but it’s always a functional, masculine thing, and the male after a one-night stand has to get dressed in an identity. The old role of the swaggering male who has “scored” is hanging there ready for him.
‘I mean, I may have “scored” too, but I can’t dress up in that. Why would I? Why would getting fucked by one male out of millions be something to be proud of?
‘When I’m playing, though, the whole thing’s on my terms as much as—if not more than—on his. We’re on neutral territory designed to afford what are always thought of as female pleasures—sexy clothes, lush décor, soft lighting, crappy music, a drink in the hand, the caresses of warm water and attractive women, the powerful turn-on of other people having fun all about you—and there’s no pressure. If I feel like it, I can do nothing but chat and watch, or I can beckon to one man or woman out of twenty, then turn away from him or her when I’ve had enough or when another one takes my fancy.
‘Men and women are equals here, equally seeking fun and sensory pleasure and, at the end of it all, we dress and walk away having lost nothing. There’s just desire—or not—not need or loneliness. There’s no invasion of privacy or intimacy, just sex and sensuality, and it’s all celebration rather than purging. And let’s face it, the reason we have one-night stands, and the reason that they are one night, is that we want a shag. Face up to that and you can start going about it more logically, more safely and more joyfully.
‘I’ve never left a swingers’ party where I’ve played, without feeling pride and a nice warm sense of satisfaction. And I can honestly look back on them all with pleasure. I can’t think of a single one-night stand of which I can say the same.’
I TURNED, THEN, FROM theoretical to practical concerns.
The health risks of swinging, it seemed, were small.
‘Oh, Lord, no. Swingers are like prostitutes,’ Johnny assured me. ‘They’re generally much safer than the sexually active public,because they expect to be having sex with strangers. So they take precautions in advance and demand that their partners do, and there’s none of that, “Oo-er, the passion was too much for us. Fuck the risk” stuff that I get from my patients all the time.
‘Technically, I suppose, there is a very small risk from unprotected oral sex with multiple partners, but it is negligible unless you have major oral lesions. And, from what I can gather, swinging men don’t often come in women’s mouths. Overall, and subject to all the usual cautions, I’d say you were safer there than in ordinary, single, sexually active civvy life.’
This left just one danger, and—as an addict—it is one of which I am acutely aware.
With most pleasures, there is a law of diminishing returns. I was scared that orgiastic sex with multiple strangers might render all other sexual experiences tame and uninteresting, and would demand ever wilder extremes.
Lisa reassured me. As far as she was concerned at least, there was room for different varieties of sex. ‘This is fantasy, like the fantasies you have when you’re masturbating—which can be pretty crazy and nasty, but actually only stimulate you when you’re back home making love with one person. I mean, unless you’re seriously ill, your fantasies of being forcibly fucked by a whole regiment don’t affect your enjoyment of sex with your nearest and dearest, do they?
‘It’s like the classical musician getting off on a night in the disco. You’re saying the same things but in different ways. Most swingers are in long-term relationships and have very busy sex lives together. I suppose it could happen, but the two things are just so different.’
I vowed to myself that I would remain alert to the possibility. I have done so.
And yes, swinging sex proves one of those appetites that grows by what it feeds on, but it is an appetite for more kisses, more caresses, more sensual pleasures, more distinctive tastes and characteristic responses, more fun—not greater degrees of excess. Swinging sex has increased my appetite for—and, I hope, my proficiency in—more discreet and exclusive sexual communication.
Astonishingly, despite the apparently general assumption that swinging was, somehow, obscurely morally wrong, I could find not a single valid ethical objection to it.
I look forward to hearing of one that I missed.
8 ‘I WAS BORN NAKED IN EDEN, WASN’T I?’
NOT ONLY, THEN, DID SWINGING SEEM to be safe and at worst morally neutral, but, according to Lisa, swingers enjoyed their hobby only subject to strict rules.
Sir Francis Dashwood and his consciously rebellious, debauched friends in the Hellfire Club borrowed as the motto for their orgies Rabelais’s ‘Fay Ce Que Vouldra’ or ‘Do what you will’.
Such anarchy, it seemed, is far removed from the ethos of modern swinging.
Dashwood’s blasphemous orgies were fuelled (like their religious predecessors) by alcohol, drugs and incantation, and most of its female participants were prostitutes. But drunkenness is almost unknown at swingers’ parties, drugs—but for the odd joint out in the garden—are strictly forbidden, and working girls attend—if at all—only for a busman’s holiday.
‘They’re just straight social occasions,’ Lisa shrugged. ‘Meetings, greetings, gossip…Aside from the playrooms—and okay, the sometimes crazy, OTT costumes—the only thing that distinguishes them from vanilla drinks parties is the ease with which subjects that most people think of as threatening or difficult are openly discussed.”
She was right there. Swingers’ conversation can seem startling when written down. Overheard from last night: ‘We really wanted to play with them but I got my period the very evening we arrived…’ ‘Oh, yes, we played with them—when was it, darling? Couple of months ago? That cock is terrifying!’ ‘Silly sod got so excited he came all over this new dress. I was like, “Oh, that’s good…No! Help! Christ!”, diving behind the sofa for cover. I could have killed him.’ But when you hear it, it’s so easy, so unaffected, so untainted by exhibitionism or connivance, that it might as well be fellow-golfers talking about courses.
‘The thing I love is that there’s no hidden sexual agenda here,’ Annabel told me. ‘Just for once, men and women, in front of their partners, can touch, kiss or express appreciation of other people without causing jealousy, or having to hide their sexual feelings beneath banter or allusion.
‘Swinging couples might enjoy a conversation and become friends but never consider having sex, or they could reject one another’s proposals of sex without causing any resentment.’
‘You’ll enjoy it,’ said Lisa. ‘Stop fussing. It’s just good, clean fun…’ And then, when I raised my eyebrows, she added, ‘Yeah, well, it is clean. It’s uncluttered and untainted by all the world’s usual prejudices, fears and emotional complications.
‘It’s clean (and, okay, mucky) like rugby is clean—and battle is anything but. Swingers play just like children do—no expectations, inhibitions, imposed responsibilities, status. Even stereotypical sexual identities—gay, bi, straight, sub, dom, etc.—go by the board really. You just frolic in a fantasy world.
‘The reason the story of the Fall works so well is that we all do it, we all feel it,’ Lisa went on. ‘So, like at puberty, we taste forbidden fruit and are chucked out of Eden, and from then on we’re meant to be tainted and guilty. Whole areas of our bodies are taboo. All physical play from say thirteen onwards has to be cautious and inhibited, especially nowadays when the law has a mind as dirty as any perv. If it does inspire sexual response, we’re meant to feel ashamed.
‘So swingers, like us, think, “Hang on. I was born naked in Eden,