This is the story of a first and only 'wife swapping' evening, as told to me by a good friend. Let's call her Sandie. I have changed names and places but I suppose, if by an incredible coincidence you know the individuals involved, it might be possible to work out who they really are.
The evening was unplanned and unintended and as yet is unrepeated but remains a powerful memory which she says has changed her forever.
I have written it in the 'first person' as if Sandie was telling the tale herself. I might have embellished the sex a little -- she was too drunk to remember all the details - but the story and the ending are exactly as she described them.
'Sandie' is the only person who knows about my writing. During a rather drunken evening at a friend's (third) hen party I confessed my writing to her and she confessed this story to me. 'Sandie' has read this story and is happy for me to publish it. She said it helped her re-live the best parts of the 'incident' without the guilt so here goes... my first publication as Jenny Gently.
If you don't like wife swapping or infidelity stories, please don't read any further. There are other stories on this site which would suit you much better. Please don't read something you know will upset you and then send abusive messages to the author.
Jenny x
To give you a bit of background, my husband Tom is a tall, good-looking, highly successful businessman, now in his mid 'forties. He's going a bit grey but still has all his hair and is in great shape. I am a little younger and a secondary school teacher. I suppose I'm in good shape for my age too with a dress size of ten (on a good day), small boobs and shoulder length, suspiciously blonde hair. We both often go to the gym after work and at weekends and enjoy the outdoor life as often as we can fit it in. We have two lovely pre-teen children having started a family later in life than many.
In short, we are a genuinely happy English family.
Having kids is an easy way of making new friends and we have known Lisa and Paul since our youngest was only two years old and at nursery. Having two kids themselves, of similar ages to ours, we soon got to know each other better both as adult friends and for 'play dates' for the kids, with shared birthday parties, sleepovers and trips out a regular occurrence.
Lisa and Paul are a bit younger than us -- let's say mid 'thirties -- and are great fun. Paul does a more physical job and has a great body. He spends a bit too much time in the gym and in front of the mirror for my liking and fancies himself rather more than I think he should but is otherwise good company. His wife is a close friend of mine who can always be relied on to make an evening fun with news and anecdotes, many of an increasingly risqué nature. She is tall, slim to the point of skinny and genuinely blonde with surgically enhanced boobs which were a present for her thirtieth birthday.
Over the years we have seen a lot of each other, our kids getting on very well indeed, so it was inevitable that, after one of the many dinner parties at each other's homes, it was suggested -- and enthusiastically agreed - that the two families should try going on holiday for a week together as a group of eight the following Easter.
Over the coming months, much after-dinner alcohol- fuelled debate ensued about where the holiday should be. Budget is an important consideration when four kids are involved but eventually we agreed to take a cottage in Snowdonia, the wild, beautiful North Wales National Park, an area Tom and I knew well and had always loved.
To make it even more perfect, we booked an old stone cottage in a very isolated spot where there was plenty of good walking, exploring and good bike riding for the kids. Sadly though, we knew the local restaurants were poor so we would probably be eating all our meals in the cottage.
Eventually the week arrived and we drive in convoy to the countryside. The weather was unusually kind for a British Easter and the cottage was amazing too, and was more like two tiny cottages knocked together into one. Over three hundred years old and with no mains power, it relied on an old petrol-driven generator for light and real fires for warmth. Like many old houses it had thick walls and small windows. The heavy lined curtains kept out almost all the light, and of course being in Wales, the rain clouds allowed little moonlight through anyway. When the lights were out it was very dark indeed but to our surprise the kids found this exciting rather than scary.
The accommodation was simple but perfectly adequate for a week. Downstairs was a good sized lounge / dining room with a separate kitchen, a reasonable family bathroom and two small double bedrooms for the four adults. Upstairs was one large single attic room with four beds a TV and Playstation and a good selection of games to keep the kids amused when the weather turned bad -- a fairly predictable happening in Wales.
The holiday passed off almost without a hitch. True, the kids squabbled quite a lot but lots of fresh air meant that they were always exhausted at the end of the day and slept soundly together in the attic room from about 9pm which gave the four adults a little respite.
There was lots of walking in the mountains, lots of playing on the beaches and the rocks nearby. We even found a leisure centre with an indoor / outdoor swimming pool and on the hottest day spent the entire time on the water flumes and sunbathing by the waterside. I have to say that Lisa with her slim figure, mega-boobs and bright red bikini made me in my dark blue one piece costume feel fat and frumpy but I consoled myself that there were a lot of older fatter women there and I wasn't the worst by far.
My husband looked very attractive, playing boisterously with the kids in his blue shorts. I was pleased to see there was very little evidence of the approach of middle age and I enjoyed watching him when I knew he couldn't tell. Paul of course used the occasion to show off his body and I have to admit that it was worth showing off. In lycra-tight swim shorts his well defined chest and arm muscles almost shone in the water and his buttocks looked tight and firm. I tried not to stare but I'm sure Lisa caught me giving him the once-over a couple of time. Fortunately she didn't seem upset -- I suppose when you look like the two of them you expect to attract attention, perhaps even crave it.
It was Friday night -- our last night in the cottage. The weather had been very good that day, and after a long walk along an old railway track, we were all hungry and thirsty. The four kids had eaten their dinner earlier and had gone into the cottage's games room to play darts and pool leaving the adults free to relax in the kitchen and lounge.
Paul and Tom had cooked dinner for the kids which had been consumed with gusto, and were now preparing a slightly more sophisticated meal for the adults while Lisa and I chatted. Thanks in part to liberal doses of wine, this had taken much longer than we had originally predicted and as a result, by the time dinner was finally served, Lisa and I had drunk much more than we were accustomed to and were, as she put it, 'completely squiffy'.
Perhaps as a result of this unaccustomed tipsiness, It took me much longer than it should to realise Paul seemed to be quite casually but deliberately touching me on my thighs and calves under the table as we sat and chatted before dinner. I tried to ignore it, but when his hand slipped higher up my thigh I looked at him sternly but jokingly. The look he gave me back was what could only be described as a suggestive grin - his eyes sparkled with mischief and I quickly looked round to see if Tom or Lisa had noticed. To my relief, they were both fully occupied, their heads pressed close together as they pored over a large map, working out where we had been that day and planning our route home for tomorrow.
I fidgeted subtly a little further away from Paul's straying fingers and tried to ignore him but to be honest it felt good to believe he found me attractive, even in a light, flirty way and I drifted closer to him again as we began to eat our meal.
Dinner consumed and another bottle of wine later, we were all feeling replete and the conversation after dinner had started roamed widely. I suppose we were all relieved that our first holiday had gone so smoothly, especially that the kids had got on together and behaved so well. We raised our glasses to the Welsh weather several times.
As the evening progressed the conversation, as it was prone to do when Lisa and alcohol featured, had touched briefly, but initially only obliquely, on sex. Lisa had always been a terrible gossip and had heard that afternoon from a friend that a another mutual friend had disgraced herself at a recent business awards ceremony by getting drunk and spending the night with two men after her husband had gone home. Lisa's unimpeachable sources were usually friends of friends. According to these 'sources', the husband had picked his wife up from the one of the men's houses the following morning, her dress covered in semen stains but had taken her back as if this wasn't unusual.
We all expressed the expected amount of outward shock and horror -- genuine in Tom and my case - but across the table I could see Paul smiling at me again, and felt his fingers trying to return to my thigh. Across the table Lisa was regaling us -- in increasingly slurry words - with another story of an errant acquaintance. Her voice and hands were animated, touching my husband's arms and legs repeatedly as she spoke and directing almost all of her attention to him. To my surprise and annoyance, I noticed his hand resting on her shoulder, stroking her neck a little in an intimate gesture I felt belonged only to me.
Telling myself he was probably as drunk as I was and unaware he was doing it, I tried to listen to Lisa's story but she was giggling so much at whatever Tom was whispering in her ear that her words became incomprehensible -- especially to my rather inebriated ears. By now I had stopped trying to keep Paul's hands away from my thighs and in fact, if I'm honest, had started to enjoy the attention. Clearly my husband wasn't going to provide any!
So there was something of a sexual frisson in the air and as the plates and cups were finally cleared. Partly in order to put a bit of distance between my legs and Paul's fingers, I insisted on making more coffee and asked Tom to helping me wash up in the kitchen. Lisa moaned in mock disappointment as he rose to help, at which point Paul eagerly volunteered and took the tray of dirty cups through, leaving Tom and Lisa once again crouched over the map, his arms either side of her torso. Lisa was giggling, my husband Tom's face close up to hers as he leaned over her. She seemed to be rubbing her bottom against him playfully. In my inebriated state I found this funny and giggled myself as I gathered up the remaining crockery and went into the kitchen.
