Swap Meet

It made a kind of cultural sense that Hjalmar immediately launched into his smorgasbord metaphor as soon as Kris and I stepped through the portal. His short-cropped, spiky hair fluttered with nods.

“Bibi gives the best head, male or female. You must get a taste of that, and then a quickie romp with Brit and Stefan, Stefan’s well endowed but he can’t last long. If you want long, slow, and sweet, settle down with Numi—she’s Finnish—and Pascal over there in the corner. Pascal’s the one with the moustaches. Do you like a little hot kink? What am I saying, doesn’t everyone? Anyway, Shushui and Mergie will have you in knots and you’ll probably need a nap and a deep massage after them. I think they’re over by the palms by the pool. And then there’s—oh, never mind, just mingle, fuck, and have fun. It’s all good.”

Kris’s smile grew wider as she gazed around the living room and saw little groups of people, some naked, some leathered-up, some still in their formal attire—tuxes and gowns. I could tell she was already so excited her nipples were hard and she boldly sneaked a hand down to graze between her thighs.

“Pieter, they all look so…”

I swallowed hard and nodded. Hjalmar moved off with a wave as a tall, lithe dark-skinned woman wrapped her fingers around his erection and steered him off to a pile of cushions. As instructed, we first slipped off our shoes and then stood wondering what to do next. Here, we were. We were going to swing and swap. And, as usual, I didn’t have a clue what to do first.

“Pieter,” Kris hissed in my ear like a wasp. “Whatever you do, don’t act like we’re virgins to the swinging scene. My god, I’d be so embarrassed! Now, go on, go wave your cock around and act casual when someone grabs it.”

I nodded uncertainly. “What are you going to do?”

She huffed at me and easily slipped her gown off and tossed it aside. She ran her palms down her hips. “I’m going to go get a glass of wine and then get fucked, of course.”

“I’ll do that, too,” I muttered.

“You will not! You know how you get with just one glass of wine. Just be nice and go fuck someone, darling.” She patted my cheek and strode away, still in her high heels and necklace.

I watched the action going on all around me as I strolled through the rooms. It was exciting, of course, but the problem with being a statistician in the swing scene made itself blindingly apparent. I mentally clocked and separated into columns the obviously heteros, bi-sexuals, and indefinables. As I passed the entwined couples and multiple partner groups, I tried desperately to turn off the categorizing function of my brain. But it was difficult. Suddenly, I wanted to tell someone how interesting it was that 35 percent of the people were eating pussy, 17 percent were fucking doggy-style, and a surprising 49 percent were simply repeating the same phrases over and over as partners were shifted in a cycle of fucking and sucking.

The most popular phrase, it seemed, was “Have you tried the pate?”

To be honest, I wasn’t sure if they meant the mound of processed gray liver on the buffet table or some new kink.

“How interesting, baby,” whispered a voice nearby as I glanced toward the buffet table. “Do you have a clothing fetish?” A slim, pale hand reached around me and slowly unzipped my pants, slid inside, and gave my cock a squeeze. “I love a bit of frottage myself, but it’s so much more interesting and frictional with some skin, don’t you think?”

I looked around and there was no one there. Until I looked down into the lizard-green eyes of a short woman in a shimmering evening gown. She licked her tongue over her bottom lip. “Can I have a taste, please?”

With a weak smile, I nodded. I have to say, her fellation was eager and yet detached, almost as if my cock was a number she was speed-dialing and then rapidly—if abstractedly—chatting with about nothing in particular. It did nothing to turn my mind from number crunching, statistical analysis, and mental report writing.

It seemed against my will when I finally spewed into her open mouth with a grunt. I glanced down to see her spit into a crumpled tissue. She actually patted my balls like they were a pet dog’s head and said “Thanks, so much.” In an instant, she was off, hovering around another man’s thighs. I felt as if I’d been somehow “processed.”

“I see you met Sally the Spitter,” chuckled a paunchy, hairy naked man who appeared at my side. “Everyone meets Sally eventually. She means no harm, really.” He held out a meaty hand and shook mine aggressively. “Nate Plumber. But I’m spa owner, not a plumber. Get it?” His chuckle deepened into a rumble. “Best damn therapeutic massages in the city. Come by some time and get some. On the house.” He simultaneously winked and elbowed my ribs. “Can’t stand them myself. Touchy-feely, you know. Me, I just like a good down-to-earth grind ‘em up hard fuck, know what I mean?”

I nodded. “Pieter. Pieter Snook.”

“Snook? Funny name.” He glanced down at my cock. “But Pieter’s sure appropriate.” He bounced my flaccid cock on his palm for a moment. “Nice piece of meat, you’ve got there. You into ass fucking at all, Pete? That’s what I like. Yes sir, nothing like a good heavy, thick piece of meat, like yours, for reaming an ass, is there? Yeah, ass fucking, nothing like it.” He looked into my eyes for confirmation.

“Oh, sure.” I looked around trying to see where Kris had got to and got up to.

“So, Pete, what do you say?” Nate wobbled his shoulders back and forth.

“Sorry. What do I say to what?”

“Ass fucking, man! Grabbing some hips and pumping ass lips!” Nate rubbed the back of his hand across his pulpy mouth. “You love it, don’t you?”

“Well, to be honest, uh, Nate, you see I…” As I turned back to him, he’d swiveled around, bent over, and began thrusting his rotund buttocks against my groin.

“Gimme some lovin’,” he moaned in a high-pitched falsetto voice.

I staggered backward and fell over a writhing couple on the floor. As I fumbled around trying to get back on my feet, my hand squashed against a sizable breast and I heard a sharp squeal like an animal in pain. Or ecstasy.

“Mmm, do that again….oh, hi, Mr. Snook!”

“Megan?” I raised my eyes from the thick pink nipple into the eyes of my dentist’s receptionist. She kissed the head of a small, thin cock in her hand and smiled brightly at its owner. “Hang on a second, will you, Charlie. How’s it going, Mr. Snook? Wow, I didn’t know you had such a nice cock. Jerk it for me a little, will you? Then you can fill my cavity,” she warbled with a giggle. “Excuse me, though, I have to…” she nodded at the cock in her hand and leaned forward to slurp her mouth over it loudly.

I gave my cock a few half-hearted tugs, but it remained stubbornly limp. In another moment, I felt a wet, slippery finger sliding between my balls and the cleft between my buttocks. I flinched as I felt it probing.

“You’d better start doing better than this, Pieter,” Kris said cheerfully. “How many have you been with? I’ve had six partners already. At least six. I think.” Her breasts nudged against my back and I felt my cock starting to respond. “Mmmmm,” she crooned in my ear. “Here.” She pushed a condom into my hand and pushed me toward Megan’s spread-eagled legs.

“Kris, I’d rather…with you…I want to…”

“Don’t be such an ass, Pieter. We came here to play with other people, not each other.”

“I know,” I muttered under my breath, “but…”

“Oh, for God’s sake. You act like you don’t want to fuck other people. What’s the matter with you, Pieter?”

“Nothing’s the matter with me! All right then!” I tore open the condom package and slipped it over my hardon. “There, see? Happy now?”

“Not yet,” Kris said, “but give me a minute.”

She rubbed my condom-sheathed cock over Megan’s pussy and then slapped my ass hard when it was positioned for entry. “Fuck her, Pieter, fuck her good!” She kept slapping my ass to mark the rhythm of my strokes. Then I started feeling other hands slapping my ass, too. Megan’s squeals grew louder although still muffled by Charlie’s cock in her mouth.

Kris pulled another naked woman close and, holding my head, rubbed it over the woman’s small, firm breasts. It was, I guess, at that moment that I finally broke through and my libido crumpled my statistician’s mind in its fist like a tattered leaf underfoot on an autumn evening. I became aware of the pleasure of Megan’s pussy squeezing my shaft as I pumped in and out of her. I began enjoying the feel of the nameless woman’s erect nipples against my lips. Wow, I thought, I’m actually doing it. I’m…I’m swinging!

And then, as these stories always go, don’t they, I woke up. I pried my eyes open wider to see Kris’s hand encircling my morning erection.

“Well, mister sleepyhead. You’re all ready for the party tonight, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said. “I think I am.”

© 2004 William S. Dean. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

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