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I remember when my ex-girlfriend and I started exploring the possibilities of a non-traditional relationship, a friend of ours who had discovered our antics through the grapevine, approached me and said, "Sooooo… I hear you guys are swingers!" Bleh. We always hated that word. First, because it sucks to have any experience that's so personal and subjective distilled into a generic keyword. Second, because it's just so … icky. The image of all the parents having a key party in Ang Lee's film The Ice Storm comes to mind, and that ain't pretty. We had kind of stumbled into non-monogamy through a couple who lived downstairs from us. It had just been a glorious coincidence that the guy had been into my girlfriend, his girlfriend was into me, and vice versa. Next thing you know, we're doing some old-fashioned hippie-style swapping. It was all fun 'n' frolic until we had to move away. With the both of us being somewhat shy, we withered in our new suburban surroundings for a couple of years. We had no casual contact with anyone who was interesting and/or interested, and we didn't want to foist ourselves onto a lifestyle scene. It sucked. It wasn't long after we moved to San Francisco that things started looking up for us in the polyamory department. I met someone through work who was involved in a non-monogamous relationship who just so happened to want to jump my bones. And lo and behold, it turned out that her boyfriend liked my girlfriend. Bada bing! It was on again. This time, though, there was more to the intercoupling than just quiet, discreet apartment bedroom hi-jinks. This couple was well integrated in the San Francisco sex scene. They were on a couple of email lists which hosted private play parties. Some were queer in orientation, but most were couple-friendly. When they asked us if we wanted to attend one of these parties with them, we weren't sure what to do. We discussed possible outcomes; after all, there was no guarantee that one of us might end up playing with someone outside our insular arrangement, and we had to discuss how either of us might react to this. In the end, we felt it was a great opportunity to have fun and look inside a scene upon whose fringes we had only drifted. So we agreed.  We met at their place in the Sunset, had a few bowls and flirted around a bit before driving to the party. It was held at an infamous location that straddles the border of SOMA and the Mission —I'd tell you exactly where, but frankly I'd like to be able to return at some point. We were ushered in and immediately made to sign a form that absolved the hosts of all responsibility and also ensured that guests followed certain standards and conditions (such as no touching people you don't know without receiving explicit approval from the touchee).While a good number of attendees were nude, my girlfriend and I were much too bashful for such a display. Instead, she chose a sheer, tight top and Victoria's Secret shorts, while I stuck to my ubersexy Target boxers. Ooo, baby. The location was a three-level unit with dungeon downstairs and a nice hot tub setup outside. Something I wasn't prepared for was the hippie/pagan vibe that flowed strongly throughout the party. Pretty soon I felt comfortable enough to slip out of my boxers and into the hot tub to indulge in a nice round of pot smoking. Meanwhile, the couples had swapped out and split apart, with my girl and the other boy headed off upstairs. The sexy "other" girl had become restless, and she pressed her warm, wet tits against me in the hot tub to entice me out and into the lower level play space. I'm a sucker for tits-I grabbed a towel and followed her into the den of iniquity. Inside was a variety of apparatus that I would later recognize as typical dungeon fare —St. Andrews cross, a stockade, a couple of slings. Strapped to the cross was an exaggeratedly effeminate man, shouting out as he received his punishment for being a sissy. A brunette whimpered as her lover incessantly slipped his cock inside of her in a dizzying rhythm (and in the missionary position, no less… didn't exactly see that coming in this environment). I soaked all of this in before we gravitated to the medical table. All of my attention was on her body —her amazing breasts, the curves of her voluptuous hips, the way her little tummy merged into her pelvic bone. I slipped hand under her panties and rubbed her clit as a crowd grew around us. She wanted me inside of her, and despite my misgivings and general aversion towards exhibitionism, my lust held sway. In accordance to the house rules, I grabbed a condom and rolled it on before slowly entering her. She clearly was into the public aspect of our fucking, as she came quicker than she usually did. I was the complete opposite, however, and it required a bit of concentration to tune out our studio audience. She was so beautiful to me, though, with her eyes closed, moaning as she accepted me. I exploded, half expecting applause from the crowd around us, as if I had nailed the daily double on Jeopardy. We spent some time alone, talking, before realizing we should try to locate our other halves. When we did, we were treated to a very sordid tale indeed. My girlfriend, who beforehand had wondered if she'd be too uptight to play in public, had ended up entertaining the entire top floor with some mutual oral from a complete stranger. Apparently, she had started making out with him, and was pleasantly surprised by his eagerness and enthusiasm in going down on her. He lay her out in the middle of the floor, giving the attentive a great view of the action. At first she had played the bottom, giving in to his advances with nary a sign of reciprocity. But once she had coated his face in her come, she had delighted the crowd by turning the tables and delivering an Oscar-worthy blow job. I was stunned, and had to admit, more than a little turned on by my girlfriend's display. Overcome with the urge to take my shy, retiring wallflower home and plow her like a wheat field, I decided to take my leave of our first polyamorous play party. We had accomplished our mission, and expanded our horizons. We dropped our couple off, and as we rolled down Oak St. from the Sunset, for one of the very first times since we had moved here, we felt like residents of San Francisco.
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