From Monogamy To Open Marriage: Dating Arthur

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger.

From Monogamy To Open Marriage is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursuing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual, the other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar friendship that centered around fucking, so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade, and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this new, enjoyable journey.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensualhe other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual, the other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensualhe other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual, the other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking, so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensualhe other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual, the other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensualhe other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze, and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.

From Monogamy to Polyamory is a weekly column devoted to the discussion of pursing sex and love outside marriage. 


Yesterday, I booked a local hotel room per my husband’s specifications. Today I’m getting a mani/pedi. On Friday we’ll choose lingerie. And on Saturday we’ll pack an overnight bag, some toys, condoms, snacks and maybe a little booze and head to that hotel room that I booked. My husband will decide on the details: where I’ll sit, what I’ll do, and when I’ll speak when a man named Arthur* arrives.

I “met” Arthur on a local website for swingers. We messaged and exchanged photos and when I decided he was worth our time, I told him to contact my husband to discuss the details about getting together with us. The rest is a bit of a mystery to me; that’s the way that we decided to plan this encounter. I can only assume that he met with or spoke to Arthur. He would not have moved forward with a plan if he weren’t comfortable and confident that Arthur was going to be respectful and enjoyable to me.

This will be very easy — sexual encounters of this nature are new to us as a couple, but for me they’re very familiar.

Nine years ago, when I first met the man who became my husband, I was involved with seven other men. I was newly divorced and I suppose I was making up for lost time. I had two different D/s relationships: one was a man who was deliciously sadistic yet sexually sensual. The other was the type who combined bondage, sexual pleasure, and intense mental/emotional connection. Both of them were married.

There was Joe who was of the vanilla variety — a newly separated father of four who decided he preferred a cozy, familiar, friendship that centered around fucking so I filled that role for him about once a week.

Richard dubbed me the perfect companion for swinger parties. He’d show up in his convertible Audi coupe and we’d drive to the city, indulge in a fancy dinner, then head to a high rise building to fuck strangers all night long.

Jason was a casual steady who I saw maybe twice a month. Sometimes I’d spend the weekend at his house and we’d function almost like a long-term couple. David lived five minutes away so I saw him about once or twice a week. He was once part of a couple that I met for a full swap with my ex-boyfriend.

And the seventh? Well, there was never a regular seventh. But when all else failed and none of the others were available, I always managed to dig up an old number.

Since my husband and I started out as friends, from the very beginning I told him everything. The fact that he pursued me with full knowledge of everything/one that I was doing should have been my first clue that we’d find ourselves where we are today. And maybe the fact that that early in our courtship, we bonded by trading favorite porn clips via Yahoo IM should have been another indicator. Combine these two things with the vast library of graphic sexual photos of both of us (predating our relationship) that he has kept for nearly a decade and it seems there should be no surprise that we are both excited to start this journey into a new, enjoyable.

I scroll through Arthur’s texts and photos again and again. There’s still a ton of “what ifs” because nothing ever goes exactly as planned. I know there’s a chance he may cancel. One of the kids could call us in the middle of everything. What if, even though my husband knows my tastes, I find this man repulsive and have to ask him to leave right away?

What if the sex is terrible or boring or bad?

At my nail appointment, the technician casually asks about my plans for the weekend as he lifts my right foot out of the warm water. I say “I’m spending time with a new friend” and I am slightly proud of myself for coming up with a response that’s almost the truth.

Since making the decision to enjoy sex with others, we have yet to tell anyone about it. As of right now, I don’t know if I want to tell anyone. I’m not ashamed of what we’re doing — I’m afraid of the judgment and rejection I might face if anyone knew.

While I watch as smooth hands rub lotion on my feet and legs, I theorize on which friends I might lose if they knew I was preparing for a night of rough sex with my husband and a man we barely know. I imagine my sister’s response and I shake it out of my head. The only thing that bothers about what we’re doing is the fact that we feel like we are keeping a deep dark secret. While we don’t feel the need to broadcast every detail about our lives, we have always been open and candid with close friends.

If I were single and casually dating, surely I’d mention my weekend plans to any friend who asked.

When the weekend is over, we’ll talk and laugh about the hours we spent naked with a stranger. We’ll go over what went well and what we want to improve. We’ll ask each other questions about certain moments and specific actions. We’ll talk about how soon we want to do it again.

Right now the anticipation is distracting, but I have to pick my kids up from practice. Then make dinner. Then talk about college applications with my oldest son. Then get to bed at a decent hour so that I can wake up early enough to go to the gym. Saturday can’t come soon enough.

*Obviousy Arthur isn't he real name. I'm not a jerk.
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