Memoirs of a Swinger Ep. 01

I've been fortunate enough to have been swinging for over thirty years now. I started swinging as a single guy and it looks like that's the way I'll finish, but I'm happy to say that for most of the time it's not been the case.

There's a hierarchy in any sort of swinging scene and as you get older your position in it changes. Of course, the young beautiful people will always be at the top but that isn't always where the most fun is to be had. At 5'9" I was never going to be a male model, but my advantage was that I've always been reasonably fit and quite muscular. I was built a bit like a male gymnast. Not all the women I fancied were into this physique but I found that I often appealed to women older than me. As I got older the more appealing I got to women of my own age however. Especially when compared to their husbands who were beginning to let themselves go.

My first swinging experience was at University. Uni really opened my eyes to sex with people my own age, but by accident one day in my second year I found a discarded copy of Rendezvous swingers' magazine. For the millennials reading this, Rendezvous was one of the ways of making contact before the internet came along. Advertisers would place an advert in the magazine saying what they were looking for and respondents would send a reply to Rendezvous giving their address or phone number and perhaps including a Polaroid picture of the sort that you couldn't get developed at Boots the chemist. If you were a match the advertisers would reply.

I started to buy Rendezvous regularly and began to reply to couples looking for single guys. Most of them were more mature. The woman (and often the guy too) were looking to get it on with a young guy and it was usually the case of the younger the better. As a student, with nobody tracking your whereabouts, you were ideally placed to capitalise on this market.

My first attempt at a meet was a disaster. I drove a hundred miles in my clapped out old mini to meet a couple in their mid-40's. I got there too early and they weren't ready but worse than that they both looked very rough, bordering on unhygienic. It creeped me out and so, on the pretence of going out to fill the car up with petrol, I made my excuses and headed for the hills. It taught me a valuable lesson about saying no if it didn't feel right.

My second attempt was a real winner however but I almost turned the offer down. I got a really nice letter from a couple in their late 40s who lived in the wilds of Lincolnshire. It explained that they were a liberated couple but that he (David) had contracted mouth