How to be a decent swinger when you can’t flirt for toffee. Part One.

dirtywildside

This blog is going to contain just a few of the highlights and lowlights, sexual awakenings, successes and failures and situations I have found myself in on my often stumbling but ultimately very satisfying journey towards hedonistic debauchery. I have made subtle changes to names and places to protect the innocent and the extremely guilty alike. Good, bad or indifferent, I hope one or two of you enjoy and that the rest of you just smile and pat me on the head in sympathy (although a sympathy blowjob wouldn’t be turned down either).

DWS

From the time I discovered that the girl I sat next to in GSCE Media Studies actually looked really good beneath the braces and that her attempts to stay warm while watching Batman Forever in the cinema was merely a ruse to get me to put my hand on her boob and her hand on my crotch to the age of nearly thirty I was generally awful at picking up on signals from members of the fairer sex.

I had girlfriends, some which lasted longer than others and the occasional one night stand of vastly differing qualities but opportunities didn’t just pass me by, they walked up to me, unzipped my flies and stood there as I wondered why I suddenly felt a draught before walking off, shaking their heads and falling into the arms of some other lucky sod. But that lucky sod was rarely me.

Take, for example Dee, quite literally the woman next door when I was still a teenager and my sexual thrills amounted to trying to time my wanks to the ten minute Freeview on TVX and seeing who I could try and finger-blast at the local disco on a Friday night.

In her mid thirties raven haired, pale skinned, tall and slim with tits that looked softer than the porn that Eurotrash used to tease out every week for their ‘leetol Ingleesh shums,” Dee was a VERY attractive lady even if the spectacularly foul mouthed shouting and door slamming at Barry, her always pleasant and friendly husband that would occasionally seep through the adjoining walls, also revealed a somewhat fiery temper.

I’m a sucker for a fiery temper….the make-up sex is always great!!

Always smiling and conversational with me despite my insistence on having a standard mid nineties curtains style haircut and an eyebrow ring (I mean what was I up to???), the annual neighbourly New Year’s Eve drinks at my parents’ house saw a slightly tipsy Dee admit to everyone that I was becoming quite ‘cute’ and would grow up into a bit of a heartbreaker. At 16 I got embarrassed and then probably went and knocked one out in my bedroom. Everyone else dismissed it with peels of wine-filled laughter.

Two years later, during my first summer home from Uni, I would have done well to remember that ‘cute’ remark when I almost literally bumped into Dee outside my house. After exchanging pleasantries and complimenting me on my leaner physique and lack of Chandler Bing style curtains, Dee asked about my increasingly successful involvement in a sport that involves going round and round in circles as fast as you can and spending virtually your entire student loan in the process.

This is the moment….THE….moment where I failed, and would continue to fail more often than not for the next decade.

“I absolutely love [Sport X]. I’m always asking Barry if we can go to watch but we’ve never got round to it, especially now he is working in London so much. If you’ve got any footage of you I’d love to see it as T (her daughter from a previous relationship) is with her dad this week and Barry isn’t back until the end of the week so I’m just bored out of my mind in the evenings.”

The airy smile was replaced with ‘the look’ and words that will stay with me and a reaction from knobhead over here that will haunt me.

“I would love to see you in action…..”

This should be the point where I go on to explain how I knocked the door that evening wearing extra Lynx Africa and Joop, watched some footage of me in my chosen sport over a drink or three before ripping each other’s clothes off, lavishing those soft breasts I had enjoyed not a small number of wanks over, her taking my manhood and proceeding to suck it slowly, deeply and sensually while keeping her expert eyes on my stunned face before pushing me back onto her sofa and riding me like the absolutely beautiful woman she and then demanding that I unload deep and hard inside her as her own orgasms shuddered through her.

But No. And I Quote

“Oh, OK, I’ve got a few videos and loads of pictures but maybe I should wait until Barry gets back as he always asks about it too and I’m sure you don’t want to see it twice.”

Yes folks. I was THAT stupid.

Her deep and deliberate gaze into my eyes flickered and went out, replaced by a small but knowing smile and I swore I almost detected a shrug and a sigh as her demeanour altered from lust to….well….not lust.

“You do that, I’m sure he would love to see them. I’m glad you’re doing really well. I’ve got to get this shopping in now so just let us know when you have a free night.”

Standing on the pavement about twenty seconds later and with Dee now inside a house I was never destined to see the interior of. Or her interior for that matter. It hit me. What…..a…….dick.

I’m not ashamed to admit that for the rest of the summer I made a futile effort to erase my error and I would scramble to ‘appear’ as often as possible when Dee was around in a way that was almost certainly painfully obvious to observe.

Two decades later Dee and Barry still live next door to my parents. She is still unfailingly pleasant and chatty but she has never again ‘looked’ at me like she did when she quite literally said she wanted to see me in action. And she knows, that I know, she wasn’t talking about sport that day back when people’s biggest fears were the millennium bug.

You would think that, with almost instant acknowledgement of my idiocy, I would learn from my mistakes. But no. It got worse. And I will explain how in Part 2.

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