I am an arrogant bastard.

I employ hubris as an art form and the word “cocky” describes less than 12 inches of me. It is easy for me to wax poetic about The Lifestyle as if I’m some kind of emotional and sexual guru, but only because words are kind of my thing. And, to some extent, it doesn’t really matter what those words say, as long as I see them as truth. That being said, I am very much an adventurer and explorer on this journey. By no means am I the trail guide.

We spent Saturday night with a couple we had met last weekend at the local club. Coincidentally, we had randomly found ourselves performing next to each other during back-to-back visits to the establishment. The female halves even share the same name. Since it seemed like kismet by the second encounter, we all retreated into a room and got to know one another, leaving the club with contact information and planning to meet again.

Ms. Lyrical and I talked the following week, entertaining the idea of making them our first full swap experience. She eventually warmed up and got excited by the idea, whereas I found myself experiencing insecurity and some degree of self-doubt (I should mention that this coincides with some strong waves of severe depression I’ve been experiencing recently). It is something I have a history of, though the last year with Ms. Lyrical has been a blissful reprieve from that particular condition.

So anyway, the murky shadow of depression notwithstanding, we did have a fantastic time with our new friends. The neighbors in my apartment building could be heard practically cheering us on as animal noises escaped and echoed throughout. The four of us became entangled flesh-pretzels writhing on my floor-level bed, and Ms. Lyrical was more or less the center of attention for it all (which was an absolute delight to see and take part in).

We really like these two. They’re enthusiastic, kinky, open and receptive in a way that we really appreciate. They’re both sexy in a distinct fashion, almost as foils to who we are. When it came down to it, we didn’t do full swap with them. This is partially because we were really caught up in exploring the unlimited other potentials between the four of us, but also partially because they never pushed it. I’m grateful for that.

It’s hard to articulate, but as much as I enjoy our new playmates, I don’t feel compelled to go "there" with them yet. I feel guilty for this to some degree, as if I have built my partner up only to disappoint in the end. I had to admit to her that I haven’t yet lusted for the other woman in that way yet. And if I am honest with myself, I must also admit that the smallest part of me is intimidated by his bigger cock and breadth of experience.

So I admit these things to Ms. Lyrical.

We hear each other and the conversation leads to deeper psychological exploration of life, love, death and depression. We both cry and hold each other and feel it as our souls become more richly and intricately entangled in each other. The moment is a picturesque portrait of the dichotomy between tragedy and beauty. I can still feel her heaving chest on mine.

Then we’re getting ready for bed, brushing our teeth. Mouths minty fresh, we kiss in front of the bathroom sink, and love sweeps through me like a Quiver (wink). I pick Ms. Lyrical up in my arms and carry her out of the bathroom and to the couch in my apartment. I sit down, placing her on my lap and kissing her because nothing else in the world makes sense to do at that moment.

Obviously, we stripped and made love to each other without regard to the cliché of it all. We didn’t care that we were both still raw and recovering from the multiple orgasms we enjoyed – and endured – the night before. We disregarded our aching muscles from the squats and thrusts and advanced yoga positions we had executed. I knelt down and did my best to gently lick her... we were both pretty worn out and had to tread sensitively into sexual waters.

When she was dripping and I was engorged, I lifted her in the air and told her to wrap her legs around me. She did so and I slid inside of her as she bounced against my hips and arched her neck back with a euphoric smile of ecstasy. She’s been asking me to do this for some time now and I guess I needed the act to prove my manhood... or some stupid shit like that. Either way, we were soaring.

Needless to say, I’m no superman and we didn’t stand there bouncing all night. Our embrace carried us throughout my apartment from the couch to the bed. Once we were both satisfied, we held each other until we fell asleep, and woke up more in love than we had the day before. We hadn’t come upon a resolution to the issue, but I can speak to the fact that my insecurity has been calmed in knowing that whatever happens in this life, we have chosen to go through it together.

At the end of the day, we often discuss and observe it through the veil of sex and romance, but all we’re really talking about here is love. I do believe lust to be a form of love, in the same way that “lemon” is a form of taste, and taste is a form of the human experience that is life. We lust for one another because in our thirst for life we have discovered a particular flavor of love to our liking. Kink is our bourbon, swinging our soda, and The Lifestyle is our bar. Love is water, regardless of what we think we want, love is inevitably what our bodies really need.

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