"Oh gosh I got to stop drinking." I thought to myself.
By then the alcohol I consumed tipped me over from the state of blissful carelessness to the doorstep of losing my shit and passing out within the hour. Opposite to me the cheery gang of laughing, singing friends and strangers, many of whom were already past the point I myself realized I'm closing too. At least half of them will be noisily sleeping before midnight, some of them stretched out in the soft grass under the pleasantly warm summer night sky, others in one of the hard and creaky beds of the holiday cottage.
There will be a core that will drink and smoke until the first lights of the dawn, sharing personal stories with each other, singing badly to the sound of somebody's jangly guitar. In my younger years I often found myself in that group of survivors, but years have gone by since then. Life is about jobs, kids, school runs and birthdays now and I cannot hold my liquor half as well as I used to anymore.
You are seated not far from me on my right, next to your childhood friend who invited us to this jamboree. The light of the bonfire in the middle paints dramatic shadows around your eyes as you vehemently explain something to your friend. Your dark hair almost melts into the black of the night, your skin glooms marble in the dancing flames. There are two others seated between you and me, a young couple in worn, comfortable clothes and shaggy hair. Their skin is tanned from the scorching light of the east European summer. I saw them earlier today sunbathing naked down by the lake, I reckon they must be naturalists. I'm thinking maybe we should try to get some tan on the nude beach tomorrow, that is if I'll be well enough.
"Yeah mate, nobody really cares around 'ere" says the guy, Dwight next to me. He answers to my query about the local nudist beach. "There isn't an actual assigned area around the lake, you just take your shit off where you like."
I nod silently. "Dwight" I think to myself. It's a strange name for a guy like him. "Hi, my name is Dwight". I picture a public servant, dressed in a suit, with glasses holding a folder full of papers. I smile for the thought as the guy seated next to me couldn't be further from that image. He wears dreadlocks loosely held together in the back of his head. Patchy beard covers his chin, his arms are thin, he wears a well-worn tank top and jean shorts full of holes. My guess is that he is in his early thirties, hence not too much younger than myself, although the difference between us is still significant. He spent the past few years backpacking in Europe with his girlfriend, living modestly and carefree. We are basically from different planets.
"Is anything else going on around the lake?" I blurt out the first question popping into my hazy brain.
"Like what?" he asks. "You mean like creeps watching from the bushes?"
"No. Like people banging each other in the bushes." I say. Fuck, what? Now why would I say that?
He turns his face towards the starry sky and lets out an amused laugh. Then he turns to me, he can't see straight either.
"Well...yes. Some do." he answers.
"Do you...?" I keep pushing, don't even know why.
"I don't but Shelly..." he abruptly falls silent, instinctively turns his head to the right, towards his girlfriend. She's chatting away barely even acknowledging him. "Well...she likes to have fun, sometimes." continues with an awkward smile.
Oh, okay. It seems in his intoxicated stage Dwight gave away more information than he wanted. So his girlfriend Shelly is having occasional fun with others but he himself isn't. So they are either engaged in voyeurism or cuckolding. Peachy.
I keep quiet until he talks again.
"And you? Do you guys swing?" he blurts it out, not even trying to be discreet about it.
Wow! That escalated quickly. I hesitate. Yes, as a matter of fact we do. We don't exactly make a secret out of it, we are all adults after all and there is nothing to be ashamed of. But we don't advertise it either. It's not exactly a conversation starter and to be honest I only met this guy less than three hours ago.
But then again, I started this conversation and unwittingly created a situation where he said more about his girlfriend than he meant and probably feels a bit embarrassed about it. Ah fuck it, what's the harm?!?
"Yeah!" I say with as much casual coolness as I can muster. "We do."
He relaxes a little. There is a moment of silence. Well, we got this far, so might as well:
"If you guys ever want to party..." I say.
"Oh okay. Sure"
Another moment of silence.
"This is the awkward moment..." I lean closer with a smile "...when we look up each other's women and imagine them naked."
"Yeah." he leans in secretively "On their knees."
"With a dick in their mouth"
