I have learned a lot about men, during the time I have been swinging with my husband. I always thought I knew men, about their sexuality, but after years of swinging and enjoying threesomes with my husband....Well, only then did I begin to get the picture. In a way, men are like sharks—predators. They think women don't know it, but we do. You view us as a possession; I have said this over and over and over again. That the purpose of men during sex isn't so much to partner up with a female, but to mark them. This is what the male does in sex, this is what occurs when the man releases his semen in his partner. He marks her. Makes her his, if at least for the time being. And it is this marking that men find so terribly horrific. This is where the jealous rage comes from, the marking. The scent. That they deposited a fluid in a woman that only they can produce.
These observations didn't occur to me until I started reading some of the responses to the ads we posted for threesomes. Sometimes I posted the ads, sometimes my husband did, but we always read them together. Usually hubby will weed out the phonies and the gays, and we will sit down and enjoy them together.
Some fellows send the nice neat suit and tie photo. Others send another of their privates, and then apologize saying, "I hope I don't offend you." I'm a big girl, and a picture of a penis won't offend me. But what is best? Usually, a photo of just a face, and that's because women, swingers or not, always look at the eyes first. The eyes will tell your story, and you all have one. So do we want to see a cock photo? Yes, of course—but make that the second picture. And don't be too demanding about getting one in return, because frankly, men for threesomes are a dime a dozen. It's finding the couple that wants you that's difficult. So instead of sending a cock pic, invite them out for a glass of wine. Your response will move to the top of the list.
But inevitably, it is this marking that makes the swinging event. It is the woman who will end up being the target of all that semen from two different men. The responses tell us that. "Heavy cummer", someone writes. "Can plaster your face from two feet away," writes another. These are real responses. In so many responses, men actually tell me when they had their last ejaculation. "It's been three days," writes another. "I haven't come in a week."
So what is a couple to do? It is these variations that make swinging so fun. My husband does enjoy watching me with a heavy cummer, and the mess--and clean up afterward-- is part of the fun. It's fun to see if a penis really can squirt two feet, because so few of them do.
During my days, I have had my share of younger men. And the little lad on the beach of St. Maartin I last wrote about is where this story picks up.
With younger men, their approach is even different. When a man knows he will have sex with me, they save it up. I know that, I'm not stupid. And younger men can come many times in one evening—seven is my personal record—but I'm not sure if this is the biology of the aging male, or if the older male simply works himself up to one more satisfying orgasm, with skill and knowing his body in a way a younger man doesn't yet know. Older men can take their time. They know when to stop. They let it build within, and build my pleasure in the meantime. They are very much aware of their climax, and when they release, it's more fulfilling to them.
Younger men, on the other hand, simply like to make a mess. And sex doesn't get good until after their second or third orgasm. Then they start to tire, and can enjoy it more. They are more interested in trying to come one more time, because they're not sure when they're having sex again.
And when they do come, they make a mess of you—the first time, they may pull out and spray my breasts. Trying to get some on my face, which is a long shot for anyone. The second may be in me. Perhaps I will give them a blow job the third time. And they are more interested in seeing how many places they marked me with their semen than actually enjoying it.
Such goes day three of my vacation in St. Maartin.
I found out my young suitor was named Karl and he was 19 and lived with his mother. He worked very hard, and was at the resort in the morning, changing sheets, and in the evening, serving dinner. And I also knew that the one beautiful blow job I gave him on the beach would not be my last time with him. But I was going to play his game, and play hard to get. I wasn't going back to the nude beach supper hour the very next day. He was a young guy, so I was going to make him wait a day—you know, to let it build up But this time, I was going to introduce my husband—well, accidentally anyway
So, at 4:30, when the crowds started leaving the beach, I settled in my red bathing suit and wrap around into my secluded little cove, the very same cove I sucked him off two days prior. I laid down, the soft radio playing reggae, on a nice soft beach towel I lugged along, and closed my eyes. I removed my top and bottom, and laid there in the sand but twenty minutes when I heard my young little beau splashing in the waves my way.
Really, does it get any more predictable?
