My thirty-ninth birthday was approaching, I was taking stock of my sexual situation and I wasn't impressed. A cv including two ex-husbands and several former lovers was nothing to boast about. Nor was my current solitary state. No doubt I was responsible for some of the difficulties but that didn't make me feel any better when I looked back. Although not all the problems and shortcomings were sexual, and anyway sex isn't the be-all and end-all of my life but it is certainly one of the most important. I am not the kind of woman who can put sex in cold storage and not bother about it.
Three days after I turned eighteen I set out to lose my virginity and found it an unsatisfactory and painful business. My first marriage at twenty was a mistake. The sex was very good in the way that young sex probably is for most couples - we did it anywhere and everywhere, though not with much subtlety or imagination. So when that began to wear off we discovered that we had very little else that we wanted to do together, and agreed to part.
In the way these things happen, I went to another extreme with my second husband - he was twenty years older than me and extremely skilful in bed. The trouble was that after he had removed most of my inhibitions and taught me to use my body in ways I had scarcely dreamed of - for my own pleasure as well as his - he felt it was mission accomplished. He needed a fresh challenge and simply moved on to someone else who was twenty years younger.
Between and around those two unsatisfactory alliances I succumbed to the need to have my itch scratched by various short-term partners. One or two were even different enough to teach me something new but the ones who were good with their hand in my knickers were disappointing in most other ways, and vice versa. At the point that I sat down to take stock, I realised what had prompted this soul-searching: it was nearly three months since a man had had his hand, or anything else, between my legs.
All this was in my mind when I met Sue, my sister, for our monthly lunch. Sue is three years my senior, married to Robin, a successful banker, big house in the country, mortgage paid, two children, both off her hands. Every fourth Saturday, while Robin plays golf, Sue and I have lunch together. As children, we squabbled a lot but that passed and, with the years, we have grown quite close. It would be wrong to say that we knew everything about each other, but when the need arose - as with my divorces, for example - we could talk quite freely to each other. This time I may have had a glass or two of wine more than usual, or maybe my physical frustration was nearer the surface than I realised, but whatever the reason, I found myself confessing not all, but much, to Sue.
Before commenting, she looked round the restaurant to ensure we were not overheard. Then she said, "Reading between the lines, it's not so much the lack of company that's bothering you - you're just not getting enough sex. Yes?"
"Up to a point, yes."
"Why up to a point?"
"Because there are plenty of offers. Or at least, not exactly offers. It's not easy in a big company for a man to proposition the Head of Personnel, but I can read the signals. I would only have to show the slightest interest and we would be discussing the possibility of a dirty week-end. Maybe it would be all right, but I've had dirty week-ends in the past that were so awful they felt like a dirty month."
"So?"
"I don't know, Sue. This is certainly about sex. I find myself thinking about it too often, and then the solution is the vibrator but - you know ... "
My sister smiled but said nothing.
"I think I'm not just looking for some new man but some new experience. Different."
"Such as?"
I paused, weighing up what to say. I knew what had been on my mind but was I prepared to tell my sister? Having got this far, and also had enough wine to help, I decided there was no point in retreating.
"Well, such as group sex."
Sue's face revealed nothing, leaving me to continue. "I'm not talking about some kind of gang bang or a huge orgy with dozens of people writhing all over the floor. But - "
"But you've been looking back and thinking about what you might have missed. The old syndrome: why aren't I having wonderful sex when everyone else is. And we all know about the swinging scene. Have you looked at that on the internet."
I nodded.
"Tempted?"
"Yes, if I could be sure of what I was getting into. The people, how would I decide who to approach, if we did meet, how would we break the ice, how would we feel after - after, you know."
"My poor Sis, you are in a mess, aren't you?" (Our parents named me Wilhelmina, but at college I came to be called Billie, and that had stuck. Sue had called me Sis from childhood and wouldn't change now.)
"I guess I am," I said.
"All right then, let's be positive. Let's take it you want to go down this road if we can figure out the how. For a start, it must gave occurred to you that you are likely to be involved with other women - or at least, another woman.`'
"Yes."
