We are at the beach with our extended family. Kids are running about. Grandparents are resting on the deck. Siblings are floating in and out. A bucolic week on the shore.
Except that Mr. D. is quietly texting five local couples. We are holding out hope that one might come through and be available to go out on a night when the stars align and we can slip away for a few hours.
“Where are you going?” the relatives ask.
“Why not go out with your brother and his wife?”
“What is there to do on a Tuesday night?”
We struggle between giving enough information to satisfy curiosity and not giving so much information that we dig ourselves into a hole.
We feel like we are sixteen, sneaking out for some late night fun. I wear what feels like a very conservative skirt and top, with a lacy thong underneath. Mr D. asks me to place his sex kit of condoms and lube in my purse as we make our exit.
The secret lives of swingers. And really, the thrill of the secret is part of the fun in such situations. It makes life exciting.”Don't wait up!” we say as we make our way out the door.
