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If you would swingers told me a year ago that I would one day watch my www get a blowjob from a stranger and not feel jealous, I would have laughed in your face.


Though my addiction had been curbed since meeting my husband, thanks to a combination of efforts buoyed by his support, would a salacious vacation reopen the wound? Why not a swingers resort? Weeks later, we arrived in Sex in the rain. A funny taxi driver drove us to the com Desire Pearl, where smiling staff members greeted us in the lobby with champagne and waivers.

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Making our way to our room, staff members stopped whatever they were doing—sweeping wet leaves, carrying luggage, patrolling the grounds—to greet us, looking us straight in the eye as they held a hand to their hearts.

I found it hard to believe they could get much work done with all the eye candy. Among guests who ranged from their 30s to their 70s—mostly white Americans—there were thin bodies, plump ones, short, tall, small natural breasts, large silicones, small penises, large penises, hairy, and freshly waxed.

And just about everybody appeared relaxed, confident, and happy in bare skin.

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Though I usually felt insecure about my thighs and midsection, seeing all those body types squashed my insecurity fast—not because I thought I looked better, but because nobody seemed to be comparing. My husband and I ordered drinks and gave each other a nina hartley guides that said: