Swinger
“My wife is a Cuck queen.”
“Oh really,” I said.
“She likes watching me fuck another woman. It gets her very excited,” V said.
That explained why his wife was fine with the swinging, except for the part involving having sex with other men while V nailed his woman.
At least for the first time, Wifey wasn’t okay. After their first encounter with the couple. “It didn’t go so well,” V said. “We’re taking a break.”
“What was wrong?” I asked, excited to hear the details. It wasn’t every day that I got to ask what went down in a couple swap sex.
“She didn’t like the guy,” he said.
Agreed. Swinging is a couple things. It was hard to get both sides to like each other. V might like the woman and the man might like V’s wife but that didn’t mean that Vic’s wife might like the man and the other man’s woman…you get the gist.
“Even though we had our dinners twice,” V said.
“Where did you find those swingers?” I was beyond curious.
“Usually, Tinder or X,” he said. “I talk to the guy and we share pics of our wives or partners and chat about them.”
Okay. That was weird. Felt like it was old-fashioned bartering. Their wives commodities to bait and use.
Ever since H and I started yolo-ing, we knew objectification was part of the game. He took pics of me and told me to post those sexy pics on Ashely Mad, Insta, Tinder, Bumble, and so on.
I was his Hotwife. He enjoyed seeing the guys have hots for me. All wanting a piece of his delicious wife’s booty. It felt good. Knowing he owned me and they could only get a taste of it because he said it was okay.
That was the difference and why he was definitely not a Cuckold, and I wasn’t a NTR wife. Code words like these which two years ago I’d be like — “What?” And now I threw them out like it was a walk in the park.
I had a flasher fetish, I was fine with flaunting. The more eyes on my pics, the more excited I got, the more my ego boosted.
Yes. I loved making people horny. It was an awesome feeling. Watching a person get out of control, to release their inner self. I enjoyed watching them explode and be set free. Their happiness was my happiness. A mass hive of sexual energy flowing through the invisible waves of the Internet or right before my eyes. I ate them all. That delicious sensation of sex.
“I think you need to see a sex therapist,” H said once.
“Why?
“Because that’s all you think of.”
“Not always,” I said and thought about it. “Recently…not always…”
“I think you think about sex more than I do,” said some of my Korean online friends.
Guys in their prime of 24 to 27 years old who should be jerking off every other day but don’t.
“I haven’t had sex in two months,” said one.
“I haven’t had sex in a year,” said another.
“Omg. How do you do that?” I asked.
“I’m not married with a partner,” One sounded irritated.
“Yeah. True…” Still, I couldn’t imagine not having sex even in a month. Not that it wasn’t the case before H and I went yolo. Before, it was possible if we only had sex once a month. One of the benefits of yolo-ing was sex between us was more fun now. Our better bodies, my countless choices of lingerie, and lots of sexy stories to share with one another and talking honestly more of what we each liked in bed.
It has been two years since I yolo-ed, even I would admit I’m slowing down. But, it wasn’t because I was less horny but because I didn’t find the right guys whom I like to have sex with more than once. My search for that long-term FWB seemed never-ending. I couldn’t deny I was envious that the tortoise had won the race.
H was going to vacation with his FWB the coming summer. That was something I wished I could do. Pretend to be dating someone and spending day and night with that person, going for nice meals and touring a new place, having a different life.
Instead of swinging which I digress.
Yes, couple swapping. In retrospect, I was glad we didn’t do it. But, when we first started yolo-ing, H and I didn’t know better. It was the wrong idea that just because there was two of us, there had to be two of someone else’s so we could both have sex with strangers.
We were newbs. I didn’t know better. And so, this was how V hooked us. H and I had just started the dating scene and I met V on Ashley Mad.
He was a half Filipino-Chinese guy who seemed normal enough, and not a bot. And also, not a cheating guy desperate for a fuck or ready to whip out his cock the second I replied.
Before Ashley Mad, I only knew Ometv and my play was online and vid sexing young Korean men thousands of miles across the oceans away.
But the yolo open dating game was changing. H wasn’t into online sex and he was ready to get out and explore. He wanted to meet girls and have fun, in real life. I felt compelled to follow, curious, and very hesitant.
To be honest, I was happy with my flash and run. But curiosity got to me and I wanted to test this new me. I was out of the closet and ready to pounce.
V wasn’t the only one I was chatting with. East Asian guys were my type, and he was half Chinese, close enough for our shared cultures. At that time, my age range was 25-35 years, and the thought of touching guys under twenty-five felt illegal, except for the guys I was playing with online whom I didn’t know how old they were.
And though Ashley had only a handful of guys, I met some and began chatting every day and showing off the pictures that H took. H’s pictures of me were making these guys horny, and we both were excited by the hundreds of followers and likes.
V was a male version of me. Pervert and eager to talk about sex and fantasies, and just like us, he and his wife were open. But unlike us, he was ten years younger and had one year of experience under his belt. He’d been playing with a married white woman and was negotiating his first swinging with another couple — a Latino guy and his Asian wife.
V loved married Milfs, older the better. East Asian Milfs were his drug, and I with my curves was his ultimate fantasy.
Swinging. He loved that because he liked Cuckolding the guy. Threesomes, two guys and one gal was his thing and I was curious about threesomes so we chatted a lot. But swinging needed a woman too and the thought of another woman watching me having sex with her husband was beyond nerve-wrecking.
I couldn’t. I can’t. I didn’t want to. But I was curious and curiosity kills the pussy.
“How was the meet?” I asked. This was the second time V and his wife met another couple, both Asians.
“It was a lot better than the first,” He said.
“Was Wifey okay with the guy?” I asked.
“She and his wife kissed and we watched them, and then the guy kissed Wifey and I played with his wife on the other bed.”
“Woah. It was that close?” If my eyes could grow rounder, they would. Hearing stories like this was a double-edged sword. I wanted to hear but didn’t like the after-taste. Anything with sex was worth listening to. Not sure when I felt that way. Perhaps it was always the case.
“She seemed okay with him. She was watching me and his wife go at it, and then the man came over and we did a threesome.”
“What about Wifey?” I asked.
“She rested and watched us and then washed up,” He said.
“But this is better than before right?” I grinned to myself. “At least she didn’t get close to you and cheered you on — “You can do it! Go, go! You can do it!”
Yes, that’s what she did. V’s wifey did that.
It was hilarious because I was teasing V about how he had his first threesome bucket list checked and he was sulky about it. That was when he confessed that Wifey was cheering him on and telling him to not let the Asians down when he fucked that woman in that threesome.
Just imagining the two guys bridging and V’s wife cheering was pure comedy.
It could have been revenge. I would totally do that to my husband if he made me have sex with a woman and a man just so he could get his threesome fantasy.
“So the second time was okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. We did it for three hours. Still sore from last night.” He boasted.
“Wow. Must have been so fun.” I snickered. “So, when are we going to meet Wifey?”
That was the process. Meet and greet. Wine and dine and then see how it went. If there was a possibility of a good couple match.
To be honest, I didn’t want to do it. Meeting for a meal wasn’t an issue but going that step further, I wasn’t telling the truth to H that I really didn’t want to.
H wanted to try, and he had the hots for V’s wife. V was great at baiting. That was why he was the male version of me.
His Wifey pics and their sex vids was exciting though H would comment not as good as ours. V’s wife had big, juicy boobs like mine, and was the same height as I was, though by far, my ass was bigger than any Asian woman we knew. Still, objectifying compared to the other women H was getting in Ashley and those on the dating apps, V’s wife seemed like a prize.
A game of bait and trade. And that was how V got the first ticket to meet me. My first meet with a real-life guy.
The day came when we’d meet. I was nervous. I’d no intention of going beyond a chat and maybe a touch. It freaked me out that I was contemplating touching someone who wasn’t my husband. It was one to promise, flirt, and to do all those dirty things to someone in a screen because I could easily slam that laptop down and cut off all contact.
“Can you get me a bottle of water?” I texted V as I pulled into a parking lot.
Everything seemed normal enough except I was going to meet a guy whom I’d already shown my nude pics and sex vids to.
“I’m a lot shyer in person,” he said. “Don’t be surprised if I don’t talk much.”
“I’m different too. I’m usually shy with strangers and say lots of stupid stuff,” I said. Though mentally, I’d decided that I would be true to myself because that was the whole point of going yolo.
I scanned the streets of the deserted downtown. Tall office buildings and apartments, glass, and smooth, muted brown walls packed above a row of restaurants seemed barely used. The construction behind me, as I hurried across the green pedestrian crossing, was loud and dusty.
At close to lunch, it was surprisingly empty. It was decades since I came to this city, and everything had changed. Vic had limited time away from work which was good because that gave me time to escape if I needed to.
“Hey…” A man called me.
I turned around and our eyes caught. He was taller and broader-shouldered than I thought. Wearing a leathered brown jacket, facial hair and a bottle of water in his hand. “Here’s your water.”
“Thanks.” I smiled and took the water and gulped some down before we entered the Boba shop.
“So…you really came…” He sat down after ordering pearl teas for both of us.
“Yes…I said I’d be here.”
“You are real…” His voice dropped as his eyes scanned mine.
“Yes…” I rolled my eyes. “I’m real…”
I was wearing a white blouse with a cut-out above my breasts and black skin-tight yoga pants but Vic kept his eyes on my face.
We spent an hour and a half talking about everything except the sex talks we had online. We walked around and I told him I had ten minutes left. He didn’t want me to go and after scanning the streets, he said, “Let’s go…”
“Go where?” I asked as he grabbed my elbow and led me through a maze of buildings and streets, and finally to an underground parking of his office which he thought I’d be confused and not know.
“Where are we doing?” He gestured that I go into the back seat of his chair.
“Some privacy?” He rubbed his hand through his hair.
His hands had already cupped my ass as we were walking and though it felt weird, I didn’t stop him.
I kissed back. My lips on his neck, hands exploring this man — his chest, his shoulders, and then dropping to his pants.
“Where is it?” I asked. Hands searching his loose pants as he was busy devouring my body with his lips, hands, and eyes.
“I’m nervous…,” he said.
I’d give a dollar for the number of times guys said that to me.
It was dark. He finally grabbed my hand and placed my hand on his erection. I stroked him as he grew larger and larger. My words meant nothing in his haze as he groaned and moaned.
And then my phone rang. “Ten minutes up,” I got out.
We got to the front and he drove me to my car. “You can’t tell anyone about this,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Please. Wifey doesn’t know…”
“Maybe we shouldn’t meet again,” I smirked.
“No!! Please don’t! Don’t ghost me…don’t…” His voice choked.
“Get Wifey to meet us,” I told him. “I won’t tell her what we did.”
He closed his eyes. “Okay…”
Another one for the taking. No. I won’t ghost. Ghosters are for cowards and a Cougar takes all and eats all.
It didn’t turn out. V was hiding his wife for some reason. And it was for the better.
H and I were hot-wingers, not swingers. In the game of sex, we powered played. Unless we choose to, we stood on top. That’s what “Hot Wives and Hot Husbands” do.
So, missing the couples orgies wasn’t a biggie. Why limit ourselves? The world was our buffet, and there was so much to choose from to limit ourselves to two.