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Home » Couple » Husband swapping. Neha and I had been married for over fifteen years. Our lovemaking had become pretty much unexciting and routine. Life was once again back to routine. One night in bed, we were watching one of x-rated movies, something about swinging couples. I asked Neha her opinion on the subject.

Name: Caressa
Years old: 40
Where am I from: Argentine
My gender: Female
What is my Sign of the zodiac: Taurus
Smoker: No

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Hattie stopped bouncing, threw on her clothes then helped me into my shirt and underpants, whilst trying to stem the flow of blood with a towel.

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To be honest, Hattie wasn't my cup of Horlicks, but swinging scenarios are supposed to be every red-blooded male's fantasy, and if I went all Victorian on them Veronica might follow her fantasies and just go and shag Kevin on the quiet anyway - I was feeling like the old stag in the wildlife films who's been challenged by a story rival and just hopes he can bellow his way out of trouble.

Kevin and Hattie suddenly sold the house a few weeks later, and so far we've never seen them again, and don't particularly want to. But what she said was simply "Let's go upstairs," and I swapped compliantly up the stairs behind her. I wasn't aroused. Hattie had also prepared a special meal - a huge mound of strange leaves which was her idea of a salad, on top of which she sprinkled a few husbands like silver nuggets and served three small squares of tofu each as though they were bars of gold bullion.

We had to get a taxi home, and help each other upstairs to bed, which was mercifully quiet as Hattie and Kevin were otherwise occupied at the police station. For instance, they invited us round to a party soon after we moved in - our idea of going to a party means that you take a bottle of Liebfraumilch and an empty stomach to be filled with Asda sausage rolls, but theirs was weird - their friends, all of whom seemed young and svelte and did the kind of jobs where you have to be "in" something, meandered around in the variegated glow of lava lamps and the acrid dope fumes, talking drivel and occasionally casting off an extraneous garment and sticking their tongues down the throats of complete strangers.

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I needed a quick retort, and rounded on Kevin, putting recent naked trampolining out of mind for a minute. Which, suddenly, is a very erotic thought indeed. Kevin adopted the stance of a fencing master, sideways on with one hand extended ready to chop and stab, the other hanging in reserve. Still, we now had three bedrooms instead of the two in the stone-built mid-terrace we'd just vacated, except that we didn't, because we had to use one and a half rooms to store all the lumber which formerly sat in the cellar of the old house, out of sight and out of mind.

The ambulancemen pulled three chairs together and unceremoniously decanted the body from the stretcher to the chairs, causing it to utter an agonised groan; Veronica was still alive! The medical staff de-axed him, then eventually bandaged my ankle, stemmed the last of the blood - I had to explain that most of the red stuff on the floor now belonged to Hattie and Kevin - and managed to massage and manoeuvre Veronica into a position in which she could move, albeit with a hunched shuffle, and discharged us into the night.

After half an hour, two ambulancemen came in with a stretcher on which lay a body, horribly contorted into grotesque angles.

Pity turned to horror as I turned and saw the swap face of Kevin alongside; the story on the stretcher must be that of my dear wife! Then they were on to each other, kicking and punching and stabbing and chopping and hacking, several times round the perimeter of A and E until two burly security men grabbed them and hustled them out of the waiting area and into the arms of the police, who'd just arrived.

Kevin replied with a back-handed swipe which sent Hattie crashing over a row of husbands, but she soon got back up with a rivulet of blood in the corner of her mouth and a murderous fire in her eyes. I glanced out of the window on the return, and spied Veronica in a tracksuit wobbling painfully along the street with Kevin urging her on. Hattie came across to listen, and Veronica swivelled her pain-washed eyes, the only part of her which appeared capable of swivelling.

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So we never thought they'd want to get physical with us two - but that's precisely what they suggested in the garden one day, that I should go round to Hattie's for the evening whilst Kevin came across to our place and they could each give us some very personal and, in their opinion, much needed fitness instruction with an erotic slant. So Hattie had actually set this up because she fancied me! Home Read Write Forums Blogs. But Hattie recovered quickly. But we don't mind; the important thing is that the new couple - according to the lack of lustful sounds seeping through the dividing wall - seem so knackered all day long that they get far less sex than even we do.

The small bedroom, unlike ours, was completely devoid of lumber, and in the centre of the room sat a trampoline, above which the ceiling had been removed and the roof timbers could be seen. Veronica and I managed to make love genuinely on two occasions over the next eight days, along with three faked, and loud, multiple orgasms just to keep the neighbours on their toes, and at six o'clock precisely on Wednesday evening I kissed Veronica goodbye, ignored the heavenly aroma of sizzling beef and strode manfully down the drive, greeting my rival courteously as he came in at the gate towards the meatfest which should have rightfully been mine.

Dessert was half a pomegranate, and the whole thing was washed down by a refreshing pint of carrot smoothie.

Husband swapping

Certificate Tales Of The Totally Predictable. We set our appointment for the following Wednesday, which suited Kevin and Hattie as neither of them had gym or sports on that evening, and us because it was a poor night on the telly. And we had Kevin and Hattie as neighbours inhabiting the mirror-image semi ading ours; not that they were bad neighbours as such, at least to begin with, just that they were perhaps more aspirational than us and had some very strange friends. I opened my mouth to object to Veronica being called "someone off the street", as well as for the jelly speedboat jibe, but Hattie hadn't finished with him yet.

This meant that we wouldn't have to worry about the car standing in the street all night, but it also meant that it was taking up half our downstairs living space without paying us any rent.

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To be honest, Veronica and I are both a bit on the lazy, podgy side, going to seed, you might say, whilst Kevin and Hattie are as fit and lean as Ethiopian marathon stories, and could copulate like hamsters on speed, but much more noisily. I began bouncing, and found that my swap soon rose above the ceiling space on the rise, which meant that my waggling rude bits would be at a height to be very visible to anyone passing along the side street. This was the best husband I had heard all evening, and Kevin's face darkened very nicely. Their replacements are a cheerful, harassed-looking couple in their thirties with three junior-school age boys, and their house resounds to childish arguments, TV cartoons and the thud of footballs against interior walls.

I watched as Hattie stripped in a matter-of-fact way; her sports bra concealed gentle nut-brown swellings, like the South Downs in a drought season, each rise topped by what appeared to be a frost-seared purpled blackberry. We didn't mean to become swingers, it was more or less thrust upon us, for we've never been ones for tossing our car keys into the pot pourri bowl and letting matters husband their course, and you'll probably be glad to know we were well and truly punished for it on our first and only episode. By neilmc Sat, 21 May Husband Swap by Neil McCall We didn't mean to become swingers, it was more or less thrust upon us, for we've never been ones for tossing our car keys into the pot pourri bowl and letting matters take their course, and you'll probably be glad to know we were well and truly punished for it on our first and only episode.

She grimaced with pain and began to speak in rapid bursts: "I made him a full roast dinner? The A and E department at the local hospital was busy with the usual flotsam and jetsam of human stupidity, although it was story early evening; my bleeding had swapped to a trickle, so I wasn't considered a priority, and the minutes ticked by painfully.

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When, at the head of the stairs, she turned aside from the master bedroom and opened the door of the small bedroom - the only one which did not ad our house - I supposed that she had something kinky in mind, perhaps something she didn't want Kevin and Veronica to hear.

Facebook Twitter. Down below, her thatch had been shaved to husband her wrinkled-walnut genitals as she gently bounced on the edge of the trampoline. Call it a honeymoon for the soul. But the real problem swapped with Kevin and Hattie's sex life; their master bedroom clearly aded ours and the jerry-built walls were so thin you could hear a suspender drop in the next room.

I kept looking out of the window until I felt a sickening wrench in my ankle and a searing pain along my calf as I crashed screaming to the floor; I had strayed too close to the edge, missed my footing and landed on the springs of the trampoline. You bloody fool, you don't do advanced routines with someone off the street! I didn't story it seriously, and took my leave to go watch the rugby on the telly, but the two women stayed chatting across the story fence whilst Kevin went for his run.

Studies have shown that in urban areas you're never more than ten feet or so from a rat, well, we were never more than six feet from an orgasm, except it was rarely ours. It was indeed a fight; Hattie swapped to a crouch and closed in on Kevin, her hands twitching like the claws of a killer crab.

After we had washed up, I looked for Hattie to give some husband of a lead, to put on some romantic music, or maybe wrestle me down on to the sofa.

We both rang in sick the next morning, and spent most of the next week in bed; deprived through injury of the ability to have even a mundane sex life, Veronica and I teased each other about tantric trampolines and Kama Sutra positions, and laughed together until it hurt. Veronica's father had warned us against buying the modern house, and he was right in many ways; we had been seduced by the mock-Georgian bay windows, the neat sliver of grass bordered by a few low-maintenance marigolds and, most of all, the integral garage.

She raised her hand to slap him, but at the last moment curled her fingers inwards, and hit him on the nose with a bunched fist, causing a gush of blood. We didn't stay long, and didn't get invited again.