My Satyr in a Suit

Cobbler's beach, one of several Sydney nude beaches. Just outside Mosman, past a veranda covered gracious restaurant offering a meal after the sun, clothing required. Continue past the parking onto a dirt and rock path, the Harbour beckoning through the dappled gum shadows.

It's a self selected group so any embarrassment gets left with the tea cakes and cutlery. With my recently acquired swinger gent, we were heading for lunch on a boat. A few are usually anchored just off shore. Together with the ice cream boat's cheerful bell, it makes for a friendly scene. One where standard social behaviour could be shed along with the swimming togs. Unlike regular beaches, conversation on the nude beach is more common, but never aggressive.

We climbed aboard, I believe I wore only a pearl necklace. Four couples, all middle aged. The food and drinks were passed around. Usual polite small talk, risque comments accepted with smiles. Soon the post-prandials the true desert were being dispensed with more knowing smiles. Soon I was being fucked below decks by one of the guys. As it happens I've since been a guest for dinner and spent the night with him and his wife a few times since. Our skipper looked on and passed a hand over my leg with a smile. That was his only gesture of interest. Call him Bill.

A few weeks later Bill invited me to dinner in Canberra, where I was living and he went regularly as a consultant. I agreed and met him at his hotel. How long ago everything pre-covid seems! A polite, unimposing man, more attuned than most to listen rather than tell. Not easy to reveal one's life to a stranger while attempting to maintain a veneer of proper behaviour. After all, we met at a swinger's party. The cards were on the table. No sense pretending I'm shy.

After dinner, "Would you like to come up to my room?" As demurely as I could I assented. Why not seems a fair attitude in the circumstances. What has consistently impressed me about the swinger scene, at least with the older group I've mostly mixed with, is the total respect for women. Never a question of coercion, always an appreciation of mutual desire as a positive to be shared.

Up we went in the lift, another somber darkly clad hotel that to me is the opposite of the tropical lushness and colour I gravitate towards. But with all the accoutrements a consultant (or a courtesan) could wish for. It crossed my mind to wonder if the public sector has any idea how many consultants are conducting affairs in their hotel rooms.

Bill took his time undressing me, kisses on the neck, the arms, the back, the mouth. The hands gradually finding places to touch that caused both electric tingles and juices to flow. The laying back gently onto the big bed. He said when he saw me climbing the ladder onto the boat he thought "What an attractive woman." I lap it up. And let him lap me. How delicious to just melt with this man's caresses, allowing him to reach into my innermost curves and hollows. My mouth drinking from his, our wanting of each other swelling with our body parts.

Although not a particularly tall man, his cock is disproportionately large. Thick as a cable, even when soft. Which it almost never was as I recall. The first five minutes always just getting him all the way in, a process on the edge of discomfort but driven by lust. My pussy reliably greedy for him.

He didn't want me to stay the night. He has both a wife and a mistress, so I didn't have any assumptions of further encounters. Busy lives after all. I dressed and let myself out, walking across the lobby with no knickers under my dress, hoping a scent of sex might tickle someone's pheromones.

That was two years ago, and until covid we would get together every month or so. Always the airport hotel, an uber ride to a good restaurant, the touching in the back seat quietly affirming our desire. Softly softly he would have me then a good solid thumping.

Ever the gentleman, "Do you mind if I take photos?" These inevitably progressed to video. Quite a good cameraman, managing to frame us in full throttle but without showing our faces. That was the first time anyone had filmed me having sex. He sent it to me the next day, and watching it now and then I am half embarrassed and half proud of the memory. Oh but I did make a lot of noise! I wish I could embed a little audio clip for you, dear reader, because I think it is more genuine than movie sex usually is. That is how affairs transpire in the 21st century, in my part of the world anyway.

My doubly adulterous lover sends me a video memoir of our coupling. I treasure it like a chevalier's scarf.

But it wasn't all fun and games with Bill. It never is.