In my New Year’s Resolution post a year ago, and again yesterday, I mentioned “high-concept swinging” as a goal.
A couple of readers asked just what I meant by that. Sorry – I was talking to myself when I wrote it, imagining you would know exactly what I meant when what I mean isn’t at all apparent.
A lifetime or two ago (but well within the one that’s documented in this blog), T and I worked hard, with a couple of others, to bring about an evening inspired by Rachel Kramer Bussel‘s super-hot story, “Secret Service.” The story concerns a restaurant that has a back room, in which female patrons can be, um, serviced orally by an expert staff.
My friends and I (it was T and I and another couple) thought we would have a super-hot evening in which we prepared and/or catered a fancy, delicious meal for some hand-chosen guests. We imagined our guests would be blindfolded for much or all of the evening, and that, one by one, they would leave the table and be serviced orally by some combination of us. We would, we thought, give them a menu from which they could select various styles and variations of oral pleasure (would you like a thumb in your ass? your clit nibbled? your frenulum sucked?). We all had different visions of just how the evening might go – would we meet the dinner guests before hand? Would they know who was servicing them? But we were prepared to work through all that as the event approached.
To us, this was self-evidently such a manifestly good idea that we imagined we’d have takers immediately, that we’d have to beat away our suitors at the door.
No such luck.
For months – literally – we had ads running on CraigsList. They were all variations on a theme, but they basically laid out the vision I’ve described above. We got the odd interested inquiry, and even more infrequently, an interesting inquiry. But no more than two or three whom we considered serious prospects. Certainly, we’re tough customers, with high standards. But we had no idea how hard it would be to find willing co-participants.
In the end, we only really found one couple, and our collective vision for the dinner party didn’t really work with just one couple. So instead, we just fucked them.
But I haven’t let go of that fantasy, or of the fantasy of some other such highly stylized sexual encounter featuring some combination of anonymity and pre-established commonality of sexual aims.
It could be a dinner party like the one described. Or perhaps just a round-robin dinner party, where, one by one, each possible M/F couple excuses itself for 5-15 minutes. But no more.
Or maybe three couples relatively unknown to one another meet in a bar, don’t speak to one another, but (again, round-robin style) the M/F pairings silently rendez-vous in the bathrooms.
One challenge for me in bringing these fantasies to fruition is that they appeal more to me (much) more than they do to T.
The other, it seems, is that they appeal to me more than they appeal to just about anyone else in the universe.
Anyway, that’s what I meant….
And here’s Rachel Kramer Bussel, reading the story….