After the Opera

After the Opera

by The Accidental Goddess

Another round trip to Sydney, hardly had time to recover from the one last week. But I'd booked 2 pairs of opera tickets some time ago. So we saw Traviata at the Uproar House and the following night la boheme on the harbour. Both fine productions, myjohn hadn't seen either of them, I know some of the arias by heart.

Chance placed us in the queue to collect our tickets beside a leading government figure. Brief introductions. Myjohn knows his chief of staff. I quickly got in a phrase about climate change and the Adani mine that his party has yet to fully quash. He must get similar all the time, but he was gracious. I didn't mention that as an appropriate complement to this particular opera we were going to a swingers' party afterwards. That would be too louche even for me. But I would have loved to see his reaction if I had dropped that little social bombshell.

What could be better than to see la Boheme with my lover, even if he doesn't find the experience transcendent as I do. To my inner dramatist Traviata is about us, myjohn and me. I am Violetta, the courtesan willing to remain a shadow, unknown and invisible. He is both lover and father, upholding the protocols and social algorithms that he believes make this necessary. Every age has its structures and swingers are good at challenging some of these. I'm glad I live now.

We are a better match for La Boheme, in which I assume the roles of both Mimi and Musetta, two sides of my nature. I am the woman who photographs pretty little flowers, posing them to preserve them much as Mimi's embroderies. Musetta is the more overt side of me, as she instinctively flirts and asserts her right to fuck freely.

I have trouble separating life and art, hardly the first person to suffer that confusion. I relish the blur. Opera is eternal, the stories endlessly repeated, only the costumes change. This production of La Boheme was set in 1960s protest Paris, a real car burning on stage for Act II. Love, jealousy, loss, and the weight of social opprobrium crushing so many lives. Isn't that why myjohn was adopted out?

After a quick stop at our hotel we found the venue nearly empty at 11 pm. The venue is usually given over to bondage and such. At the entrance I stripped off my street dress to be clad in just black g string and bra with the long black lacy robe loosely held closed with a few buttons, 'the cover up that doesn't cover up' as myjohn described it, the barest suggestion of modesty. We were greeted by a tall gentleman who said I was elegant. Good start. He showed us around the various rooms, equipment with mysterious straps and uses, known and understood by the bondage community.

There were a few single men and only two other couples. Chatting with them, most had some experience with BDSM, don't even ask me what that stands for. There were a few rather beautiful trannies too, again a bit beyond my usual social settings, although I did used to go to a trannie GP.

Several of the single males would have happily fucked me, had they had found me a bit more obliging. I held back, not quite comfortable with the options presented, yet happy for them to touch and stroke me. So polite they were, two of them, while another hovered at myjohn's shoulder, just watching and commenting. A few others looked on from outside our mattress, pulling aside the sheer curtains. The gorgeous music and Italian arias still vibrating in my head were my delicious internal sound track.

Yes, I agreed they could touch me, myjohn watching that I not be led into anything I didn't want. Like a gang bang. Myjohn was also kissing and caressing me, the atmosphere not quite conducive to him stiffly fucking me. I was content to let the circle watch, if they enjoyed that. I whispered what if we had just met tonight? And imagined him as a man who was touching me for the first time, would I respond to his mouth and hands in the same way, his face still to be understood. Every time I see him I find him more handsome, don't know how that works.

Slowly, quietly, politely, the soft stroking hands moved up my legs into other realms, finally seeking to bypass the g string and pull back the bra. It was altogether very enjoyable. But at that point I retreated with equal politeness. There was some pleasant conversation, excuses made as a bus to catch in the morning.

It was comfortable enough, but I pleaded tiredness, and we left without further engagement. Friendly kisses were bestowed. Myjohn and I had our private session back at our hotel. I didn't know I had such an exhibitionist streak.

It was a reminder that myjohn and I are pretty tame sexually, as neither of us is at all kinky or even bisexual. There is a much wider range of human erotic expression and behaviour, and acknowledging that with respect is a key part of the 'lifestyle' code. Play and let play, observe boundaries when set. I like the attitude, the atmosphere, the openness. I like experiencing and expressing humanism at the most basic level of nakedness and sex.

Thinking about it afterwards perhaps we missed a chance to engage with that group more fully. We could have tried a little spanking, he could have put me on one of the things, legs wide, arms held up, and let some of those guys give me a few soft smacks. I wouldn't want real pain, but Lee has given me sudden smacks on the bum a few times, and that hasn't bothered me. As a bit of theatre I think I would enjoy it, particularly if it turned myjohn on. The thought that we were too stolid gives me just enough curiosity to wonder if perhaps we shouldn't revisit that place, on another night when the swingers are there.