Already Great

I was a little apprehensive about this post, first half included. First of all, I feel a little bit like I’m airing our dirty laundry out in public. Secondly, it doesn’t seem like a great idea to talk about your vaginal odor publicly when you’re a swinger, or trying to be a swinger is more the case lately. Lastly, it also seems like a bad idea to share how childhood sexual assault has fucked up your psyche. But, I don’t think talking about relationship problems should be frowned upon, and vaginal odor is a thing every woman deals with, or at least that’s what the Internet and Amy Schumer say, so please don’t take that from me. And as far as talking about Tom, anytime I feel embarrassed or ashamed about being raped, I try to face it head on. Of course it’s uncomfortable, and I do feel embarrassed and ashamed at times, but it is what it is.

I am not fragile because I was raped, I am tough. And I do not want to be treated like a peach. I’m probably never going to warm up to bondage, but I’ll get off to a good mouth fucking any day of the week.

So I’m not sure I’ll ever understand what Mr. Right’s plan was to address the YPC (Yuvonna Pussy Crisis). But I have to remember that he is a very simple minded man  who does not like confrontation, and I am an incredibly complex, over-analyzing woman who thrives on confrontation. But for anyone out there who feels like they don’t know how to confront their partner about vaginal odor, try something like:

“Baby you know I love going down on you and making you feel good, but you seemed a little off last night. Have you been drinking enough water?”. Done. And if she can’t handle that, it’s beyond you.

This whole pussy eating thing has gotten so out of control, I just don’t let him go down on me anymore. Mr. Right hasn’t had his mouth on my vagina since he was wasted at the swinger club 4 months ago and insisted on doing it to flaunt his tail feathers. And frankly, Molly is the only reason that happened. Molly is our good friend who brings us lots of joy.

At some point I realized the YPC was detrimental to my relationship with Mr. Right because it affected how I felt about Mr. Right going down on other women. If he wasn’t going down on me simply because I didn’t let him, that would be one thing. But it made me feel jealous to know he enjoyed eating pussy, just not my pussy, and the thought of seeing him between another woman’s legs made me feel…

sad
sad and lonely.

 

Obviously I know it’s unreasonable to put Mr. Right in a situation where he never gets to go down on anyone ever again. I talked to Mr. Right about all my feelings and concerns, but he’s not much of a talker and nothing was ever actually addressed. So I let the YPC be, and we didn’t talk about it further till recently.

Recently, I’ve started to open up to men in the LS. I’m all about a lot of women, but typically want to cling to Mr. Right when their partner comes around. The first time we soft swapped with a couple, Mr. Right had to remind me to give the other guy in the swap some attention. The times are a changin’ though. About a month ago I found myself trying to masturbate to the fantasy of swapping with another couple, but my fantasy kept reaching a dead end with no pussy eating involved. I know it’s a fantasy, but I like to be realistic.

It was a major eye opener that I needed to get the YPC in check, obviously for so many reasons, but wanting to know what it feels like to enjoy someone else down there was serious motivation. Up until that point it was easy to put the issue on the back burner. Mr. Right didn’t push it, I didn’t push it, easy-peasy. But now, I want to feel like a desirable, sexy, woman who can go flaunt her lady trophy with confidence and brownies. I had it at one point…

original_url: 819094D9-582B-4D66-A117-08E41FDE1DE5

So I started doing my research and experimenting with probiotics and supplements for vaginal and digestive health. I started talking with Mr. Right about it more, and really started to think about how to confront the recurring psychological barrier. I also understand I should go to the gyno to make sure everything is in balance, but I don’t want to. What if everything is in balance and Mr. Right just doesn’t like my smell? I mean, I guess I will have no choice but to deal, but I would go from this:

sad

to this…

broken

Broken heart  or not, I have to talk to a vagina professional. We have to get over, or around this roadblock somehow. We have literally come to a stop in every direction: at home, in my imagination, and with others. 

A few weeks ago we went to this swinger motel and I ended up inviting a couple back to our room. I know, this is crazy, because I should have expected it, but when Mr. Right asked this woman if he could go down on her I couldn’t handle it. I tried to let it go, I wanted to, I tried to just focus on the cock in my mouth, but when I saw Mr. Right in position, I couldn’t help but break the flow. I imagine I looked up exactly like this:

deer2

 

The woman, her husband, and Mr. Right all saw the look on my face because they all asked if I was ok with it, the woman even said, “are you sure?”. And I said yes, because I felt pressured, and I’m a little cowardly sometimes. I felt stupid saying no. Mr. Right was already ready to dive in. Plus, I had just asked them a few minutes before if they might be interested in full swapping. So I guess I should be ok with the pussy eating, right? I mean, I guess not really, but it seems that way. I had asked if they would be interested in swapping since I thought we were limited on the foreplay action and I was feeling the vibe. Probably a really good thing we didn’t get that far. Like maybe we should work out the pussy thing instead of just avoiding it, even though that was clearly mine and Mr. Right’s first choice.

The woman must have asked me 2 more times if I was sure it was ok, probably because the look I was giving Mr. Right said otherwise, but I reassured her it was fine. I’m sure it was no surprise to the woman when it wasn’t 2 minutes before I said, “I’m sorry you guys, I just can’t do this”.  I had tried telling myself there was absolutely no reason to say no. I enjoyed watching Mr. Right eat other pussy before the YPC came back full force.

Of course I felt jealous, but me and Mr. Right had not been on the same team in the LS for a few weeks, and that situation made it pretty clear we had not leveled up. It didn’t feel healthy. A complete stranger was able to read and react to my body language better than Mr. Right. I said I was ok with something I wasn’t. We shouldn’t have put ourselves in that position knowing the scale and sensitivity of our issue, we certainly shouldn’t have pulled other people in to it. This was seriously irresponsible swinging people.

And it was fine, the couple was understanding, the woman was so kind and sympathetic in sharing a similar insecurity they dealt with when they first started exploring the LS. 

I do think I would have been able to get past it if Mr. Right had acknowledged me first. A simple, “baby, do you think you would be ok with me going down on her?”, would have made me feel like we were on the same team. I would have said yes as a way of saying, “it means a lot that you put my feelings before your pleasure, of course you deserve to eat pussy even if we’re at odds with mine”. I still would have felt a little jealous, but I would have understood it and been able to set it aside. There’s just no way I wouldn’t have rewarded Mr. Right for doing that. I’m all about positive reinforcement.

Technically, he did ask me. But let’s be clear that he asked after she accepted his request, after they switched positions, and after I looked up like a deer caught in headlights. In Mr. Rights defense, he claims that asking me after getting her consent and getting in position was his plan of action. He thought it was the best way to make the situation comfortable for me. Take from that what you will.

bologna
My take.

That said, that situation, ALL OF THIS, does not fall on either of our shoulders, we are both to blame. I very much understand my role in letting the YPC spiral out of control.

Sometimes, I might focus on the wrong things and fall prey to being a victim instead of doing what needs to be done to move forward. The list of double standards I’ve held Mr. Right to in this crisis is outstanding. Sometimes I do that stuff, but usually I’m just amazing and right.

When all is said and done, and the YPC passes, we will be even better than we are now. And despite all the drama and heartache, preventable as it may be, we are already pretty fucking great. So there is a lot of light at the end of this tunnel. 

Fuck, I can not wait to get back on the proud pussy train. 

pussytrain
Happy hump day!

I stink, therefore I am

Recently Mr. Right and I have reached a road block. I knew it was coming, and while I’m pretty sure he knew too, we just ignored it and kept swinging along with no contingency plan, or any plan for that matter. Sure as shit, we ran into that beast head first. Now we need to fix ourselves up, let our my wounds heal, and figure out how to get over it. Or around it, but fucking past it for sure.  Back track…

solutions

I was raped at a high school graduation party when I was 12 by this senior named Tom. I was almost 13, but regardless, it was the end of 7th grade; I was a naive kid. I was there because it was my best friend’s older sister’s party. I don’t remember being raped. Not to say that I don’t remember my emotions, or the things that were said, I just don’t remember how it felt physically. I’m sure it hurt, but I have no recollection.

However, I do remember that my vagina got really, really dry. So dry that Tom could hardly penetrate me. He stopped and went down on me and it was THE WORST. I mean, yes, it’s already THE WORST being raped in the first place, but my vagina was so sore, and I was in such shock, that when Tom went down on me everything started to catch up. It’s almost like while he was raping me it was an out of body experience, but when he stopped and started going down on me I came to. His wet tongue on my vagina was so gross. He was telling me he was only trying to make me feel good, but all it did was draw attention to how sore and swollen I was. Barf. I get the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it. I had never had anyone go down on me before, let alone even thought about sex. I was just starting to experiment with boys, and had never even had a period before. It was terrible. I was crying, Tom was frustrated that I couldn’t be quiet even though I was trying to be. He had to cover my mouth while he finished….you get it.

That was the beginning of the Yuvonna Pussy Crisis (YVC). For a long time, nearly 17 years, I never let anyone go down on me for more than a minute. I didn’t/don’t get flashbacks, or think of Tom AT ALL, not ever, I just start to panic because I’m so uncomfortable. I guess my brain just automatically subconsciously starts going into panic mode and all I can think about is how severely uncomfortable I am. I can try to think about things that really turn me on, it can be someone that really turns me on, but I just can’t focus on anything but the discomfort. My chest gets tight, I cringe, I feel (and probably look) like this:

 cringe

I let 3 boyfriends who insisted try once or twice, but honestly no one lasted more than a minute, 90 seconds max. So for anyone else who attempted, it was an easy “no way creeper McFink” response.

The thing is, I have always been a very sexual person. Tom just like REALLY fucked up my sexual psyche. I became really promiscuous after Tom for all the wrong reasons. I thought I liked sex, and I would sleep with just about anyone after enough liquor. But really, I just wanted to be wanted because I felt worthless. I wanted to feel mature, and in control…whatever, who knows.

But in my mid-20’s I really started to take control of my sexuality. I went through a significant emotional growth spurt. I gained some self-worth, I really started exploring myself, and low and behold, turns out I’m pretty fucking amazing. Obvi.

I started to venture out of lesbian porn, and started enjoying porn with men too. I started fantasizing about someone going down on me and really enjoying it. I realized that I didn’t want to go my whole life not knowing or exploring that area; the notion is completely absurd. I wanted to be comfortable and confident and feel sexy about my lady trophy. #bestinshow

bestshow

But I still couldn’t do it. I had a few steady sexual partners between 26-28 who tried to go down on me, but I continued to say no and they didn’t ask again. For one, I still got a lot of anxiety thinking about it, but now the anxiety was more a fear that they wouldn’t like it. Can you imagine? You don’t give anyone a real chance going down on you until you’re in your late 20’s, and then you take the leap and they don’t like it? 

nopenope

And when no one seemed to pursue wanting to eat me out, or asked twice, I convinced myself it must not be good. To clarify, I know I have a great tight little pussy. I can milk a cock with the best of em’ (#bestinshow). I just had no confidence in its taste and smell.

Until…

Mr. Right came along. The FIRST FUCKING DAY we were intimate I let him go down on  me. Because he begged, and he is so damn convincing, and handsome, and I couldn’t say no to him. I told him I was weird about it, and I was worried he wouldn’t like it, but he pursued, and I gave in.

At first it was the same old story. I cringed at the touch of his wet tongue (even applying lube makes me cringe), but then I told myself to breath, and focus, I wanted to give him a real chance, and it was the first time I felt comfortable enough with someone to do that. And you know what? I lasted a few minutes. I didn’t like it, but I could stand it.  Mr. Right continued to want to go down on me, and it built my confidence. Eventually I let myself enjoy it. I trusted him like I’ve never trusted any man other than my dad, and eventually, Mr. Right was even able to make me cum.

Wow. That was really uncomfortable mentioning my dad in the same sentence as enjoying having my pussy eaten. Moving on…

About a year ago Mr. Right stopped eating my pussy. Just stopped! I started dropping hints that it didn’t go unnoticed, and after a few months I was calling him out on it weekly, sometimes even in public. Whatever I thought it would take to get an explanation, or confession, I pushed it.

He does this thing where he blatantly lies to defend himself, like for the longest time he would say, “what are you talking about? I do eat your pussy”.

confused

Um…how the fuck did I get left out of the loop there?

One time someone I’d mentioned it to (in front of him) asked if he had made an effort to start going down on me again. He was all, “I have tried so many times, she won’t let me.”

I was shocked. I shook my head and let him shake his tail feathers. When it comes to the ego, it’s not worth trying.

 

I know he does this to protect my feelings, because the truth can hurt. But I am also reasonable, and very forgiving, which makes me a better candidate for honesty than protection should the two compete. I appreciate his intention, which was not to make me feel bat shit crazy.

Eventually, I broke him. It had been well over three months since he had gone down on me, and I was nagging him, and nagging him, and he finally spit it out:

“Fine, you want to know? Sometimes it smells.”

Mother fucker.

YPC was back…

full force.

bomb

Let’s be honest, I was waiting for it. I had asked him if that was the issue long before that, but he denied it. I knew he wasn’t cheating, so what else could it be? I was upset to say the least, because what was the plan? Just not go near my pussy until someone else told me?!?!?! HELLO! But fuck did it feel good to have honesty.

This blog is “to be continued…” because it’s too much for a sitting, but I will leave you with this:

Honesty is the fastest way to prevent a mistake from turning into a failure.

– James Altucher

Finger Thinking

I guess I’ve had a case of writer’s block, even though 2-4 times a week I lay in bed at night mentally writing a great blog post. But by morning I’ve either forgotten it, or decided it wasn’t that great and it must have been the mood-altering substance writing. I also go to bed every night confident I’m going to work out the next morning. Swear to god, EVERY FUCKING NIGHT, even though that has not been a thing I do since 2014. Fuck, that makes the 30 lbs I’ve gained in less than 3 years very real. Good thing I’m seriously getting a gym membership at Planet Fitness. For $20/mo you can get unlimited use of the massage chairs, and when I went to the facility to check it out, no one was in them, and they had like 8! I honestly expected full chairs, maybe a wait, or at least a signup sheet. Nope, nada. Only one guy using the hydromassage water bed. I don’t even know what that is, but I know I am going to love it.

I should go today because I am really sore from spending 4 hours cleaning and organizing the garage the day before yesterday. No doubt I will blog about hoarding at some point.* Does anyone else’s spouse insist on holding on to over a hundred pounds of a variety of ammunition with the intention of getting guns they will fit in “someday”?

I’ve also had a case of, “I wish I never told anyone about my blog”. Granted, only a handful of people know, but it did seem to hinder my ability to be transparent. However, a brief chat with our friends M&M, and Yuvonna has her groove back. Around here we like to say, “love me some M&M”.

I think MOSTLY though, I’ve been having a case of not being able to decide what to write about without being generic. But that’s fucking absurd. For one, I’m not generic, and even if I was, oh well I guess. What I love most about writing is exploring my thoughts and feelings. It forces me to take a closer look at the things I am saying, and feeling, or doing, and deciding if that’s who I want to be. Not that I want to be anyone else, I probably like myself too much sometimes. I just want to be better. Like, right now, one of the biggest struggles I’ve been dealing with is trying to be less critical. I am critical and skeptical of everything, and everyone. And while that’s probably an exaggeration because I really love people, and am often critical that someone else is being too critical, I wish I could just let shit go.

elsa

You know what really makes me feel like shit? When I remember I have no right to judge. Maybe this is why I put myself on a pedestal so much. It’s certainly easier than putting yourself on someone’s level who did something shitty and might remind you of something you did that was shitty. And let’s face it, I’m fucking amazing almost always so why would I do that?

Unfortunately, I’m introspective enough to realize this is the mentality keeping me from being the all-loving saint who only responds with kindness and compassion. Maybe if I carried around a little black book of reasons I’m in no place to pass judgement, it would be a constant reminder I’m not allowed to be critical.

It would read something like this:

1. Fall 1999 – You and Peachy vandalized that guy’s ground floor apartment. Then Peachy lost her pager in the act,

pagers
Take a moment to remember.
…so to get back at the stranger (whose place you already vandalized) for not answering Peachy’s pages to her own pager to get it back, you forged notes to get out of school, went back to his apartment and you (Yuvonna) shit on his door step while Peachy rubbed jelly donuts all over his window.  In broad daylight, and you got caught by the cops. Lest we forget the scolding you got from your dad on the way home who couldn’t fathom how you could be such an idiot considering you were already on probation for stealing a car.

2. Spring 2016 – Rammed your car into the side of Mr. Right’s jeep 3 times, took off, drove three blocks, walked backed to the house barefoot, smashed the window to get in, hid in the closet when you heard Mr. Right come back from driving around looking for you, then hid under the bed when he went back out, then just crawled in bed like nothing happened. And then when your sister came by the next day you refused to answer the door, so she crawled through the tiny broken window, and you still wouldn’t open the bedroom door even when she said, “I just came here to tell you how much you are loved”, and you remained silent, cowered on your bed behind your locked bedroom door.

3. Fall 2002 – Stole your dad’s debit card, dropped your friends off at school telling them you were skipping first period, drove to the Greyhound station in Chicago and got on a bus to L.A. at 17. Remember how your dad was scared to look at you the wrong way for months after that because he was scared you would do something like that again, and might not make is home so safe the second time?

4. Winter 2005 – Fucked your best friends boyfriend in his car blocks from her house while she was passed out in her bed.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner. That’s me! (When I’m not fucking amazing obvi)

Clearly a little black book is not going to do the trick because that is just a taste of the shit coming to mind that I have done and has caused people, many that I love, serious pain and/or distress. Maybe just a pin that says, “you are capable of being a nasty, inconsiderate, weak human being” would suffice? 

Furthermore, on the issue of writer’s block and blogging topics, I think a lot of this blocking came from this “oh shit” moment where I realized I started a blog about the LS, and now I don’t know what I want to say, or if what I want to say is worth reading. And that’s bollycocks.** This blog doesn’t have to be labeled as a blog about being in the LS, it’s just my blog, and it will happen to have a lot of LS topics in it. I really, really, enjoy writing and I started this blog because I knew that writing consistently would be beneficial to me. I wouldn’t consider myself a writer. I still have trouble figuring out affect and effect, but I totally get this:

f.scott

Cause I am a peace-maker and a home-wrecker, forgiving and critical, kind-hearted and revengeful, and sometimes I wonder if I’m people or more closely related to the platypus. Platypuses are super weird, and really fucking amazing.

*In order to save my relationship, I need to clarify that MR. RIGHT IS NOT ACTUALLY A HOARDER. He just likes having things. Often, lots of the same thing. Like 8 gas cans. So if he runs out gas he can buy a 9th one since his collection doesn’t leave the garage. Shit. I totally gave 4 away last summer and he hasn’t noticed yet. But this is a really good example of what I deal with so I don’t want to backspace. He hates when I give his stuff away, and I don’t blame him. Maybe he won’t read this post. Just in case, let me reiterate: he is not a hoarder.

**Just googled that word to see if it’s even real. Pretty sure it’s not, and if it is that isn’t how you use it. Just FYI.

My uterus says “hi”

Unrelated to the lifestyle, I’m looking to sell my eggs. I’ve noticed over the last few years my premenstrual symptoms have erupted. In my high school years, I thought PMS was a joke. I literally thought that women who complained about PMSing were weaklings using their period as an excuse to complain about something. Well, per usual, I’ve eaten my words.

I get cystic pimples, my breasts swell, I get so anxious I can’t sleep, and I’m really, really, stressed. Yesterday Mr. Right told me I’ve seemed “distant” the last few days and asked if I was ok. So considerate right? No. Fuck that mother fucker. What? I’m not chirpy for a few days and all the sudden I get the 3rd degree about it while I’m unloading the dishwasher? Like I really need to be accused of being distant when I’m clearly irritable? And btw, why am I the only one who ever fucking unloads the dishwasher. 

This just started happening in my late 20’s, but it has significantly gotten worse the past year. I’m convinced this is because my body is in it’s prime and telling me to breed. At least I was convinced of this till someone asked me if I thought it was menopause. I have a tiny bit of hope this is the case, but the chance is less than 1%.

If you’re wondering why I’m writing a blog about this, it’s mostly to rant. No one wants my eggs, and frankly, I’m insulted. First of all, I am a light-haired, blue eyed, Caucasian of Dutch descent. And in case you didn’t know: if you’re not Dutch, you’re not much. Second of all, both of my parents went to college. It’s true I dropped out at 16 and spent 5 years at trade school and community college with nothing to show, BUT there is real potential in the blood line. Third of all, my eggs are good. I mean, they are hot stuff.

I have filled out three applications on the Internet, and I’ve gotten the same responses I get from consignment shops in regards to my never used wedding dress:

“Unfortunately you don’t have what we’re looking for at this time, check back at a later date.”

I’m sorry….are you telling me people are only looking to breed white privilege sometimes?

The first rejection wasn’t too surprising because I was honest about my drug use on the application, but by the third application I only drank at communion. Still no bites. I’m pretty sure the reason no one wants them is because I’m too old. So since they are expiring, I’ll sell them to you at a discounted rate. Contact me if you’re interested and we’ll work something out.

Happy Friday!

Spittin’ truth

Right, so I came back from Burning Man ready to jump into the LS. We spent time looking at couples on Kasidie together…we talked about what our expectations of each other were, and how we were going to handle uncomfortable situations. We met our first couple, ended up at a hotel, and it was A-MAZING! I have never been so turned on. After that first swap we went home and I fucked Mr. Right till the early morning, then masturbated to the thought of it every day for weeks.

OR

I came back from Burning Man, saw something on Kasidie that still makes me go “fuck you a little bit Mr. Right” and overreacted in typical Yuvonna fashion:

carrie

BUT we obviously moved on because nobody has ever treated me as well as Mr. Right, even at 2 months deep, and I am head over heals for that man. Poor guy. He seriously fucks up once, beginning of the relationship, and I’m still finding ways to bring it up. Meanwhile, I’ve since done things Mr. Right probably should have left me for. Like, I would have left me AND put all my hats in the bathtub with bleach, filled the toilet with my socks, and stuffed my underwear in the freezer.* But not Mr. Right, he just continues to stand by my side. I guess it’s the crazy. He always says, “there’s something sexy about crazy”, and I think it’s better I don’t question that mentality. 

Anyway…we really did meet our first couple for drinks, and before we even met, it was like:

 “HEEEEEYYYYY Yuvonna! I’m expectations. I’m complicated, sneaky, and I will FUCK YOU UP”.

Expectations are easily one of the biggest obstacles that Mr. Right and I have had to overcome. We have fought over his expectations, my expectations, other people’s expectations, whether or not there are expectations, and even whether or not there were unspoken expectations after the fact. I know, drama drama drama.

I wish I could screen shot what I wrote in the description section of our Kasidie profile when we created it. I’m sure that would give all of us a good laugh as it was probably longer than this blog post, but I’m sure somewhere in there it said I was super fresh on the LS scene. So when this couple texted us an hour before meeting and said:

“FYI, if things go good tonight we can’t come back to our place”

I was like, EXCUSE ME?!?! My crazy Yuvonna brain immediately went in overdrive. Were these people thinking we would have sex with each other after just meeting? Were they expecting us to offer up our place that was 30+ minutes away from where we were meeting? They KNOW we live at least 30 PLUS minutes away. Are they perverts? Am I dating a pervert? If Mr. Right would even consider that, we have some serious talking to do. Serious. Should we tell them they can’t come here either so they don’t get their hopes just because we get along? I don’t want anyone to get their hopes up, even if they are perverts. Did I mention, we lived AT LEAST 30 minutes from these pervs whose place we couldn’t go back to even if we wanted to? 

Let’s give it up to all the couples willing to risk going out with a newbie, but particularly me.

applause

Seriously, standing ovation people. Or perverts. You’re probably a pervert if you read my blog.

Here are a few self-observations that make me a total scalawag here:

  • I never thought of swingers as perverts prior to this, I understand the difference between polyamory and swinging, and polyamory is not something I want to dip my toes in. I think we can all agree that’s way over my emotional capacity. I’m also not suggesting polyamory is perverted, it’s not. I probably should have made this 2 bullet points.
  • I never thought of most people with different or more extreme sexual desires or preferences as perverts. Nope, just people who like kiddie porn, jacking off at the bus stop, hopefully we’re on the same page here.
  • I have maybe once or twice gone home with a complete stranger…
  • I definitely had an online dating profile when I met Mr. Right that was so purely dedicated to soliciting sex, not only did I not have my face as my profile picture, I didn’t have my face on my profile at all. You didn’t get to see my face until you passed my screening test and I thought there was a possibility we had good sexual chemistry. At that point I handed the cards over, and the other player could decide if he was interested in meeting after he saw my face. It was A LOT of fun, and it worked. I had the best fuck buddies ever and I didn’t have to sleep around to find them. They still text me now and again to see if I’m still with Mr. Right. 
  • IMG_3672

Yeah…that was a real thing I did, and that was my real profile. And yeah…I know my ass looks damn good there – it’s my 28 year old ass. And yeah…slap me with hypocrisy. And yeah…I was, and still am, a hustler. Once a hustler, always a hustler. Just like normal people, we can’t always be on top of our game. I might be slacking on spittin’ game, but I’m still spittin’ truth.

As I’ve previously mentioned, one of my favorite things about the LS is how it helps me better myself. I reflect on this experience and remind myself to dig deeper when I feel offended, particularly when my reaction is to put someone or something down that has done NOTHING to me .  I started passing out judgment as soon as soon as I felt uncomfortable and threatened. Why did I feel threatened? I was scared I wasn’t going to live up to the expectation I IMAGINED Mr. Right had. I imagined he was comparing me to this beautiful sexual Mrs., and it made me feel insecure.

I hadn’t actually thought about getting naked with other people until that text and it scared the bejesus out of me. Here was a sexy, young, confident married couple so secure in their relationship they’re ready to bang people off the Internet. I mean, there were pictures of this hot-bodded wife getting double vaginal penetration on their profile. I already had pangs of jealousy thinking Mr. Right wished I was that hot. In my mind, Mr. Right was already mind fucking her. Deep….right? No, not mind fucking her deep, my mind is deep, but thanks for putting that image there too.

Welcome to Yuvonna’s brain.

Then there’s Mr. Right whose previous girlfriend introduced him to the LS in the geographic area, and she probably would have loved to bang these people off the Internet. Not being cooler and better than her in EVERY aspect was a threat in itself. It’s “cool” to let your boyfriend get with the sexy wife who likes DVP right? I should probably get DVPed too so I’m not “less than”… even if I’m not comfortable with it. God forbid people have different desires and your significant other accepts that.

inscure

So I wanted to convince myself, and Mr. Right, that going home with that couple wasn’t an option because the notion was absurd, ABSURD I TELL YOU! It had nothing to do with me feeling “less than…” and intimidated. Never mind the fact that going home with them was not even an option in the first place.

As you might imagine, the golden rule in the LS is open communication with your partner. Problem with me is I‘m not going to communicate something I’m in denial of. Plus, I’ll take extreme measures to prevent myself from feeling vulnerable. This combination makes for some pretty ridiculous notions on my part.

I would like to pause here and take a moment to clarify that I don’t think you are insecure if you aren’t comfortable sharing your partner. I don’t think that swinging makes you more “open” or capable of reaching emotional levels otherwise unattainable in a monogamous relationship. A healthy relationship is a healthy relationship and is capable of growth in ways unique to each couple. Furthermore, I’d like to reiterate how unique each couple’s experience is with the LS. Just because it didn’t come “easy” for me to get involved with the LS doesn’t mean I forced it. I have been drawn to the LS since being introduced to it, and I LOVE IT. That will speak for itself in time.

Different relationship, same time = different story. Same relationship, different time = different story. Different relationship, different time = different story. It’s endless.

What I really don’t want to do is give the impression that with the LS comes drama just because I’ve dramatized these situations. Drama and the LS really don’t mesh. 

So to wrap things up, it ended up being an awesome time despite me overthinking everything because of a text saying we couldn’t hook up at their place IF it came to that. You might be surprised to hear that they weren’t perverts. We all had a lot of fun, conversation flowed, the whole experience was exciting and rousing. I actually did end up masturbating to the thought of eating the Mrs.’s pussy until the next time we saw them. Unfortunately, that meeting did not have as happy of an ending as the first, but it really was for the best.

Baby steps perverts people.

*Another man, another time, another blog

The Perfect Match

I might give Mr. Right a little bit of grief from time to time about how he introduced me to the lifestyle. But it just doesn’t seem fair to cuff a vanilla before revealing the whole truth about something as delicate as wanting to swap genitals around. Right? Don’t answer that. I was (mostly) joking about starting this blog to get people on my side. To be clear, I know Mr. Right was not trying to seduce me with his big balls heart and shining head personality so he could trap me in the lifestyle. I’m pretty sure that on our FIRST date I talked about having an awkward hook up with this girl who wanted to get DPed by her boyfriend and this guy Pat who I’d been casually fucking. Only Pat didn’t like the idea of a MMF, so he said he’d only do it if I joined, and I said it all depended on my chemistry with the girl…and it was a whole weird thing I totally forgot about till just now actually. Point is, Mr. Right had good fucking reason to suspect I was open to new experiences.

Anyway, people ALWAYS ask us where we met, how he dropped the LS bomb, and how I reacted. So here is the whole shebang.

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It was early summer of 2015 and I had just turned 29. In attempt to escape life, having sold 90% of my belongings and terminating my lease in the big city, I took a job at a cafe in a remote mountain “town”. I worked 60 hours a week at $6.00/hr with no overtime. $650 was deducted from my checks each month for a tiny shared apartment I rented above the cafe with my incredibly obnoxious, non-seasonal, micro-managing coworker, CJ. Until a few days before, CJ and I had been the only residents of the town, but recently, another person called Spence had fallen victim to employment at the cafe under the false promises he would be living in a quaint, recently remodeled cabin not a mile downstream. As Spence’s start/move in date continued to be postponed, the owner of the cafe convinced him to move into her run down camper that she’d parked next to the dumpster out back.

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Little did Spence know that the water board, who owned the building the cafe was in, as well as his promised cabin, not only did not approve of the camper being parked next to the dumpster, but had already rented “his” cabin to someone else.

I realize this is starting to drag on.

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A few days after Spence moved out back, our trio of false promises decided we ought to get to know one another and go out on the town, the real town, the one full of 7,000 people. So with CJ as the designated driver, we took my truck to the nearest town 25 miles south, and walked into the first bar we saw. Upon entering, I was struck by a bright glare – shining in my eyes from across the bar. Where was it coming from? I held my hand to my face so I could see, and I that’s when I saw him. The sexiest man I had ever seen! And the light appeared to be reflecting off his head! If that wasn’t a sign…

 To this day it still gets me every time.

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Hot damn.

We locked eyes and shared a subtle smile. I stared at him even after he dropped his gaze, until I was told the kitchen was closed and the only sit down restaurant that served food after 9pm was Denny’s. I left with the trio without speaking a word to him, but I knew he would await my return.

This was love at first site… fingerpeople…lust like I’d never felt before.

It turned out to be no ordinary Denny’s. It had a fucking bar. So in pure Yuvonna fashion, I ordered a shot of whiskey. It also turned out a shot of whiskey at this Denny’s was no ordinary shot, but a full 12oz rocks glass. I was three sheets to the wind by the time we finished eating and returned to the first bar where low and behold Mr. Right remained.

We talked and talked, and laughed and laughed. I have no idea about what, I only remember telling myself, “ask him to take you home with him, no you can’t, ask him to take you home with him, no you can’t”. I really only recollected it the next morning when I pulled his business card out of my pocket. But I knew it was special. We went on our first date the next day, and we went on our second date the same day as the first. When we fucked the morning after our 3rd date, I came within seconds. Then I came again, and again, and again. I walked out of my job at the cafe a few days after that, parked my truck with all my earthly belongings in his garage, went to Portland for 8 days, and moved in with him when I got back.

Somewhere around 2 months of knowing each other/living together, we were playing pool in Mr. Right’s basement. I looked at him and said, “what’s wrong with you?”. He paused with a mischievous grin on his face, said something irrelevant, and revealed he liked watching people have sex, and he liked being watched. He mentioned there was a club in the big city you could go to to do this. I was intrigued, but that was it, I otherwise didn’t think twice about it. Christ, I had been fucking a guy off Tinder earlier that year who liked my tongue in his ass more than he liked his cock in my pussy.  

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num num num

So on the topic of conversation moved, as did the pool game, my denial trailing behind. In a matter of days he would casually show me Kasidie, and shortly thereafter I would leave for Burning Man. I would come back two weeks later, more curious and open and excited about the LS than ever.

Yuvonna know about my hairy canvas?

I’m Yuvonna, but you can call me whatever you wanna. My boyfriend was made for me, so I like to call him Mr. Right. We’ve been together for almost two years, and the lifestyle (LS) has played  a big role in our relationship for most of that. I didn’t even know what the LS was 2 years ago. I was familiar with what swinging was, but I was completely clueless as to how broad the spectrum of the LS was, let alone how popular it was. Shoot, I never even heard the term “vanilla” till we met up with our first couple off of Kasidie.

Mr. Right has been in the LS a while, primarily with his girlfriend before me. This is/was one of our biggest struggles, particularly starting out, as different expectations and comfort levels were set with her. Her comfort levels spread much broader than mine probably ever will. And that’s great if that’s what worked for them! But communication, particularly at the beginning, was mostly trial and error. Mr. Right learned pretty quick not to say, “it would have been ok with my ex”.  

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There’s also the fact that I’m more than 20 years his junior, which brings a whole other set of dynamics to our relationship. Regardless, every relationship is unique to its boundaries and comfort levels, and more often than not, you can’t anticipate what those might be. It’s like the oldest saying in the LS book. I should know. I scoured the web for advice for beginner swingers when Mr. Right introduced me to the LS, and I scoured it again for how to handle jealousy after the first time I saw him physically flirting with another woman.

The LS has brought me a lot of heartache, but overall it has impacted me in a much more positive than negative way. Most importantly, I am learning to let go of judgement, and recognize when I am projecting my own feelings of inadequacy on others. Just recognizing my insecurities is helping me learn what I need to work on to become more confident and positive. That in itself helps me build a stronger relationship with Mr. Right.

To clarify, Mr. Right is perfect for me, but I’m actually the one who is usually “right”. Certainly that’s the case when it comes to arguments we have over the lifestyle. I like to reaffirm this by telling anyone who will listen how Mr. Right fucked up, so they confirm my overreaction was justified. Thus… welcome to my blog! A means by which I can reach swingers by the masses to air all our drama and take my side. And if you don’t want to tell me what I want to hear, well…

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Mr. Right already drops big bucks on a psychiatrist I could totally take advantage of talking to if I wanted more than a script.

But seriously, I’m just an open book, and I get a lot of satisfaction sharing feelings and stories. It helps me organize my thoughts and understand myself better. Living abroad in my early 20’s was a major eye opener as to how much you can learn about yourself learning about others. Being in the LS is a great example of that.

Enough of the Yoda shit. It’s not like I’m in the LS to become some self-reflective, optimal being. I am, and always have been a very sexual person. Still, sometimes I feel like I’m not enough for Mr. Right because he was so eager to involve me in the LS after cuffing me.* But I know in my heart of hearts that we are both the type of people who need the LS as a healthy sexual outlet. No doubt that we would otherwise get bored of each other, and I have never had a better long term sex life. Apparently Mr. Right used to have more sex before me. But whatevs.  I only have two thoughts about that:

qualityquanityAND       happywifehappylife

  

I know he’s loved me the best.

I’m not trying to offer advice or guidance through this blog**. I’m hoping to offer some comic relief on our nightmare experiences, offer a few laughs sharing some of our adventures , and maybe throw in a few unrelated or more serious notes in between.

Who knows how hairy things might get.

*In case you aren’t as hip and ghetto fab as me, to cuff someone is to tie them down in a relationship.
**I do not ever recommend taking my advice. To do so is at your own risk.

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