Swinging is Awesome

Mala’s eyes suddenly lit up. The opening she has been praying for had suddenly come. Her knees seemed to buckle. She sat down.
There were four in the drawing room of her flat. Her husband Suresh, and Roopa and Damu, the couple from the flat opposite that shared the same landing. It was Saturday morning, and they were planning for a movie that evening. The problem was the choice of the show. Suresh did not fancy the movie his wife wanted, and Mala did not want the action film her husband preferred. Roopa and Damu had the same problem, but Mala’s choice was the same as Damu’s, and Roopa’s was the same as Suresh’s. It was then that Mala’s head exploded with the idea.
“I have a simple solution,” she said, “Damu and I would go to the movie we like, and Roopa can take Suresh to what they prefer.” Attending movies with another man’s wife is unknown in Indian society, but Mala was surprised to find that the other three acclaiming her revolutionary proposal with enthusiasm. That made her confident that her plan would work. The men left for their offices soon after, and Roopa went across to her flat to complete her chores. She was back in Mala’s flat after an hour and a half. They saw another episode of a TV serial. During the telecast Roopa, unusually for her, was silent. Her thoughts were apparently elsewhere. Mala did not disturb her. She knew what was disturbing Roopa. She also knew that sooner rather than later she would come out with it, or she would burst. Roopa then spoke.
“I can’t quite explain it Mala,” said Roopa, “but I feel uncomfortable, even guilty, that I am excited about going to a movie with your husband.”

“Same here, Roopa,” said Malathi, “but I would go further. My heart is racing. It has no business to do that.”
“Really Mala. Why is it so?” said Roopa.
“I know why Roopa. I got a book form our library last month that explains it. I have been reading it pretty thoroughly. I think I know the answer. I do not know how you would receive it.”
“Out with it Mala. If you find it OK in all certainty I would too.”
“We are ripe for swinging, Roopa. That’s what it means.”
“Swinging was what we did when we were children.”
“Roopa, this is adult swinging. I believe that it is as exhilarating as the childhood game. Before I explain swinging answer this question. You must speak the absolute truth.”
“Mysterious, Mala, but I promise to speak the whole truth and nothing but it.” Roopa was feeling uncomfortable, but made light of it by laughing. She could sense the drift of the question. Mala came brutally to the point.
“Does my husband figure in your fantasies?” Roopa would not speak. She avoided eye contact with her friend. Then she spoke slowly with eyes focussed on the carpet.
“He does Mala.”
“No need to feel guilty. Your husband does in mine too. And I bet my last rupee, I figure in your husband’s and you in my husband’s. We four have known each other for five years, and in these five years we have been so much together that it is like living in the same house, and doing the same things. I want to come right out in the open. My heart is racing and you is fluttering because without knowing it we are ready to swing.”
“What’s that once again?”
“Swinging is partner exchange. I want to have sex with your husband, and I want my husband to have sex with you.”
“Mala, I wish you would not deliver information of this sort like hammer blows.”
“Sorry Roopa, I can hardly help it. Our friendship has reached a stage when we cannot contemplate continuing our relationship without taking this logical next step.”
“But Mala what you say so difficult to comprehend.”
“I’ll explain. Are you horrified at the idea of my making love to your husband?”
“No at all. No Mala, I am not horrified. I am not averse to it. I would even go further and say that the idea excites me.”
“Then what’s the objection?”
“Who is objecting Mala? We are just discussing. You are rushing me, and I am getting confused. You must give me time. Suddenly you pop the idea that you must make love to my husband I to yours. You cannot shove such a drastic notions and expect me to take it in my stride. You have to explain in more detail. You obviously have studied what you call swinging. You have to tell me more from your researches.”
“I am glad you’ve asked. I have indeed done a study. Marriage, you have to agree Roopa, is possessive and emotion charged. Swinging love is emotionless physical relationship.” She went to the bookshelf and picked a slim volume and turned to a page she had tagged, and read: “‘By removing the secrecy and dishonesty inherent in one’s natural desires for sexual variety, the couple can explore their fantasies together without deceit or guilt.’ If Suresh for example finds me unenthusiastic as a partner in sex and takes a concubine our marriage would most certainly crumble. That type of relationship is secret, and it is full of deceit. If he has sex with you and I with your husband there is no secrecy and no deceit. A new level of trust and openness about one’s feelings is achieved without the destructive baggage of jealousy. Swinging life style is well established in the West, especially in the U.S.,” continued Mala. ‘You know amongst what segment of the population? White, middle-class, middle-aged. Surprised?
“Want more?”
“Go ahead.”
“Mostly regular church goers.”
“But true, nevertheless. You know what has happened to their married lives after that? Happier. That is one thing that all who have studied swinging agree. It brings husband and wife closer together. Paradoxical, but true.”
“You seem to have prepared your message like an evangelist.”
“I am glad you brought up this comparison. I am like an evangelist. Like an evangelist I am propagating a cause that I feel is sound. Suresh and I are in the tenth year of our marriage and we need increasing levels of stimulation to produce the same sexual excitation previously obtained by a glance or a simple touch. I will go one step further and confess that sex is boring between us. Swinging may be one creative solution to the problem of habituation – it provides sexual variety, adventure, and the opportunity to live out one’s fantasies as the book says and I repeat, without secrecy and deceit. When I sleep with Damu and you with Suresh we have a different sexual experience, and our relationships with our husbands would improve as a result. In short we would find a way to reconnect physically and emotionally with our husbands.” Mala had been reading the book so often that she, without knowing it, was lifting whole sentences from it.
“I agree that sex with my husband is not longer exciting,” said Roopa. “I often excuse my self with headaches, and even when I agree it is a case of spreading my thighs for a minute or two, and then turning round to sleep. Even this level of interest I can achieve only by fantasising”
“If we follow this plan we need not fantasise. You can have the real thing.”
“Would it not amount to bigamy?”
“No. Is fantasying bigamy? It isn’t? This is just one step removed from fantasying.”
“I am agreeable, Mala, but how to get our men involved. I can’t cuddle Damu after supper and tell him that I want Suresh to fuck me.” Roopa thought it so funny that she laughed for a full minute. Mala was grinning happily.
“I have a plan,” said Mala. It came to me in a flash this morning. I’ll tell you what we do this evening to rope in our husbands. We do what we did with our husband’s during our honeymoon. They are so ripe for swinging that the pieces would just fall into place.”
The two women were in conference for almost two hours working out the details of their scheme. When Roopa left for her flat she had the jaunty gait of one who knew what to do, and how. The confidant parting words of Mala were ringing in her ears. ‘You wouldn’t have to do a thing. It would happen as naturally as water flowing down a slope.’
* * *
The car turned into the divided highway. After the narrow, crowded and potholed city roads it was a pleasure for Suresh to speed along on a broad three-lane road. His heart was ticking at a fast pace too, palpitating in fact.
“I feel as if I am on a honeymoon,” Roopa said.
“Funny that you should thing so,” said Suresh, “this is precisely how I felt when as a newly married man I used to go to movies with Mala. What type of movies did you prefer in those days, love or action?”
“Love and action,” she said, “but in the stalls. We had little idea what happened on the silver screen.” She giggled. “We chose movies that were too sedate to be popular with the general public. The theatre had to be well away from where we lived, and we waited till the movie had a reasonable run.”
“And in an almost empty theatre you chose seats on the last row, and in a corner away from the entrance and exit,” continued Suresh.
“That’s right. What happened next was wonderful. The danger that others could be watching us made it a thrilling adventure. It was such a turn-on that we rarely waited for the show to end. Funny is it not Suresh that husband and wife who can do whatever they want behind closed door should find cuddling in the open so thrilling.”
“Hi, are you on honeymoon mode again?”
“The theatre you have chosen is far from our homes, and I suspect that the movie is not the popular one we were talking about this morning. Did you get the last row allotted when you booked the seats?
“Of course.”
“You ladies have been conspiring? And what is Maya up to?”
“That’s what I have been wanting to ask you. They are not going to any movie. The beach is what she heading for. You should know why she has chosen the beach.”
“That is where we had a lot of fun during the early part of our marriage.”
“Yes. Have you seen masses of nets on the beach by the catamarans?
“I have, of course.”
“We would choose a part of the beach that is not crowded, and we would cuddle resting our backs on the nets. We would wait till it is dark, but no so dark that one cannot see. You would be surprised at amount of love making that is possible if the corner chosen is just right.”
“Gone all the way?”
“A few times. That was ten years ago when I was far more nimble than I am now.”
“Next time we will try that.”
“Before that I must get into shape,” he said and laughed. “Sex on the sands can be physically very demanding.”
“Now tell me about your adventures in the theatre.”
“Why don’t you wait for the real thing? The theatre is round that corner. Damu used to call it our appetiser.”
“For dinner you would go home?”
“Yes.” She giggled again.
When they got into the car Roopa wondered if their body language would give them away. She need not have bothered. They had the jauntiness of young lovers.
The theatre balcony was sparsely occupied. They had seats in the last row. As they entered the lights dimmed. Suresh looked round. There was a couple in their row ten seats away. He would be hiding Roopa from their view. There were a few in the lower rows, all too far away. The corner was perfect.
“How long do I have to wait'” asked Suresh.
“The first song used to be our standard,” she replied.
Suresh always thought that songs in Indian movies an absurdity, but not today. He was waiting for it, and curiously it was a long wait—in his opinion. Eventually the hero and his girl reached a park. For regular moviegoers it is easy to diagnose when a song would burst forth. It did.
When Suresh turned he found Roopa reclined on her seat. Her pallav of her sari was on her lap, the blouse unhooked and laid open. She had no bra on. Her breasts, sizable ones, were dangling like ripe mangoes. Suresh gasped. He took his hand towards the breast nearest to him and gently kneaded it. He plucked at the tit. His hand wandered to the other breast. He kneaded that, and he plucked that tit. He placed his hand under the breast nearer him and lifted it up. He bent down and taking the tit between his indrawn lips he bit it. Roopa brought her hand to his cheek and softly rubbed it. Then she took her hand to his crotch and caught his hardened cock and gripped it. This went on for some time and then they separated and looked around. The couple in their row could have noticed them if they had not been busy hugging each other.
Suresh rubbed her thigh, and Roopa gently drew her sari up till her thigh was bare. Suresh slid his hand on her thigh and worked his way up. Roopa was kissing him as he approached her pussy. She slid forward on her seat and spread out her thigh. Suresh found her shaved pussy wet. He found the clit and teased it. Roopa moved her hips up and down.
“Darling, stop it,” she said. “I am ready to burst.” She said it so earnestly that he stopped. She sat up and covered herself. Soon there was the intermission.
“We’ll go home,” she said. They reached home. Roopa had the key to Mala’s flat. ‘By arrangement’ said Roopa to Suresh’s enquiring look. ‘Mala has the key to my flat.’ They entered and promptly were in a tight embrace.
“Hark,” said Roopa. They could hear Mala opening the other door. They smiled, and resumed where they left off.
They were soon naked. Roopa spread the quilt on the floor, and arranged pillows as bolsters. She kept the bright lights on. Suresh took her hands between his hands and gently caressed it. The sensation was delightful especially when he worked on the fingers. He rubbed her neck and then the ears. His touch was magical in its effect. He dragged her head on to his chest and held her cheeks with both his hands kissing her on the forehead. He was now kissing her on the cheek and then he was reaching for her lips. Presently his hand was on her breast. Once again he was using both his hands this time on the breast, kneading it and caressing it. She gently nudged him on to the other breast. Her tits were burning with desire. She pressed his head down. He was on his knees biting now one tit and now the other. She was moaning. She was getting hot between her thighs. She decided to satisfy a fantasy, something she has been dreaming of but never got to experience.
She stood up, legs apart looking down at him. He understood. He lay face up. His penis was swaying like a bamboo pole in a breeze.
“Come on,” he said. She stood over him astride, with her feet on either side of his hips. He looked up, eyes tense with desire. She blushed for from where he was below he could eye contact her and look at her pussy at the same time.
“Come down, darling, you have so much of syrup that I would slip in with ease.” She felt wet but did not know she was flowing. He smiled mischievously as she blushed. His hands worked up her thighs but he could not reach her pussy. He gently kneaded her thighs. And then he softly held a bunch of her thighs in each hand and pulled her towards him. She lowered myself gradually. His fingertips touched her groins. Slowly he reached her lips and then with his two thumbs he parted her lips. She was now close enough to hold his warm throbbing cock. She guided his cock in. Thanks to the ample grease it slipped it as if it were a piston. It was large, tight and splendid. She moved up and down. ‘Sit rock still darling,’ he said, ‘or I may spill.’ She steadied herself; it was so full and so fine that she wanted it to last for a long time. She bent forward for support, her hands entwined in his. She sat still savouring every moment. She disengaged her hand and held him by the wrist.
She brought his hands forward to her breasts. He softly caressed her breasts and tickled her tits. Her tits were burning. She needed more. She bent down and made him alternately bite and suck her tits. ‘Suresh, darling I can wait no longer,’ She said. ‘I too, honey,’ he said. She moved up and down and he moved. Soon she had orgasms. Her second coincided with his, and it was a whopper. They lay exhausted in each other’s arms.
The clock stuck twelve. It was the prearranged time to go.
Roopa opened the door. Maya was already standing there with Damu by her side. They ran across, gave themselves a high five as they crossed, and fell into their husbands’ arms. They felt each other the way a mother would feel a child that was lost in an amusement park and is found. They kissed on all parts of the face making cooing noises the while. The doors closed gently. It would be desecration to describe what happened behind those two doors.
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