In private, my husband, Paul*, has started referring to his sexual orientation as “Results-Oriented.” As in, he doesn’t care what gender his sexual partners are if they can get the job done, so to speak. He’s being glib when he says that — no, he wouldn’t go to bed with just anyone — but there’s also some truth behind it. For a person who isn’t ready to socially, culturally, or politically identify as bisexual, Results-Oriented is his way of saying that he’s not quite as straight as most straight-identified men.
Paul started calling himself Results-Oriented around the time we had our first foursome with a straight-presenting, queer-identified couple. For the most part, we engaged in heterosexual and lesbian activities, but at one point, I let it slip that watching two men together has always been one of my top turn-ons. Our male partner looked up with excitement and climbed on top of Paul. Once he obtained consent, he gave Paul a long and thorough blowjob that finished in climax. I couldn’t decide whether to observe our partner’s clearly experienced technique or Paul’s facial expressions of utterly baffled pleasure. When it was over, all my husband could say was, “Wow … that wasn’t as different as I imagined it would be.” Keep reading »
Jared’s* question came during a sex party a few months ago, after some steamy foreplay organically led to this discussion: “Can I fuck you now?”
It caught me off guard, but not in an unpleasant way. Men had asked me this question before, and I was half expecting to decline, like I usually did. But I’d been fantasizing about having sex with him for months. This was opportunity knocking.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Jared continued, directing this at both me and my husband, Paul. “But it seems like the logical next step here.”
It was. “Are you okay with that?” I asked Paul. He nodded reassuringly, excited to watch me take this new step. I smiled. “Then, yes. Let’s give it a try.”
So we did. Jared became the second man I’ve ever had intercourse with, signifying a change I never thought would come: an interest in sleeping with men. Keep reading »
I didn’t physically prepare for my first orgy. My husband and I talked about boundaries and asked the friends who invited us about party etiquette. But I didn’t put much thought into what I looked like because I wasn’t planning to do a whole lot. I wanted to meet people, maybe kiss and fondle a few, and generally take in the experience as an observer in order to judge whether a second orgy was in my future. So I planned for comfort rather than beauty. I wore attractive but conservative clothing. My bra was snazzy, but my underwear was generic. And I didn’t even consider trimming my pubic hair.
I’ve never shaved my pubic hair. When I was a teenager, I read “The Vagina Monologues,” which features the harrowing account of a woman whose ex-husband shaved her bush without her enthusiastic consent. I decided right then that I never wanted to shave down there. The occasional hygienic trim, sure, but I’d never shave or wax or remove it in full. Pubic hair serves a purpose, and I like having it. (Plus, don’t let my kinkiness fool you – I hate pain. I don’t even tweeze my eyebrows because it hurts. So the thought of a bikini wax makes my toes curl, and not in an orgasmic way.) Keep reading »