I had made a new friend through the local kinder, and through our mutual love of alcohol, she regaled me with her sexual exploits leaving me feeling naïve, boring and titillated in equal measures.
She and her husband were avid swingers and her reviews were glowing. You both get to have sex with other people and when you get home, you are so horny from the experience, and you bonk each other's brains out.
I was sceptical. I could not imagine wanting to bonk anyone’s brains out, but I was open to the idea. My sex starved husband jumped at the suggestion, researching a suitable event with the excitement of a seven-year-old opening their Xmas morning bounty.
Our first swingers party was a mere 10 minute drive from our home. Virtually opposite the park we took our kids to play local footy.
We booked, were given the address, dress code and ground rules. No single men, women to wear sexy lingerie and men g strings or jocks and vests. Always ask consent before making a sexual move. Use condoms. Drunkenness or bad behaviour will not be tolerated. Respect to be always shown.
We went to our local Japanese restaurant beforehand, where I addressed my anxiety by knocking back sushi and sake. I felt uncomfortable in too tight lingerie (which had fit my pre-childbirth body). I had bought suspenders and stockings which I spent ages in front of the mirror trying to get lined up and in the process causing a ladder which I tried to contain by a dab of nail polish. Under jeans and shirt, my husband was sporting brand new jocks, fearing his sagging Big W fare would not pass muster. He topped it off with his green paisley wedding suit waistcoat.