Swinging swingers and other adventures in marriage

They were very gracious, inviting us over to their home for dinner a few days after we met. New to the area, we were thrilled to be making friends so quickly. Sometimes it takes being a million miles away from the familiar to open up to new possibilities. (photo credit: Amanda Holden)

We arrived empty handed, which isn’t our usual style, but they didn’t seem to mind. Since she works late – as a dance instructor – her partner cooked the meal. While they set the table, we lounged in their living room, which was furnished with an abundance of soft and sequined pillows, billowing curtains, low-level tables and the accoutrements of mood: Candles, soft lighting, books, a few plants.

He was very kind and rail thin, the shape of man who could sit meditation-style and actually make it look comfortable. A soft-mannered Internet sort, he smiled a lot while she did more of the talking. At dinner, we learned her craft was belly dancing, and they met at a meditation/dance retreat some years back. It was all very loving, and friendly, and relieving for me after spending two weeks far away from those who know me best. So it took my eagle-eyed spouse to point out what I completely missed.

“They are swingers,” he said on the ride home.

“Huh?” I replied.

“That’s how they operate, you know?”

“Really?” I ask, while inside I’m thinking: how do you know this?

As if he was reading my mind (something spouses have been accused of doing) he said, “In my former single days, I knew some folks who did. That’s the MO. If a couple is interested in another couple, they’ll make friends with them, and it’s all very warm and fuzzy. Besides, did you see how he kissed my cheek when we were saying goodbye?”

“Well, maybe he was just being friendly.”

“Nope, it’s more than that.”

“Really?” I asked again, not quite so stupefied. I’ve learned that my beloved is very intuitive about certain things, especially these sorts of things.  Something inside told me, he’s right, and since I’m also the intuitive type, I wasn’t about to dismiss two sets of intuition. The question was, how did I feel now?

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Years ago when I was married to my first husband, my ex and I lived in a quaint neighborhood known for being very gay-friendly. Once when a gay waiter flirted with him, he got very angry. I explained that he was reacting out of fear, not confidence. The truth was that no gay man would make him – a straight guy – do something he didn’t want to do. There were plenty of gay fish in the seas, and no need for him to think they wanted his tail. “Well, how would you feel if a lesbian picked up on you?!” he retorted.

“Hmm, flattered.” I said. “At least someone would think I’m attractive.” We were close to the end in our marriage and words like that often circulated through my head and our conversations.

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So driving home from our first dinner with a couple who could have been swingers throwing out a line to see if my husband and I might be interested in some polyamore, I had that same feeling: an odd sense of gratitude. Where they really swingers? Was there a motive to the dinner party beyond just making friends? Or were we just so crazed with a major life transition that we were delirious?

I honestly don’t know. Thinking about this has been the most fun in weeks of hard work, and it gave my husband and I something to giggle about as we put the kids and ourselves to bed. For that shared laughter alone, the dinner was worth it.

At the end of the day, nothing has changed. I still believe for myself that it’s one thing to joke and flirt with others, and quite another to act upon it. My comfort level is set fairly high on monogamy, and I’m not about to change my thermostat just because we’re new to town and I’m lonely for my old friends. But Modern Love 

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