Magazine Articles - Will She... Won\'t She?
Will She... Won't She? - The Rules of Carnal Engagement by Carl Glyn
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Embarking on a long, hot summer of sexual adventure, Carl and Helen agreed in advance on their own personal code for successful swinging... only to discover that ultimately,when the chemistry is right, the rule book goes straight out the window. Would she, or wouldn't she? That was the question.
If push came to shove - would I?
Who are we? Carl forty-seven, and my thirty-eightyear- old partner of two years, Helen. Both divorced, we live happily together like two pieces of wreckage washed up on the park bench of life, who have decided to build a new boat between them. Me, as Captain; Helen my First Mate [Nautical, but nice: Ed]. Loads of factors contribute to a successful relationship, not least being good health and solvency, the prerequisite bedrock upon which everything is sown and nurtured. Health we have; wealth is in short supply, but above all - we're in lurv. All it takes is the merest glance for our two sets of loins to become inflamed as one. 'You got a hard-on?' Helen'll enquire throatily. 'You bet. You wet?' 'Wanna bet? Course I am.' Thankfully it doesn't happen quite so much down the supermarket now. Post-coital afterplay is fantasy time. 'Have you ever made it with a man?' Helen asked recently. 'Sure.' 'Reeely?' Instantly she was all ears. She leaned quickly up on one elbow and tapped my nose with one of her red fingernails. 'Tell me.' 'I didn't like it very much; felt dizzy, and fell off. I was twelve. How about you?' She chuckled, and dug me in the ribs, then she answered my question. 'Yeah, once or twice, I guess.' 'Not with another man, stupid.' 'Another woman?' 'Oh... well, no, actually I haven't done that yet.Wouldn't mind giving it a go though. It's a fantasy I've often thought about. I really would like to do it. Seeing that we've broached the subject, should we try to arrange something? Would you mind?' She arched one eyebrow.
Me? A man? Mind?
Both being naturists, we regularly visit a secluded sand-dune beach, not five miles from where we live on the south coast where, because we had now deliberately initiated a sexually pro-active frame of mind, we began coming across numerous other like-minded couples. Boldly declaring our stance, my ballsy Helen would lead me naked through the dunes by my stiff dick, while my hand circulated her bum. It's called advertising. With anyone we might meet in these circumstances it was then the most natural progression to start discussing our take on sexual matters, as a result of which Helen more often than not went on to enjoy 'an experience' with several of the women behind their strategically placed windbreaks. None of them was ever offended by, demurred or rejected any of our advances. These days it seems the majority of people to be found in sand dunes are 'up for it', otherwise they wouldn't be there. It also seems that at least eighty per cent of women are 'bi-curious', and presented with the opportunity, sixty per cent of them are heavily 'into' the whole girlon- girl thing. It seems to go without saying, too, that all of them enjoy the hundred-percent approval of their male partners.
Then came our first crunch...
An attractive girl upon whom Helen was performing deliciously juicy cunnilingus one day, suddenly turned her face sideways and began to fellate me. Helen froze. Her expression clearly said: 'Ouch! I don't think I like this bit at all.' At that moment I felt it was probably in my long-term best interest to vacate the girl's mouth immediately.When I withdrew, the girl raised a questioning eyebrow at me, as if enquiring whether she'd been chewing too hard, or doing something wrong. 'Right. Sock it to me,' I told Helen, on our way home in the car afterwards. Thus our future Rules of Engagement became discussed and agreed upon. 'It gave me a jolt,' Helen explained. 'Touching and stuff's all fine, and harmless fun, but because I love you like I do, I find anything more intimate is retch-making. For my part, I will never kiss another man, give him a blow-job, or allow penetration.'
Lines laid down
As we all know, the unwritten code of recreational sex is that we all respect whatever constraints are imposed on the scene by any of the parties involved. If a guy who tries something on is declined, then woe betide him if he persists and starts to get heavy. Reassured by mutual trust and respect, couples graduate by degrees to each more intimate level of participation, which are arrived at by experimenting with each individual's 'I'm-comfortable-with-this' zone. It's a bit like that other popular ballgame - golf, which (in theory at least) gets better and better each time you play. Through answering our first advertisement online recently, Helen and I were invited by a couple called Paul and Julie (ages thirty-four and twenty-six) to go round and enjoy an 'adult evening' with them at their home. (Of course we met them at a public venue first, but I'll cut to the chase.)
The night in question
Came the night, and before we went out Helen was as snappy as hell. She wore her 'special occasion' black basque, a pashmina to conceal her basque's deliberate overspill, a black 'quick-release' wrap-over skirt which barely concealed her taut black-seamed lacetop stockings, and teetered in her black 'strictly-for-bedroom-use-on-fur-rugs' highheeled 'fuck-me' shoes. She looked and smelled like a $5,000 hooker which, with the security of her attendant male, always turned her on. (How she would have been if I'd playfully left her standing at the side of the street en route is another story). 'I really don't want to go through with this evening at all,' she said tightly, at the eleventh hour, just as we were leaving. 'You're always engineering these situations which I don't want to get involved in, and forcing me to do things I don't want to.' (Untrue: she'd agreed to this whole thing, but when stage-fright strikes a girl, a man is well advised to conceal his knowing grin and button his lip. If I'd said: 'Okay, babe' - taken her at her word and cancelled the occasion, there'd've been all hell to pay and aggrieved silence for a week afterwards. If you're a man you can't win.) Needless to say, after she'd let off all her nervous steam, we did go - and later that evening, comfortably entwined together on their white leather sofa, our hostess Julie confirmed that she had been so nervous about us coming that she'd wanted Paul to call us up to cancel the whole event. Another thing Julie said, with which Helen agreed, was that in most of their scenes she'd found herself (initially?) ending up playing with the other chap's dick purely out of politeness. 'Oh, don't I just know it,' Helen shrieked, clapping her hands delightedly. 'And I thought it was only me who thought that way. I look pleadingly at Carl, begging him with my eyes to get me outta there, and all he does is grin, wiggle his fingers at me and nod encouragement.' 'That's because, from your actions, I can only assume that you're enjoying yourself,' I explained in mitigation. 'Suppose you actually were in the process of being transported to a seventh heaven of delight in sexual realms beyond your wildest dreams, which I misinterpreted as angst and intervened to break up - then what? You'd think I'd got jealous all of a sudden, and be livid with me.' 'No I wouldn't.' 'Yes you would,' Julie countered, smirking at her. 'Yes I would.' Paul broke in: 'It's certainly a tricky one alright - especially now.' 'Why now?' We flashed puzzled glances at him. ''Cause if Helen should happen to get to grips with me later, I won't know if it's because she genuinely fancies me, or is just being polite.' 'In your case, Paul...' Helen chuckled suggestively, neatly implying that she couldn't wait to get to grips with him.
Moving goalposts
The rest of the evening we got along famously together. Julie wore a slinky, figurehugging pistachio-coloured dress over nothing at all, so her nipples and pubic mound protruded prominently through the material. Feeling comfortable, content and secure, Helen slipped into one of her 'I'mgoing- to-ooze-my-best-ever-come-and-getit- big-boy-sex-appeal' looks, which made Paul fidget all through supper wondering if she meant it - which I knew she thought she probably did... but under our previously agreed Rules of Engagement, only up to a point! Julie, bless her, didn't seem quite so keen on coming across to me, but as I'm forty-seven and she's only twenty-six, I understood this. Our conversation ranged freely from one sexual topic to another, until I sensed the time was right to ask whether they were in to partner swapping. 'We haven't - yet,' Paul confessed, 'but I guess that's the obvious next step we're working up to - and we'll get around to it eventually.' I caught Julie flash him a surprised sideways glance, which seemed to say: 'It's the first I've heard of it,' but she didn't contradict him, which I am sure he found encouraging. The whole time it seems it's the role of us guys to keep pushing the envelope out that little bit further.
After supper...
The four of us settled on the sofa to watch a red-hot DVD together. Helen snuggled into me with one hand placed pointedly over my crotch, first surreptitiously having manoeuvred one of her breasts threequarters and a-bit adrift from the top of her basque. Paul took the hint and reached out in the candlelight to begin caressing her, at which Helen smiled warm encouragement to him. In a few moments she unfurled herself from the sofa to kneel on the rug and undo my pants. Freeing my dick she put it into her mouth.When she glanced up at me for approval, I whispered, 'Take off your skirt.' Standing up, she undid its tie and let the wrap-over slither to the carpet. Standing there proudly in just her basque, stockings and vertiginous high-heels, she brazenly started to fondle the dewy lips of her shaved vagina. Seeing her do this, Paul then lifted the hem of Julie's short dress to peel it (she seemed quite keen to help) from her body like a skin, leaving her naked in his arms. Helen reached across to caress our new young friend's lovely breasts, while Paul ran one of his hands up between Helen's thighs, making her shudder and smile nicely at him. When Helen and Julie kissed, we knew the show was really underway. Paul and I both stood up to remove our own clothing, secretly comparing our respective bits-and-bobs as we did so. (Evenly matched, I'm glad to say.)
Pushing the boundaries
Easing out of her embrace with Helen, Julie knelt down and slowly took my cock into her mouth; something which she had felt 'politely obliged' to do perhaps? I cast a worried glance at Helen and Paul, but on this occasion my lovely partner smiled and nodded approval, as did Paul. It seemed we were quickly graduating from the nursery slope of our pastime and moving on to the grown-up stuff. Rules of Engagement (Helen) Number One: I'll never suck another man. She lied. Quickly breaking her own rule, she knelt down and took Paul into her mouth. (He looked ever so pleased.) I'd agonised over whether this would upset me. Faced with it now, I found it didn't disturb me at all. A barrier had been crossed. The reason was simple: our relationship was secure, and - interestingly - really did seem to be becoming strengthened through these naughty extra-marital activities. Rules of Engagement (Helen) Number Two: I'll never kiss another man. She did. She twined both arms around Paul's neck, and kissed him enthusiastically. Curiously, this did upset me a bit, but soon I got used to it.
Girls in control...
Helen then pushed my head down to indicate that I should perform gentle cunnilingus on Julie, who tasted so sweet I could have gone on lapping her Braziliantrimmed pussy all night.With my heart thumping, I eased my way slowly up her body and whispered: 'How would you like it if Helen was to mount Paul?' Julie nodded. Attuned to my thoughts, Helen smiled across at both of us, and asked, 'Would anyone mind if I was to slide on top of this gorgeous thing?' 'Be my guest,' Julie said croakily. 'Do you mind, darling?' Helen asked me. 'Not at all. Go for it,' I said, nearly having a small coronary of excitement. Total Rules of Engagement (Helen): WHEN PUSH COMES TO SHOVE... FORGET 'EM. Her look of gratitude was mingled with glassy-eyed lust - plus a considerable degree of interest in what she was about to do. No-one had asked Paul if he minded, but lying with his arms behind his neck it didn't seem that he did.
...and on top
Like a girlie-mag model, displaying every glistening pussy-fold for the punter, Helen cocked her leg and parted her labia with slippery fingers before easing herself gently on to the tip of Paul's engorged and twitching monster. Throughout our relationship I had blanked out the fact that she had performed this act five-thousand times before, with her husband and various other guys.When younger, my jealousy would have meant killing her. Mature now, I was urging her on. Undulating her hips, Helen descended further and further on to Paul's prick, playing to an enthralled gallery of two and milking her exhibitionism for all its worth. 'Oh,' she gasped with renewed interest, forgetting us and concentrating on Paul. They gathered momentum. They kissed. This time it was for real. Moaning and bucking they gave themselves up completely to the act, Paul slamming himself into Helen while she slapped her loins to meet each upward thrust. With a shriek and a shudder they simultaneously climaxed and lay there, squeaking contentedly. My own ejaculate spurted hotly across Julie's hand, which triggered her own juddering orgasm. Helen disengaged from Paul and slithered off, palming her pussy retentively until she could reach a tissue.