t really need boys. Sure, some of them were cute, and I was flattered when they wanted to talk to me, but only one really caught my eye – and even he was only interesting to me as a friend.
His name was Hector. He was into the same things as me – Star Wars, video games, and yes, enthusiastic masturbation. We got drunk together at 16, and I got him to show me his cock. It was the first one I had seen outside of porn. It was long; thick; beautiful. I kissed it once, right on the tip, and felt the wet smack of what I would later learn was pre-cum. That was as far as we went. I told him I was tired, and pretended to drift off while he lay next to me. He started beating his dick as soon as he thought I was asleep. I did wonder if he was thinking of me as he did it – but even then, I knew he was my friend, nothing more.
Over the next few years, Hector and I were both unlucky in love. Despite my libido, I was shy, and had a hard time connecting with guys. Hector was the same. He dated with his cock, which meant he’d hang on to relationships long after they should have come to an end, if the sex was good enough. He would date guys too – he dated one American boy long-distance for five years. But everything always fell apart in the end.
One day, after a particularly bad break-up, Hector came around to my place. We both got trashed. At one point, slurring his words, he suggested that we try fucking. We got on so well in all other parts of our life; why didn’t we try that? But I was worried – frightened that sex might ruin our friendship. He practically deflated right there in the bed. So, desperate to boost his mood, I suggested we try something different. Why didn’t we go to a swinger’s club? That way we could fuck if not together, then side by side. Maybe, if the feeling took us, we could give each other a little head. Hector enthusiastically agreed.
A few days later, we went. I was surprisingly nervous. I didn’t know what it was going to be like; who was going to be there. What if everyone else was gross? So consider me genuinely surprised when I discovered the inside of the swinger’s club was warm; inviting. There were animal print cushions thrown around the room; condom dispenser machines; tubes of lube; and there, in the middle of the room, an inviting, sparkling sex swing.
Neither Hector nor I needed prompting. He found himself an older couple – two women, in their mid-to-late 30s. Within moments, one was giving him head, while the other straddled his face. And I stripped off and sat on the swing, my nipples rock hard, making uninterrupted eye contact with a young, shy-looking blonde woman sitting across from me and touching herself while I went back and forth, inching towards climax.
This is what I discovered in that swinger’s club. Not that Hector was secretly the man of my dreams, but that I was the woman of my own dreams.
Maybe this all sounds gross to you. I can imagine how it might. It sounds depraved, I suppose. Maybe a happier version of this story would end with Hector and I fucking; with us discovering that we desperately love one another; that we couldn’t bear to live without the other person.
But that’s not what happened. Hector and I did fuck that night, briefly, after he was done with his couple, and I was done with the swing. We did it doggy. He entered me gently, his exhale hot on my back; one free hand rubbing my clit. But before long, we found we got distracted. I caught the eye of the hot shy blonde while Hector was in me, and, sensing an opportunity, she came over and spread herself before me. I began eating her out; noticing as a long, red, beautiful rash of excitement began spreading over her stomach. And Hector, rather than get involved, stood back slowly and watched, a smile across his face.
This is what I discovered in that swinger’s club. Not that Hector was secretly the man of my dreams, but that I was the woman of my own dreams. That I could be the beautiful, sexualised goddess part of me had always wanted to be since teenagehood. And I think Hector felt something similar. I saw it, flashing in his eyes.
We stayed for hours. I was giddy with myself; giddy with the hot scent of sex. Someone had come on my chest; a woman, one half of Hector’s couple, was eating it off me, taking long licks of my skin as she did so. It was all skin, all around me; every inch of it warm, and wet, and throbbing, and wanting. And, for the first time in my life, I felt it: pure, uninterrupted contentment.
