A Woman Shared

Are we certain that this is what swinging is? Or even what the Hotwife lifestyle contains?

After many years of experience, I think that the males of our species have been fooled many times and often.

We are the ones being shared. The women just let us think the other way.

It probably looks amusing, for one thing, and not worth the argument to correct us.

My wife and a friend of ours once had a discussion about just how well I fit in their mouths. They then proceeded to demonstrate to each other; using my erection, of course. This all took place on the outside deck around a pool at Oasis Aqualounge in downtown Toronto.

The Aqualounge is sorely missed during these pandemic times as we often viewed it as a mini vacation spot that, though is not cheap to attend, the cost of bus fare to get there is slightly less than the air travel costs to get to places such as Hedonism II.

It was in that moment that I realized that we men are the ones being shared.

Men do share women in this consensual non monogamy at a micro level. But women do it at a much more macro level than men do.

This takes my thoughts a little further on a new theory that the women on shows hosted by the likes of Maury Povich and Jerry Springer are likely actresses, in many cases. If the men “cheating” were so bad, why are there follow ups showing the couple returning to do battle when he cheats again?

I know that battered wife syndrome is real, but that does not generally happen on camera by choice. The over reactions on television shows for shock value, and occasionally in real life, are overcompensating for something else.

Could be a need for attention, or even cheating themselves. Either way, that’s not realistic.

To know that women share better then men, we only need to devolve this to a simple action. When is the last time men passed toilet paper to each other between public bathroom stalls?

Women share much better than men ever will.

I rest my case.

Unrequited

I watch my cock vanish inside her, and always fall in love, at least a little.

Every time I fuck a woman.

It’s that simple. I don’t think I’d be as good with this lifestyle if I didn’t do it.

My wife, obviously. I love her with a passion that I try to demonstrate each time I see her whether dressed or not. She is the one I wake up with each morning, and would have this no other way.

But what about the others?

I need to feel a fondness for whom I’m with on some level to be aroused.

There has been occasions where I have fallen truly in love with a Hotwife where, to her, this is just a casual thing. My embracing polyamory allows for emotional attachments in the right circumstance, but not all the women I am lucky enough to pleasure consider themselves polyamorous.

Most swingers view their play as completely casual and keep it boxed, on a high shelf well above the reach of the emotional. Even there, though, one side might start to feel something that the other doesn’t.

The last time this happened to me was not far off disastrous.

A Hotwife, Heather (not her real name), and I became very close. Close to the point that I would join her husband, Brad (not his real name), to watch the Philadelphia Eagles play on a Sunday afternoon before joining he and Heather in an evening fuckfest.

I originally met the couple at a Toronto Polyamory meetup or munch.

Heather was always very flirtations and affectionate. When the three of us were out, I’m certain any onlooker could not confirm which of us she was a primary partner with.

One evening, she and I had my place to ourselves. After making her scream happily for an hour, she was preparing to head home full of my sperm. I led her to the door, kissed her deeply, and told her that I loved her.

She smiled and returned the words, in kind.

The polyamory bubble burst there, as those words almost ended their marriage.

This was not how it was supposed to go. I don’t think they were ready for polyam as they thought they were.

I wasn’t the cause of their issues, and though I knew I was only a symptom, my guilt was on it like a dog on a bone. I can sit and say that I would have tried to help them resolve and rebuild with or without that guilt, but I cannot confirm nor deny.

I’m still close friends with them as a couple, but we have not played in more than a decade now. At least once a year, during non-COVID times, Brad and I hit a pub to watch someone beat the Eagles. We also have barbecues with them as couples.

During those times, I have looked at Heather once or twice and feel that fondness begin to bubble.

What if we three had actually been on the same page where polyamory is concerned?

Among other things, I’d probably not still get to be a Bull when appropriate occasions present themselves, I’d probably not be married, and I’d probably have moved out of Toronto. On these three things, in particular, I am thankful it didn’t work.

But still, what if?

The Dishonest Truth

It can’t always be sweetness and light. – Stealing a phrase from a Toronto radio host, John Oakley here.

It wouldn’t make sense.

Consensual non monogamy wouldn’t have the highs, if it didn’t have lows as well.

My experience as a Bull is not always filled with honesty. There is some serious fetishes about sneaking around on one’s traditional partner. For me to assume that all my partners are totally honest with me, or their partner(s) would be insane.

To claim I’ve always been honest, would be dishonest.

I picked up a beautiful woman on a business trip in Saskatoon, for example. Had a fantastic night where I banged the fuck out of her until we were both heaving for breath.

That was twenty years ago, and cost me my first marriage.

My wife, at the time, never found out but I couldn’t deal with myself being dishonest at that level. The guilt sent shivers through me that I had to shake off.

It had been an attempt at a traditional partnership. Later, obviously, I would come to realize that was not for me. In my relationships since, I have not cheated again.

Being honest about what you need to yourself is the first step. When you realize you don’t fit in that traditional box, it is rather freeing.

I don’t gotta be me. I gotta know me.

It’s only cheating if you are knowingly dishonest about your actions.

I Don’t Know Her Name

But I worked damned hard to get to this position.

This position being doggie style, of course.

She was a Twitter follower that reached out wanting an adventure. I’m not normally one for anonymous play, but something about this one. She was very shy in her manner, and I had to push a little to find out just what it was she wanted.

Her idea was for one time only with no names.

It didn’t quite work out that way, as we have played a few times since then, but I still don’t know her name.

There was an initial concern that she was a lonely guy talking to me, posing as a woman just for the connection. Wouldn’t have been the first time. When she accepted my proposal to meet her and her husband, that went away.

She’ll be reading this and she is aware I had that brief concern. Likely that will bring a cute dimpled smirk to her face.

The same smirk I first saw on meeting her and her husband at a nearby hotel pub.

She was in a red, almost-erin sweater with a thick turtle neck that left her curve-less and was large enough it was almost a skirt over her black leggings. She wore no makeup, not that she needed it. A brunette ponytail cascaded over her shoulder and I felt my hands twitching just to give it a pull.

Best description I can think of for her was a smallish BBW.

Her husband, a bowling ball of a man in an Incredible Hulk T-shirt, was at the table with her.

I’m a large man, myself, but he made me feel small.

As we talked, I found he was just a teddy bear there to encourage his wife. He was a retired offensive lineman in Canadian football, so his instinct was to protect, not attack. He was nervous when I showed up, as well.

She had trouble making eye contact and I did get short glimpses of smiles when I complimented her on her looks.

After her husband paid their bill, he excused herself to go to the washroom, something I later found out was a signal to her husband.

Once she left, he rose from his chair and looked at me sternly. “Don’t be gentle, but don’t hurt her.”

I nodded at him. “Absolutely.”

He dropped a hotel room card key on the table, turned to walk out.

She returned and, seeing the keycard, blushed. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”

I stood, picked up the card, and took her hand. “Room number?”

In the elevator, I was informed that her husband was listening from the adjoining room. He was not so much listening to get off, in fact I think I could hear the voice of Bob Cole calling the Maple Leaf hockey game on the TV of his room as we passed in the hall, but he was listening to make certain she was safe.

On the 23rd floor, our position was confirmed. She was on the bed on all fours while I knelt behind her with my erection wrapped in rubber. I could feel her shaking as I wrapped my left hand in her hair and pulled back while my right hand opened her up and guided my cock into her.

Her shaking of nerves ended. Shaking leg orgasms took their place and I lost track of how many she had. It happened at least twice during that first doggie style position. Then I fucked her missionary. Next on the small hotel room love seat with her riding. Then I even bent her over against the floor-to-ceiling window so she could make eye contact with the city lights as she came again.

A few times I made her scream and call out enough that I was surprised her husband didn’t burst into the room. I’m certain he was tempted. But her laughter usually followed.

This was about six years ago.

Two years ago was the most recent time I got to play with her, and it was a similar scenario in concept of meeting her and her bowling-ball husband at the same hotel bar. This time, her boyfriend was also there.

As we talked, I discovered how the experience as a Hotwife has helped drive her confidence skyward. She was no longer the meek shy woman I fucked looking out over Toronto on a July night four years before. I doubt the word boyfriend would have even crossed her mind the first time we met.

I have always believed that this lifestyle can increase confidence, but it is the most pronounced change I’ve seen. I also know that I am not personally responsible for her growth, but I’m so pleased I was even a part of it.

This time her husband gave no instructions this time. It was a cheaper evening for him, as well. He only had one room where he watched hockey with one eye, and us with the other.

I think the Leafs beat the Avalanche that evening, but he turned it off early, so not fully sure. First, he turned it off to watch her boyfriend and I help her in her first threesome experience before his clothes hit the floor for him to join us.

It is a funny circle. The lifestyle builds confidence, and confidence builds the lifestyle.

First Time is Scary

My first time playing Bull was frightening.

The couple I was with was more experienced than I was, at the time. I still play with them every now and again but, fifteen years later, I’m the more experienced of our threesomes.

That first time, was not what one would expect. It was a viewing party of “The Wizard of Oz” with the sound turned off and, instead, Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” synched up. I swear, we were not stoned, and yet the psychedelic nature of that evening led to my sharing the hostess of the evening’s activities with her husband.

With the others having left the party, the hostess stripped as we cleaned up the place. I walk into the kitchen and find her husband sprawled on the floor while she’s on her knees, leaning forward, and sucking him.

He lifted his head off the linoleum and looked at me. “She’s horny. Wanna help?”

Zelda, not her real name, and I had a running joke that due to the amount of cunnilingus I had performed on her I was more likely to recognize her pussy than her face. So the idea of fucking Zelda was not foreign to me.

I had threesome experience, as well. However, we had all been single and it was with two women the one time I tried it prior to that moment.

That her husband was inviting me was new. That he would later go down on her to suck my cum out was also new.

There were a number of initiations for me on that kitchen floor. The spitroasting of a Hotwife is likely the biggest.

It was a little scary, at first, knowing that my thrusts were controlling her blowjob on her husband, as well. I didn’t want to interrupt her work there, but soon discovered even he wanted me to.

It was also my introduction to compersion as her husband encouraged me to fuck her harder and harder. He wanted her to experience this pleasure and did not feel remotely threatened by the fact I was fucking her harder than he ever could.

Talking to Harold later, not his real name, he explained how afraid he had been the first few times they had done that. As they experienced more of this together, he began to see the control he exercised in being able to direct a Bull in how to fuck his wife properly.

Harold knew how Zelda wanted to be fucked. A bad hip and knee, however, left him unable to do so.

Instead, when her craving was strong, they began to explore adding other men.

So then I came along, that evening, as the last of a number of bulls to be pulled into their adventure.

Now, fifteen years later, they have only been with one other than me. A guy named Tim, not his real name, who shared Zelda with me while Harold photographed us.

Yes, it was frightening at first, but this is my life.

Holy fuck, am I a lucky guy.

I just wish all men remembered just how lucky we are to be involved in these adventures. Yes, we have our own kinks and wants, but we get so much further when we can set them aside long enough to help please others.

One thing many Bulls don’t understand is that after she cums well, she will do almost anything you desire to return the favour.

So will her Stag.

Never forget her Stag.

Reclaim Her, Hard

She consented to every last drop of my cum dripping off of her chin before she looked up at her husband with a grin.

This was not about his fantasy.

Bob’s fantasy may have paved the way for Ruby to play (not their real names), but Ruby is unlikely to enjoy it if that were the only reason she was fucking me while he watched.

There are exceptions, granted, but not many.

Ruby got something out of it, or the experience might have been ugly for her. Ruby was a cumslut to fetish proportions, and likely still is. So there was that.

I’ve walked away from couples when I find out the wife is being pressured into something she doesn’t necessarily want to do. This has happened much too often.

It isn’t always easy to tell, either. I had one situation where the condom was already on and, though she had seemed excited and fine until then, she began to cry as I moved in for penetration. She and I did not fuck, but we did spend an hour cuddled naked on the bed and talking. Her husband joined us, and I did enjoy watching them fuck after they established that the situtation was not what she wanted. It wasn’t personal, at all, as we’ve became friends. My wife and I have even attended swingers parties with them where they are exhibitionists and voyeurs, but don’t swap.

When I get approached, especially online, it is usually by the husband. Although most have the best intentions for their partners, this is not the best path to such explorations.

Occasionally, yes. You get the Stag who chooses well for his Hotwife and she eagerly consents once chemistry is established between her and I, or I with the couple. By occasionally, in fifteen years of doing this, I am suggesting about three, maybe four times.

It works much better if she chooses any potential Bull herself. Not only is this giving her the control and advocacy for herself in all this that is needed, but part of this is about variety. Her body, her choice.

Part of the problem is that many men feel threatened by the entire concept of another man with their partner. Sure, it may look hot and feel very exciting, but what if she falls for him and wants her more than me?

To her Stag: She chose you, didn’t she? Trust her to do this, if she consents to it in the first place. Maybe she will pick Adonis, but she’s not going to do anything to fuck up a strong relationship with you.

Unless that relationship is not strong. If this is the case, you probably shouldn’t be doing this in the first place.

So many gurus of consensual non monogamy keep screaming that this is not how to fix a relationship. If anything, consensual non monogamy will amplify problems.

For those of you that are stable and strong, get on.

And when I’m done with your wife, you reclaim her. Reclaim her, hard.

Clean Room

It was a cheap hotel, but it was clean.

Prior to following a consensual non monogamous lifestyle, I’m doubtful that statement had the weight that it does now. The stats on the number of hotel rooms taken simply for a wild evening of sex would be difficult to track, but very interesting. The discretion level among staff at accommodations needs to be high to help their business.

There are many fantasies involving hotel cleaners walking in, catching you in whatever act, and joining in. Completely unrealistic, though it is likely it has become reality for some.

My last hotel adventure was in October of 2019 and involved a petite woman with long red curls named Beverly. Right about a year ago.

Not her real name.

I arrive in the room with just enough time to open the wine and pour it or into the small plastic cups the hotel provides.

High class shit.

She arrives and, after a quick greeting, I push her up against the wall in the room’s tiny hallway, lifting her. With her skirt rising, she wraps those beautiful legs around me.

She had followed my fashion suggestion in having only her high heeled thigh high boots beneath that long skirt. She giggles at her struggle to get her hands between us to work my pants open, but she succeeds. From the look on her face, her being lifted and pinned against the wall the first time I penetrate her is a good reward for her work.

I keep my length in her as I carry her to the bed. This is not an easy trick. Small as she is, you don’t want your erection to take her weight. Because of this, our shift to the bed is slow and precise. My cock pops out of her as I lower her on the bed.

Her husband gasps at the sight.

I may have forgotten to mention he was there. He paid for the room, so it only seemed right that he should get the chance to watch the show Beverly and I put on for him.

He sits in the room’s fabric armchair naked and stroking his cock as Beverly and I fight with our clothing.

My pink t-shirt is very possessive of me. I should know better than to wear it on these adventures. Yet it has spent more time in a heap as a playmate and I frolic than any other piece of clothing I own. Possessive as it is, I’m almost superstitious on wearing it to playtime.

Soon, I am on top of Beverly and thrusting into her hard. She squeaks with each thrust and her husband, Gus, strokes to our beat.

Not his real name.

Her squeaks become screams as she nears orgasm. My own orgasm follows with my cream flooding into her before I collapse in her and roll off to lay beside her.

Gus is up like a shot and around the bed almost before I roll off. He drops to his knees and applies his tongue to her, searching for the mix of my white and her pink.

Beverly begins to moan anew and this pleases me so much that my cock reloads in record time. Within mere moments, my cock penetrates her mouth as Gus stands and uses my cum as lube to complete the spitroast.

At one point towards the end of our time, Beverly moans that she simply can’t stop cumming. Later sure told me it felt like she had a twenty minutes long orgasm before her body started to climb off the climax level.

Did she have multiple orgasms, yes. With that lengthy endgame, none of us could keep count. She did take six cumshots, three each from her husband and I. His last included an incident of friendly fire as he came with her performing a double barrel blowjob on the two of us. My last was taking my friendly fire covered cock and returning to the warmth of her vagina to finish off.

It was an evening that felt like three great would never end. We all craved and discussed the next time they would be in the area so we could repeat the fun.

Past tense.

It won’t happen, again.

On a May spring morning in a New York City hospital, both Beverly and Gus were taken out by COVID within two hours of each other

The moral is that we are here for a good time. Not a long time.

I am so pleased I helped them find good times together.

My only disappointment is that I was their first and only Bull experience before this happened. They were just starting out in a move to consensually non monogamy.

The last time I spoke with them was a Zoom-call in April. We were planning their next Toronto trip for as soon as the Canada-US border reopened. This time, my wife would be joining us for a foursome.

The Penis is Ugly

Please.

Prove me wrong.

It’s like an elephant’s trunk, at best. It’s missing the ivory.

I’m bi enough to have had a good look at more than just my own.

However, I do like the taste.

I’ve not had another male finish in my mouth and not certain I can do that. I will try it at some point but I just hope he doesn’t take it personally when I gag and spit out his cum.

I hope I don’t when someone gags on mine.

The first penis I had in my mouth was one with the Prince Albert piercing. In that particular case, the metallic over took any other taste. I was also very drunk and remember little of it.

It turned on the woman I was with at that time. It is a consistent reaction that still amazes me.

Having had two women giving my cock a joint blowjob, I know how it feels having it done. I have yet to have a couple share me in that way.

One or the other one at a time, the male or female, yes. But not a couple, together. Call it a selfish and egotistical craving, and it absolutely is, but I want this.

I want to feel two people to make out with my hard cock in between their mouths. Their mouths coming together with me inbetween until my cum is being shared on their tongues.

Sometimes selfish feels good. So long as it isn’t consistent, it is not always a bad thing.

Offers On the Table

When is the appropriate time to ask her to bring a friend?

Seriously, I’m asking. Trying to bone back up on my etiquette before this the COVID restrictions lift. Allowing me to hit the ground running should help my numbers increase fast.

Too many are worried about the numbers when it comes to sexual partners.

A recent online group posting from someone asked if nine partners was too many for a person practicing polyamory to have at once. To each their own, but nine does sound more like quantity than quality.

The trackers of bedpost notches aren’t really in this to connect to anyone, so I cast them from this concept right now.

Begone! All of you.

Pre-COVID, I had my wife and one Hotwife I would refer to as regular; though, our time together was only when she and her husband were in town. I have other friends who are either with benefits on the rare occurrence when stars align or are swingers who just happen to attend the same events we do.

Without my wife present, I think I had sex three times last year. That’s a guess on 2019 as 2020 has been a different animal due to this isolation we have been sharing. As COVID has dragged on, I have begun pushing more on the Bull aspect and adding it to my creativity you are reading here, and seeing on my Twitter memes. I usually play in political realms due to profession and lifestyle, so this has become a nice outlet I wish I had started earlier.

This play, returning to my roots as a Bull, has got some attention and brought about many Stags offering me their Hotwives, sight unseen for them as they usually send me photos.

All very flattering, but if they would just be local, for fuck sakes. Even local-ish, I would consider the offers. Distance adds courage for those not really intending more than fantasizing. A friend of mine that talked me into starting this blog refers to these people as “tire kickers.”

There is nothing wrong with fantasy. However, air guitar aficionados are not qualified to play on stage with Eddie Van Halen.

Speaking of whom, Eddie will be missed.

Also, and more importantly, there is the question of consent. I wonder how many of the women in question consent to their partners offering them up to me.

Her body, her choice.

I want her to feel good about the choice. I also want to make her body feel good and her Stag to enjoy in whatever capacity they choose, but that all depends on her choice and consent.

This is not to suggest all the offers I receive are illegitimate. It is difficult to weed through the fantasizers to those that are ready to explore and push beyond their traditional comfort areas. When I find them, it will be worth the effort.

The COVID Orgy

Not her real name.

I probably should mention her name before claiming to be falsifying it. Might help if I knew it.

I have written on the need to have some sort of relationship for sex to be good. Generally, that’s very true, but there is a rare craving for anonymous.

Not during COVID, of course. Need some realism in the fantasy.

I am in an online group for people in Toronto looking for anonymous play. The majority of posts are useless, but there have been a few that not only caught my eye, but turned into fun.

I met one couple a number of years ago, for example, that turned into a parking lot outdoor parking lot threesome the first time we met. We met, we spitroasted her, I shook his hand and we went our separate ways. We did connect soon after that, again, and still played with them up until the isolation brought on this year. I do know their names now, but walked away the first time without that knowledge.

With it being a first meet I, of course, wore a condom. There are many fetishes like sloppy seconds or a Stag cleaning up his Hotwife that are not things to be explored early on until relationships and trust are well established, if ever.

With this particular couple, it was five years before we decided to explore her cumslut fetish. It was shortly after that when we discovered how it turned him on to reclaim her using my cum as lube.

We built a relationship and trust to a level that they have even vacationed with my wife and I where we, in essence, swapped spouses for a weekend at a ski lodge.

Three years of fluid exchange in that relationship followed until this spring. Whether we do again, or not, is not certain.

Fun as it is, it is not necessary.

More important, lovely and taboo as it seems, fluid exchange with a lesser known partner or partners is not worth the risk. This lifestyle has enough risks as it is that we need to educate ourselves on.

As for Helga and Merl, not their real names, I adore them and look forward to see how our relationship redevelops once this virus isolation is over.

A last minute addition before I post. I let Helga and Merl read this first. I’ve been told they are wanting my cum again as soon s possible. They’ve asked for my wife and I to join them for Helga’s sixtieth birthday orgy in January. COVID or shine, so long as we all test negative multiple times before and nothing gets worse before then.

Have I said just how much I enjoy playing the part of Bull for these friends?