Memoirs of a Swinger

By George J Finnton

A once shy, unassuming gentleman is now a well-known and well respected single male within the swinger community. This book will take you on his hilarious and raunchy journey from the unknown to the renowned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: George J Finnton
• Release date: Nov 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781805413653

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

On my way

I shifted my weight for the umpteenth time in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position on the well-used and tired-looking train seat. Those who have travelled by train know that the British Rail train seat was designed by top scientists over a number of years to be inviting but not comfy. It is tolerable to a point; however, at a predetermined time in your journey, it has been engineered so you have to readjust yourself. Maybe it’s a genius solution to stop you falling asleep and missing your station or just the evil design from a bunch of people who only use their PhDs for personal amusement. After many twists, bum shuffles and various arm configurations, I settled into a position that suited until the next set of pins and needles set in. I was sat in a chair that was part of four, two chairs facing each other with a small table between them, and I was sat facing the direction of travel. I always sit facing the way I am heading so I can see where I am going, rather than looking where I’ve been. The other three seats were empty apart from my daysack containing what I thought I may need for the weekend. Meanwhile, on the small table was the cheap see-through supermarket plastic bag that contained my sandwich and refreshments for the journey. There were a few passengers dotted here and there in the cabin with the nearest person sitting on the seats on the opposite side of the train to me. She was smartly dressed, in her thirties, I would guess, and quite pretty. As I watched the countryside streak by, interspersed with the odd flash of a station that was too small to warrant a stop, the hypnotising noise of dedum dedum, dedum dedum of the train wheels running over the rail joints enabled me to relax a little bit more and think about what lay ahead.

I was on my way to a well-known seaside resort for my first swinger’s meet. I had been chatting online for a while, but this would be the first time I would see anyone in the flesh, if you pardon the pun! Although confident and, by my own admission, sometimes humorous while communicating online, I was never really confident when it came to chatting to girls in bars or restaurants. It was almost like two separate people; one that was confident, outgoing, funny and full of innuendoes while online versus the other that was shy and unassuming when out with my friends and family. So this new venture was not only jumping into the deep end; it was jumping into the deep end naked with weights tied round my ankles and wrists while everyone looked on. I’d seen profile pictures, of course, and I had even been chatting online via the video link, so I knew some people that would be there, but I was still meeting up with them for the first time and not only was I the new boy, but I was also a single lad, which was a bit of a rarity at these organised parties. I was invited to this meet even though I was single because of the way I was online. I wasn’t smutty, I didn’t boast about how I was going to systematically impale all the females on the website, nor did I have pictures of my general and two colonels as a profile picture, although admittedly, they did make an appearance in my personal profile; it is a swinger’s site, after all. I was just myself; I chatted away about all kinds of things; I always asked how people were and I made sure I said hello to everyone who popped up in the chatroom. Inevitably, conversations did include sexual innuendoes or blatant sex talk, but I rarely instigated it. Yes, I threw in the odd pun where appropriate but didn’t initiate any visual interaction although I was always happy to participate once started. This approach, which was not planned or intended, enabled me to gain the confidence of the couples online and make friends in various places.

As I reminisced about various conversations and live-cam shenanigans, I felt myself smile and chuckle slightly. Then my euphoric feelings drained away and gave way to curiosity and then shock, all within seconds, as certain scenarios and images flashed across my brain like a cruel and torturous strobe light. What do I wear when I first walk in? Where do I put my wallet if I’m butt naked? If the room is crowded, what’s the protocol when passing another person, especially another male? Is it bum cheeks to bum cheeks with a polite pardon me thrown in? Is it penis to butt cheeks and hope there is no erection involved during the brief encounter? Or worst of all, what if there is a front-on-front passing with an awkward clash of swords? Is there an apology and who initiates it? Oh, my god, what if I don’t like it? Is there a safe word? The sudden rush of anxiety snapped me back into the train carriage and forced me to sit up quickly. Why hadn’t I asked any of these questions while online instead of trying to mentally categorise and memorise the copious amounts of nakedness?! I consciously looked round to see if anyone had noticed my sudden change in demeanour and I noticed that the woman sitting at the opposite table looked away sharply towards the window to try to hide the fact that she had seen my brief look of trepidation. I briefly thought to myself, ‘I wonder how she would react if she knew what I was thinking at that point or if she knew where I was heading?’ This was quickly followed by, ‘How cool would it be if she was going to the same place?!’ However, her sense of dress and the small briefcase she had close by indicated she was on a work-related journey of some sort, or perhaps an interview. It was now my turn to get caught out and try to turn away quickly without being noticed as I didn’t realise until she looked back my way that during my internal interlude, I was staring her way. I turned quickly to look out the window and, for a short period, I held that awkward pose where your head is facing one way but you’re straining your eyes in darting motions in the other direction in a poor attempt to see if you are in trouble.

Once I thought the status quo had been achieved, I relaxed back into the chair, but had lost that comfy position and I knew it had gone forever. Now that my thoughts were back in the present, and with a good portion of the journey still to go, I contemplated attacking the paltry meal that I had hastily purchased on the way to the station. I prodded the bag and moved the contents from one side to the other before deciding that I wasn’t actually hungry, admitting to myself that a bit of nerves was setting in. Instead, I decided to retrieve my book from my daysack, read for a while and try to erase all thoughts of the impending gathering from my mind. I looked at my daysack, which is like a smaller rucksack a hiker would have, then at the supermarket bag. I took another agonising look at them both once more before my head went into overload again. These are the only two bags I have. What if I need a bag for my clothes once the frivolities begin? I will either look like the naked rambler with an extra walking stick or a disgruntled supermarket worker on some sort of protest. ‘It must be simpler than that,’ I thought. ‘There must be a changing room or bathrobe provided. Why, why, did I not ask these questions while online?’ I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, placed my chin in my hands and resigned myself to the fact that I would make mistakes and learn what should and should not be done during these meetings. This line of thought got me thinking of how I had actually ended up sitting on his train at this moment. I shifted my weight so my head was in one hand with my arm and hand supported by the bulkhead of the train. I was looking out the window but seeing nothing of the views streaming by as I felt my eyes half-close and my mind drift back to the beginning.

Six months previously, I was at work. At the time, I was working offshore as a Platform Medic in the North Sea. I was in the Medical Centre having a cup of tea with a friend of mine whom I have known for a long time; we served together in the Army. I was explaining to him that I felt like I was wasting my time while at home and had nothing to do. There are various offshore working routines, and the one we were working at the time was two weeks offshore followed by three weeks at home, so, as you can see, there is plenty of time to fill. During this conversation, my friend Jay said, What are the things that interest you? What hobbies do you like? I’m sure we can find something in your area online; there is a club for everything these days, he explained. I thought for a short while and responded, I like walking, amateur dramatics and the gym. After taking the piss for a short while about my acting credentials, Jay replied, Right, let’s fire up the internet and have a look! Sure enough, there was a local ramblers association, a local Am-Dram society and a gym within walking distance of where I lived, and a few more a short distance away. We formulated a plan of attack for my leave before he got up and made his way to the door of the Medical Centre. He could not help himself having one last dig at the possibility of me acting on stage before he left, laughing to himself as the door closed behind him.

By the time I went offshore for my next rotation, Jay was already there as our rotations were out slightly by one week. During our routine daily cup of tea in the Medical Centre, he asked, So, how did you get on with the stuff we talked about? Hollywood called yet? I replied by explaining each of my visits to the various clubs. First were the local ramblers; me being ex-military, I turned up with just about everything you need for a six-month tour of duty in a war zone, while my fellow ramblers were all retired-looking folk with knee-high socks, dual hiking sticks and deerstalker hats. I instantly knew this wasn’t for me. This amused Jay and he interrupted me several times with illusory prods to the ribs with satirical comments. With that one explained, I moved onto the Am-Dram society. As agreed, I made the effort to visit them at the hall where they plied their hobby and explained that I was interested in joining the club. Even though I had no training in acting, had not acted in anything aside from the obligatory nativity play at Catholic primary school and the minor school productions in high school, or in fact knew very little about acting at all, I was dismayed that they did not offer me a male leading role in their next production, and they told me that I could help out with the stage equipment if I wanted. With a polite ‘I will get back to you’, both parties knew I wouldn’t set foot in the place again and I left the building. Again, with Jay’s cutting satire, this explanation lasted longer than it should have.

This left the gym. I use the gym offshore regularly and although there was the odd lapse here and there, since leaving the forces, I have kept myself in shape through running. I wasn’t really into the weights and rarely used them. The local ‘gym’ I rang was listed as a Health Club. The lady on the phone was very amused when I explained what I was looking for. We can give you a workout, love, but maybe not the kind you’re asking for! The penny dropped and I realised it was a brothel. A brothel less than a quarter mile from my house no less! I made an appointment for the next nearest local gym we had identified on the previous trip offshore. This would be the final grasp of joining one of the three hobbies I said I enjoyed but it was never going to be as simple as me saying, ‘Wow, I like this gym; where do I sign?’ This plan just was not going that way at all and this was to be no different. The first person I met was a big muscle-bound man who introduced himself as the owner. I shook his hand and explained that I was interested in joining a gym. He duly showed me round his gym and was quite rightly proud of his achievements; however, with no cardio machines in sight and an all-male population that looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger had been cloned numerous times, I again decided this gym was not for me.

I was feeling despondent because the plan had failed and Jay was taking every opportunity to ridicule me, and although I found it partly funny, it amused him a lot more than it did me. He said, Ok, that’s three hobbies, three strikes. What else do you like? There must be something?! My mouth moved before my brain engaged and I replied, Sex. The instant I said it, I knew I had given Jay all the ammunition he needed to go to town on me. Believe it or not, although he can be a pain, we are close friends and we talk about everything. He was eighteen and I nineteen when we first met in the forces; with us now both firmly in the thirties... very late thirties! He knew I had not had sex for over two years. Sex... sex! he retorted. You’re basically celibate! You’ve not had your leg over for about a million years! Two, I replied, holding two fingers up to emphasise the point and flick him the V sign at the same time. Believe me, Jay animated, that is a million years!

As he knew everything about me, he knew that I had dabbled in a bit of internet dating a few years back and when I say internet dating, I really mean meet up for casual sex and then never speak again. The few, and for argument’s sake, let’s call them ‘dates’ I went on were no more than someone wanting a one-night stand. I was happy to oblige at the time, but it wasn’t fun and so this phase passed. Back in the medical centre, Jay was reminding me of this very short part of my past and asked if those dating sites were still up and running and why did I not give them another go. As we were at work at the time, we thought long before we decided what to enter in google search on the work’s computer. The company we were working for