The Party Pooper

James, our baby-sitter from next door arrived on the dot at 7.25 p.m. As usual he had brought some college homework to do while he was here. We were very lucky to have his services so readily on tap. It isn't the easiest thing to get baby-sitters when you want one, particularly at short notice.

After the usual briefing (milk drinks in the fridge for the twins, Becky and Kate, and our eldest, Matthew, and also the times they were allowed to stay up till) John and I said goodbye to James, reminding him to help himself if he got hungry or thirsty.

We went out to the 4X4. I wasn't looking forward to the evening ahead of us. We hadn't met this particular couple before, Paul and Lynn Turner. John had picked them out from a contact magazine -- a first for us. Our usual way was to 'swing' with a small group of friends. I felt that was about the limit of my comfort zone and was apprehensive about trying it with an unknown couple - particularly one that John had plucked from a smutty magazine. I had the usual butterflies, of course. I always did on these occasions. Only this time they were much worse.

I hated 'blind' dates at the best of times. I've always liked to inspect the goods before buying, if you get my drift and I was feeling a bit down anyway. To be honest, I was getting bored with the whole scene.

This boredom had manifested itself in a rather unfortunate way during our last little 'get-together'.

We, or rather I, had fallen out with one of the men - he wanted me to do something and I didn't -- and the evening ended on a sour note.

I went through hell for days after that, John insisting that I was becoming a 'party-pooper' etc. and blaming me for the fall-out with two of our best friends, having pissed off his wife at the same time. We argued vehemently when I reminded him that the one rule that stands above all others in the world of swinging, is that nobody should have to do something they don't want to do - meaning, that if one partner finds it offensive or too kinky for their liking, then it's a 'no-go' for both.

"But there's no need to fuck it up for everybody else, Stella, for Christ's sake!"

"Oh, I see. So I should've just carried on like nothing was wrong and suffered, is that it?"

"Actually, yes. It isn't much to ask when there's a whole party of people's enjoyment at stake."

I had felt too hurt to continue arguing. I had turned and gone out the room, not wanting him to see my tears. I didn't want him to accuse me of resorting to emotion to win an argument.

In five minutes we were on the motorway, heading for Nuneaton.

"I really hope you're not going to mess things up tonight, Stella."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you're going to act reasonably. Not like last time -- that was bloody embarrassing."

"So what if I don't fancy him?"

"Well, you seemed to like what you saw when I showed you the photo they sent us. You were up for it then."

"Photographs can be deceptive."

"Please, Stella - don't fuck this up!"

"Shit, John! You can be a selfish bastard sometimes."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Anyway, I have to tell you that I'm getting tired of this sordid business."

"Here we go..."

"Yes, here we go... to be blunt, I'm pig sick of carrying on like this. It's about time we took stock of our lives and started acting like responsible adults."

"Here comes the sermon."

"Don't you ever wonder what our kids might think if they found out what their mummy and daddy get up to on their nights out?"

"They're not going to find out, are they? Not unless you're stupid and tell them. Anyway, why are you getting so 'high-and-mighty about it all of a sudden?" John banged the steering wheel with his fist, causing me to jump. "Jesus, what's the matter with you lately?"

"Have you considered the remote possibility that I just might be the teeniest bit unhappy at the moment?" A lump came to my throat as I spoke. "And, I have to say, John, I think you're becoming obsessed with the whole thing."

"Me?"

"This is all you ever seem to want to do. Don't you ever fancy a normal night out? I mean, why don't we go to the cinema occasionally, the theatre, or we could go to a restaurant or something?"

"We do."

"All right, when was the last time? Tell me..."

"You're just being ridiculous."

"And you're just being a pig."

Then there was silence; just the sound of tyres on wet tarmac. It had started to rain heavily.

We didn't speak another word until we arrived at our hosts' house in a leafy suburb of Nuneaton. It looked a good area. There was a Lexus in the drive. Maybe it wouldn't be too unbearable. I just hoped the Turners weren't going to be pushy.

I could feel John's eyes burning into me. He switched off the ignition. Metallic rain pinged on the roof of the 4X4 and we sat there without speaking for the next few moments.

Finally, John broke the silence:

"Look," he said, "are we going to do this or not? I'd sooner you said now. I don't want you getting cold feet once we're in there."

"It looks a nice house."

"I expect they're nice people, too." John put his hand on mine. "So...What's it to be?"

I felt having come this far I was past the point of no return. And we were expected, after all.

"Come on then." I said. "Let's get it over with."

"You go in with that attitude and it's not going to work. There'll be an atmosphere."

"Look, I said I'm coming, didn't I? Let's get in there before I change my mind."

John muttered something typically condescending, I gave him one of my 'looks' and we got out of the car.

Why was I doing this? Just to please him? No, I guess it was more a case of keeping things going for the sake of the children. I didn't want us to split while they were growing up. I still loved John -- just. But I hated what we were doing now. It was fun to start with -- even a laugh sometimes. And it did spice up our sex life after the spark of passion had dimmed, even I had to admit that. But now it all seemed so tiresome, so tacky. I had started to feel grubby, and that wasn't good. And the children were growing up. I had to concede that John was obsessed with sex and well... I wasn't.

At first it had seemed reasonable to contain our sexual games within our small group of friends. We could trust them, and they could trust us. It was safe. We all observed the code. But John was always seeking to stretch the boundaries of our sexual mores and I guess I knew it would only be a matter of time before he'd want to experiment farther afield.

The door was opened by a strikingly attractive tall woman. Mrs Turner, I presumed. Her husband, Paul, hovered in the background, although, it would be more accurate to say he appeared to be hiding behind her. Paul, unfortunately for him (and me) was quite a bit shorter than his wife - although his wife was wearing fairly high heels to be fair to him.

After a quick greeting we were ushered in out of the rain. Once inside, I was disappointed with what I saw. Paul really didn't do his photo justice. He looked overweight and he was definitely on the short side. Facially he was passable -- but homely rather than sexy. Lynn was a good six inches taller than Paul, with dark hair cut in bangs and styled close at the nape. She was definitely sexy though, in a short red tartan skirt and white lacy top, unbuttoned enough to show a decent cleavage. She had class. On another woman her attire might have come across as cheap and tarty. But she carried it off well. I knew she would be John's type.

It was obvious who'd drawn the short straw on this occasion. I began having second thoughts. Perhaps Paul would look better after a few glasses of wine. John was driving, so I didn't have to worry about using too much alcohol to loosen myself up.

They showed us into the sitting room. The furnishings were expensive. They had good taste. We exchanged pleasantries and Paul fixed some drinks for us.

"Let me show you round while Paul's doing the drinks," said Lynn.

We followed her around the house making appreciative noises whenever she showed us something that she thought would impress us. I suppose it was a good way to break the ice anyway.

She made a special point of showing off the bedrooms, especially the 'master', which had black satin sheets and pillowcases on the bed and a big mirror on the ceiling. I began to feel decidedly warm. The central-heating must have been set high. It's the oldest trick in the book.

"I think I need that drink now," I said suddenly.

"Oh, sorry," said Lynn. "There's me going on...and, well...you must be gagging, dears."

I saw John hang his tongue out behind Lynn's back. He's so crass sometimes.

"Let's go down and get acquainted, shall we?"

Paul was waiting with the drinks. He had put some light music on the hi-fi and the lights had been dimmed even more than before. I noticed there were some nibbles put out in dishes that were scattered around. There was even a fruit bowl of condoms on the coffee table, not edible ones, but at least the Turners were considerate and wanted to play safe.

The evening stuttered along rather than progressed. There was a strange feeling of awkwardness in the room, although John was making good headway with Lynn. I could see he couldn't wait to get his hands on her. Her body language was giving him all the right signs and her skirt was riding ever higher the more she flirted with him. She had superb legs; even I had to admit that. I'm always self-conscious about mine -- they are a little thick around the ankles and not the easiest part of the anatomy to hide unless you wore jeans or slacks. But any kind of trousers were a definite 'no-no' for swingers' meetings. You could only be sexy and accessible in a skirt and men, fetish freaks as they are, always liked the feel of sheer nylon stockings and suspenders over flesh.

Paul, however, looked uneasy about the whole thing. I think he felt self-conscious and I felt a tad sorry for him. I tried to relax him with an occasional smile or raised eyebrow whenever I was able to catch his eye, but I could tell he felt awkward. I began to wonder how many times they had actually done this sort of thing. Lynn looked comfortable with it, but I somehow just couldn't imagine Paul mixing it in the sack with different partners.

He just didn't look the type. But then, who does?

He and John sat either side of Lynn on the three-seater, while I was sitting alone on the short sofa. Lynn was angling her legs more and more towards John. Paul's discomfort was obvious. I could see him fidgeting, almost squirming at the blatant flirting going on beside him. I wondered how the hell he could have allowed himself to get into this?

Suddenly, Lynn nudged Paul. "Go on, why don't you go over and sit with Stella. She looks lonely."

"She might not want that."

"Of course she does, don't you, Stella?"

"That's up to Paul," I said.

Paul smiled nervously, shifted in his seat as if to rise, but then stayed put.

John and Lynn were chatting like old friends, their conversation full of innuendo and suggestiveness. It was sick-making. I began to wonder if the confident-and-sexy Mrs Turner had been the real perpetrator of this little soiree. I mean, she was really up for it, that was plainly obvious. Paul on the other hand; well... he was like a rabbit caught in his wife's headlights.

John would touch Lynn's wrist whenever he made a point or said something he thought was witty. She in turn would playfully slap his knee and snuggle up to him. I decided Lynn's 'hubby' needed rescuing. He definitely wasn't the kind to move first. I decided to spin him a get-out-of-jail card.

"Could you top me up please, Paul?"

"Oh, er...Sure. Same again?"

He got up and took my glass and disappeared into the kitchen. When I looked back at the happy couple they were kissing, John pawing at Lynn's breasts, she with her hand on the inside of his leg. Well, they certainly weren't wasting any time.

I had this feeling that unless I could manufacture some enthusiasm for Paul, via alcohol, or great imagination, the evening was doomed to failure. Trouble was - I really didn't fancy him - period. Not like that anyway, and worst of all... I had no real heart for all this crap anymore.

Suddenly, there was the sound of breaking glass in the kitchen, followed by "Blast!" I felt a sudden wave of relief sweep over me.

I got up and excused myself, deciding that Paul was in desperate need of help. If I got him alone, we could at least talk this thing through and come to some amicable arrangement, whereby Paul and I would be off the hook and Romeo and Juliet could continue romancing each other without anyone feeling guilty.

...to be continued...