The Swingers Next Door

There I was completely naked, face down, hands tied behind my back in a strange man’s bed, having some of the most amazing sex of my life.

Let’s be clear: I’m not just any woman on the prowl. I’m a mother of two, living in a conservative East Coast town. I have a successful career—and a husband with whom I’m deeply in love and in lust. I just happen to like sex with others as well.

And I’m not alone. In his seminal 2013 book What Do Women Want?, Daniel Bergner has my back. “Flagging sex drive is not just an inevitability for women—it is specifically the result of long-term monogamy [and] can be entirely overridden by the appearance of a new sexual partner.” He shatters the myth that men are hornier, citing a study in which women’s lady parts were measured for blood flow as they watched a broad range of porn. And they got off on all of it—even on the footage of apes having sex.

Before I read Bergner’s book, I thought there was something wrong with me. I have always liked thinking about, reading about and having sex, but kids and jobs and jobs and kids kept putting it on the back burner. My sexual identity was all but lost. Then I developed a mad crush on a hot and flirtatious coworker and my sex drive came rushing back. My husband reaped the benefits; I wanted it all the time. While that crush went unrequited, it tapped into a deep need. I wanted an affair. Not a covert, sneaking-around thing—I value honesty and love my husband way too much—but some passion and newness outside of our relationship.

From nearly the start of our relationship, my husband and I discussed adding other people into the sexual mix, but it wasn’t until about 10 years in that we went to our first swing club. We dabbled in that on and off until recently, taking a long break to have kids. Ultimately, we were frustrated by the lack of choice—you can only pick from who shows up—and were afraid of disease. After all, it’s difficult to ask, “When were you last tested?” when someone’s hand is up your skirt.

Jealousy was never an issue for us at swing establishments. Even if we were separated, we always reconvened and went home together to discuss the evening’s events. That same level of trust came with us when we discussed an open marriage. We established some rules. For instance: Always ask about STI testing. Always, always use condoms. And limit the emotional involvement.

So we each created a profile on OKCupid, a social networking website for dating. There I was in my element. A fit 40-year-old woman looking only for casual sex and to explore “boundaries” with men is a hot commodity, I found out, as I sifted through hundreds of messages from guys looking to give me what I wanted.

The best part, and the one that might surprise you, was that I wasn’t trolling OKCupid alone. There was my husband—my best friend for 20 years—sitting with his laptop across the room from me, cruising for women, and sharing with me all the good, the bad and the odd that he encountered online. We’d laugh over the men I’d find: The magician whose profile pic showed him walking over broken glass. The healthcare exec who thought for sure I’d have a knack for healthcare business development based on my profile. The MILF hunters (college guys with mommy issues). The toe-dippers who messaged and then quickly disabled their accounts. The utterly uncreative (“Want to ride me tonight?”) or those wearing their kinks on their sleeves (“Are you ticklish? Do you have rape fantasies?”). And the many gentlemen whose shirtless profile pictures are cropped right above their junk.

It may not surprise you that my husband and I kept popping up as suggestions for each other on the site. We flirted back and forth via OKCupid messages, knowing that our individual pursuits turned each other on. Sex was on our minds constantly and became a daily occurrence after the kids went to bed; we had to hold back some nights to rest. We became more physically affectionate and more open in our conversations about everything.

His past flirtations with colleagues and dalliances at swing clubs had always left me with a twinge of jealousy. But something was different now. This was totally equal. I liked helping him vet his candidates. For the record, I was totally right that K would be a bust and M was much more his type. And we were both excited about the lesbian who liked an occasional man. However, I will say that nights when he’s out and I’m at home with the kids feel lonely, until he comes home and shares the details. Then we are us again, partners in this multifaceted life we’ve built together.

Despite the sheer number of crazies we found online, there were a few sparklers. J was not necessarily what I was looking for—I mean, if I’m going for fantasy guy, I want a well-chiseled bicep and lots of tattoos—but he immediately disarmed me. Unapologetic about his paunch and life in the suburbs, his claims for having “mad game” and offers for “something crazy and intense” got to me. Recently separated, J had a daughter, a past drug problem and a penchant for dominance.

Before I even knew about his past, I could tell it was going to end badly. The texts fights started almost immediately. (He was dating others. I was jealous. I know.) But part of me was looking for the high highs and the low lows that only a torrid affair can bring. Aside from the ropes and crops, he fed something in me. And it wasn’t just sexual satisfaction. He was broken and I wanted to fix him. Did I mention that I get emotionally attached easily?

Those late night texts with my husband next to me, well after I should have been asleep, lifted me out of my every day. Sure there was laundry to do, lunch to make and a proposal to write, but I had a lover. That thought burned in me, preventing me from sleeping and nullifying my appetite. I knew I was violating a rule my husband and I had agreed on, but I couldn’t stop myself. My husband could see what was happening, but remarkably he understood that I needed to get it out of my system.

J’s drug addiction—and if we’re being honest, sex addiction—and head games (“If you don’t come over tonight, we’re done.”) doomed us from the start. We were Scarlett and Rhett on a two-week timetable. Interactions with him, in person or via text, left me feeling empty. And then he dumped me. HE dumped ME. So I spent a morning listening to The Smiths and Taylor Swift. (The first and last time Tay Tay and Morrissey will find themselves grouped together.) Then I got back on OKC. A drum-and-bass DJ and a guy who wants a threesome with his girlfriend both look promising—and way less complicated.

Even more promising is the guy I’ve been waking up to for the last two decades; the one who has made me feel special every day we’ve been together. A well-muscled 41-year-old with great taste in music? Totally my type!

And that’s just it. It’s maybe counterintuitive but being with others gives us more to bring back to our marriage: new ideas (strategic selfies are lovely to give and receive during the workday), a break from the many mundanities of life and something to talk about other than work and the kids.

Will it get played-out? Probably. But right now, it’s intoxicating. When we decide we’ve had our fill, we’ll move on to something else. For the folks keeping score at home, I’ll keep you posted.