"A bustier? Corset? Maybe one of these shelf bras? No...that's too much...or too little...isn't it? What does one wear to a swinger's party, anyway? Does it even matter? Don't the clothes end up in a pile in the corner when it's all said and done?"
Her mind whirled with worrisome questions as she clicked through hundreds of possibilities on dozens of websites. "Oh! I like that! Oh shit...too much." On top of having difficulty finding something she was drawn to wear, she needed to keep the cost down. It's not like they had a ton of money to spend on this adventure.
Mousing back to her browser window she rapidly typed in the URL of the swingers group from memory. "I ought to know it by heart...I've entered it a thousand times already," she thought.
She clicked the "photos" tab and then the "parties" folder. As hundreds of images began to load, she scrolled slowly down the line up looking for pictures of previous parties...the actual party part. From what she had learned, there was a party and then there was the after-party. Most of the thumb-nails were obviously the post-party festivities. Acres of naked skin and various body parts in an astonishing variety of couplings, three-somes and groups. "Not what I'm looking for right now," she muttered. She had already spent hours poring over the collection, wondering if she'd have the nerve to go through with their plan.
Finally finding what she was looking for, she studied the photos for clues as to the appropriate dress for such an occasion. Heels. Heels seemed to be just about de rigueur. Almost every woman had on ridiculously high heeled shoes. There were a couple of younger ladies wearing cute ballerina type flats and look...that one, older woman with the hippy hair and long legs was actually barefoot, "and her feet are DIRTY," she noticed.
No-one was modestly dressed...they all had that much in common. A flash of bare breast here and there, and there and here some brave or brazen soul had opted for letting it all hang out. Various bad-girl lingerie looks seemed popular, as well as sheer blouses and mini-skirts and "are those shorts crotchless?"
One pretty young thing sported huge hoop earrings and a thong and that was it.
Besides the thonged PTY, there were a handful of other twenty and thirty somethings, but the majority of the crowd seemed to be closer to her age. Muffin-tops overflowed tight jeans and purple veined bosoms bulged unbecomingly. She glanced down at her own body seeking reassurance that at least she wouldn't be the least desirable one there.
"Maybe I can lose ten pounds really fast," she thought, eyeing her stomach. Her post-babies pooch bothered her. No matter how many sit-ups she did, it never seemed to pay attention to her efforts and no matter what the occasion was, she was always conscious to do her best to keep it camouflaged. The rest would pass muster, she guessed, comparing her tiny, still pert girls to a set of mottled monsters she saw on one lady. "And, my legs are still pretty good," she consoled herself.
Glancing again at the monitor, she thought, not for the first time, "Do I really want to do this?" and stoking her resolve, returned once again to her shopping quest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They had been married for twenty-seven years and they had been good years. She felt lucky to have such an understanding, kind and yes, still sexy husband. Their relationship was strong, they had a good life together and she considered herself to be a fairly happy person. But, as the years went by, she had begun to feel a sort of dissatisfaction. Not with him...he was wonderful...but, with life in general and with sex, specifically. Especially with sex and especially lately. She just couldn't seem to get enough and what she got just didn't seem to satisfy her. He did his best, but no matter what, she always seemed to be horny. Thinking back over the past week, she tried to count the times she had masturbated. She never even unplugged the damned vibrator anymore. It lay there, always ready, just under her side of the bed, tempting its use every time she entered the room. There had been days she had used it to the point of splitting open the tender skin of her clitoris. And still, the...tension...(she didn't know what else to call it)...never seemed to subside.
Always accommodating, he had tried to keep up with her. He was actually pleased that her sex drive, which had experienced a bit of a dip during their child-rearing years, had once again blossomed. Always the more adventurous one, he had encouraged her to explore her fantasies and desires and when the internet finally arrived in their little town, he gave her two thumbs up when she discovered its underworld of erotica and porn.
Over the years they had from time to time driven into the city and discreetly shopped the less dubious "adults only "stores. Trying to look nonchalant, she would browse the stands of magazines, thumb through racks of sometimes confusing outfits, ("How do you even get this on? Where does THIS hole go?") and hefted huge dildos like a pro. "Which should I get, honey? The 10" or the 12?" (she ended up getting the 8 incher...the larger ones were just too intimidating.) His presence by her side supplied her courage she wouldn't have had by herself.
But, by and by, the sparkle and flash of their fun and games began to become boring. One can only read so many tell-all stories filled with buxom babes and stiff stallions before becoming somewhat calloused. Being a remote witness to the sexual escapades of others used to have her hot to trot for some play time of her own, but after a while, they barely dampened her panties.
But then Al Gore invented the internet (snicker). And, then the internet became available to every Tom, Dick, Harry and Beth and she gained access to a world beyond her wildest imaginings.
Realizing she was gently tearing slender strips of lip skin off with her teeth, she mentally admonished herself to stop. It was a habit she had developed during childhood that tended to re-surface when her mind was working on a problem or project. She didn't mind it...it seemed to help her focus, but her dentist had been aghast (she also chewed on the inside of her cheek.) She had never bothered to find out why and she had never gone back to that dentist. Now, curious, she typed "cheek biting" into her search engine window and clicked on the first result. "Morsicatio buccarum," she read, "(also termed chronic cheek biting and chronic cheek chewing) is a condition characterized by chronic irritation or injury to the buccal mucosa (the lining of the inside of the cheek within the mouth), caused by repetitive chewing, biting or nibbling." Scrolling down the Wikipedia page she grimaced at the pictorial display of diseased mouths and quickly clicked the exit button. It was one thing to do something unconsciously and in ignorance...it was quite another thing to do something consciously and with knowledge.
Anyway...she loved the internet! The wildest, most random things would come into her head and she could just enter it into the magical Google box and instantly, all known knowledge in the Universe (or, so it seemed) appeared before her eyes.
Thinking of this, she wondered what the most searched inquiry was. A quick search revealed the following, in this order: sex and s e x. She giggled. "At least I'm not the only one! The whole world seems to have sex on the brain!"
Wondering again at the intensity of her own sexual itch which couldn't seem to be satisfyingly scratched, she briefly entertained the idea that she might be entering menopause. She had skipped a period a few months back, but had been fairly regular since then, except for that missed month and a bit of a heavier flow than usual. Suddenly the thought that her period might start and put a wrench in things made her glance at the calendar above her desk for reassurance. Good...if her body stayed true to its normal schedule, she should be fine. Not that she or her husband had any problem with period sex but the general swinging public might.
Biting her inner lip for focus, she once again clicked the swinger's site tab. The party was only two weeks away and more and more people were signing up to attend. Besides being intensely curious about who would be in attendance, she was also a bit wary. Thank goodness this particular website required its members to post photos on their profiles. Not that digital pictures couldn't be altered or that people didn't use decades old pictures of themselves from time to time, but she was on the lookout for a particular couple that she wasn't at all interested in running into and she knew she would recognize them if she saw them.
