A Polyamorous Woman Arrives at Her First Swinger Party

It’s now 4.30 in the morning.  I have been home from the party for about half an hour or so and have far too much in my head to even think of sleeping.

Let’s back up.  All week I had been on pins and needles about attending Guy’s swing party.  But I was not going to back out.  I wanted to meet his friends, and I needed to know if I could accept this part of who he is.

Guy had recently asked to be called my boyfriend instead of just “the new guy”.  To me, “boyfriend” has always come with the connotation of being “in love” and being blinded by new relationship energy. And I am neither.  I will admit that I do have strong feelings for him and had already begun to think of him in that context; but I don’t have blinders on. Perhaps because I got to know him online over a few months before our first date, I see him more clearly.  Or perhaps, I have been holding back because I was not sure if I could honestly accept the swinging part of his life.  If I could not accept that side of him, a long-term romantic relationship would not work And in order for me to even see if I could accept swinging, I needed to understand it.

Guy and his wife tried to prep me as best as they could. He talked to me about what the physical layout would be (i.e. social area, public area with toys laid out, private bedroom), gave me a run down on who he expected to be there, even tried to help with my most worrisome question – what to wear.

Now one would that think that going into a completely foreign situation, what I am wearing shouldn’t be the most important of questions. But I see clothes as costumes reflecting who we are or who we wish to be. It is the facade that the world sees. I am usually extremely good at masking to fit in with those around me. I have to be – polyamory, actually any non-monogamy is frowned upon in our society and I will not have the kids ostracized for something over which they have absolutely no control. Growing up is hard enough without having ones parents to worry about as well. Plus, let’s face it, I love costumes.

Guy’s wife suggested my (mini-)kilt, a shirt, knee socks and sneakers. I kiddingly added “ponytails and glasses”; which she thought to be a splendid idea. Great, I’m back in grade school being the geeky outcast, or perhaps, the wet dream of someone wanting to play daddy.  After careful consideration and an unplanned shopping trip, I found something that was cute, fashionable and had my daughter’s seal of approval, “Oh, mom you could so wear that clubbing!”

So armed with information and stylishly dressed, I started out. The 40 minute drive seemed a lot longer than it should have.  During that time, I: called home twice for reassurance (I can usually fake confidence or make small talk with just about anyone, but I do have social anxiety); listened to a Garrison Keller skit about an overbearing mother (one to which I could easily relate); and finally, deciding I needed to simply relax, threw in some industrial dance music.

Guy had asked me to come early to help set up, though there was really nothing left to do.  Perhaps he just wanted to spend some time getting me acclimated to the situation before everyone else arrived or perhaps, he just wanted to see me without all of the other distractions. Regardless, it was nice to be able to meet his co-hosts and have a glass (or two) of wine before everyone arrived.

I staked out a spot on a futon in the social area and watched while people arrived. I was introduced to all of them either by Guy or by simply being in that area.  Everyone was extremely friendly.  It was in that moment that I had my first epiphany of the evening (yes there were several), “It was all so NORMAL.”  It was absolutely normal party behavior; a group of people getting together and being social. It was almost as if they could have flipped on a movie or fired up a barbeque.  I am not sure what exactly I had expected, but it wasn’t that the people would be so normal. All in all there were about 10 couples there as well as 2 single females and me.

They were dressed nicely.  Many of the women wore stockings. Guy’s misses was the only one in what could be considered fetish wear (corset). But it was not so much as them dressing to look sexy so much as wearing something that made them FEEL sexy  (epiphany number 2).

After awhile, many people went downstairs, something about knot tying instructions.  I stayed for a while, chatting with those that remained. At one point I got up to go the bathroom and could hear a woman through the wall moaning in orgasmic pleasure.

“Ok Zoe,” I thought, “put on your big girl panties and go downstairs and see what people are up to.” That in itself is a strange expression since I very rarely wear panties at all.  So when Guy’s co-host came upstairs for water, I followed him down.

This seems a good place to break for sleep.  More thoughts to come, or is that cum…