The Permission Paradox

Despite being on here for 6 months now, we haven’t been to swingers party. I suspect we will soon, but something has been holding me back. I call it the Permission Paradox.

Let me explain what I mean.

For years, Rich and I had a strong – albeit conventional – sex life. Then he started sharing with me his fantasies … lots of variations but ultimately, always involving me with another man/men. At first, I blocked out what he was whispering and just let him enjoy his thing – I didn’t want to be thinking of someone else whilst being pleasured by my man. But eventually I let my mind wander into the world he was constructing and boy-oh-boy, didn’t that make things more intense! Suddenly, my organisms were plural rather than singular, and the intensity cranked up to an eleven!

So it was kind of no surprise that when a spontaneous moment presented itself, I found myself a willing, if at first reluctant, participant (see my 1st story Caravan Park Adventures if you want the detail!).

It was daring; it was incredibly sexy and, it was somewhat ambiguous if I was stepping over a line. There is no doubt, a great part of the thrill was (and still is) the naughty element … am I doing something I’m not really permitted to do?

But I would never undermine the trust between Rich and me – cheating has never been a consideration for me.

Which brings us to the Permission Paradox … I need permission to avoiding breaching our trust, but the very granting of permission takes away from the whole naughty experience. So that’s why I’ve said no to sex parties and pre-arranged hook-ups so far – I’m looking for the thrill of the chase, not just a sausage-fest.

So my first two experiences with ‘the scene’ were both spontaneous occurrences led by others.

But over the summer, we had a fresh experience which was very much driven by me.

We were taking our little pop-top on another kid-free getaway, this time driving east from Melbourne before heading north for a few nights on the central NSW coast.

It was late morning and we had our first petrol stop, at some anonymous servo in Gippsland. I went inside to get some coffees whilst Rich filled the Cruiser up, when a guy of about mid-30s or so caught my eye. He had a backpack draped over one shoulder, but wasn’t a traditional backpacker – he was older than the usual 20-somethings for starters, but also well groomed.

I fumbled over the automatic coffee machine when he stepped over and showed me what I needed to do. He was well spoken, was clearly an Aussie but maybe with a hint of English accent in there. Oh, and he smelt REALLY good – no sign of those cheap male deodorants.

Anyway, that little interaction sparked off a conversation, and I learnt he was hitch-hiking to Lakes Entrance, and that a truck had just dropped him there as it was about to turn off the highway.

So, knowing Rich had hitchhiked across the US in his youth, I offered him a lift. He lightly touched my shoulder and accepted with a broad, welcoming grin.

I tingled all over.

I bounded out to Rich to explain we now had a passenger, freshened up in the bathroom, and we were on our way.

I’m not sure when the thought first came to me – Rich claims it was almost certainly at the coffee machine – but pretty early on, I knew I wanted to have some fun with this guy.

Happily, I often travel bra-free on our driving days, meaning I was adorned with only 3 items of clothing: TShirt; denim shorts and a pair of cute little undies.

His name was Harry, short for Harrison and the conversation flowed easily. He had a great sense of humour and that smile was wicked. He had sat himself in the back behind the driver’s seat, as there was stuff on the seat behind me.

After not very long at all, I got to work. Even though it was only just gone midday, I expressed my dying need to quench my thirst and suggested we have a drink. I saw Rich glance across at me with this, and a clear acknowledgement he knew I was flirting.. Did that constitute Permission? How far could I take this before crossing a line?

I twisted around in my seat and pointed past Harry to where there was an esky in the back. My tshirt had wide opening sleeves, meaning he could see right down my arm and to the edge of my bare breast.

Guys are so easy to predict. A decent cleavage; a hint of side-boob, an erect nipple through a shirt … and they’re pretty much yours! And so it was. I continued to hold my arm out and watched as Harry tried desperately not to be seen perving at me.

I loved the feeling it gave me.

He passed a can over and the two of us shared a ginger beer and talked non-stop, with Rich freely joining in the conversation (although not the drinking, as the designated driver!).

When the cans were empty, I said it was my shout for this round, as he got the last. Before anyone else knew what was happening, I unclipped my seatbelt and started clambering over the centre console into the back seat. If Harry didn’t get a good look before, he certainly did this time as the top of my shirt gaped open in front of him as I climbed over.

He instinctively helped me over, which resulted in his hands gripping both my hips and him almost lifting me towards him.

Oh God, how I want him now.

So I’m now effectively straddling his left leg, one knee either side. I continue my rear-bound momentum to reach for the esky directly behind him. In doing so, my free-swinging left boob pushes up against the side of his face, and I notice a slight turn of his head in towards me, giving me confidence he was enjoying the moment as much as he was.

I retrieve two more cans and then, instead of returning to my seat (or even the one next him), I simply perch myself on Harry’s lap, with my back leaning against the car door.

I look up into the rearview mirror to see if I’m in Rich’s view, which I very much am as he’s adjusted the mirror in a way to make it totally redundant for driving purposes! I see a slight grin come over his face. Permission?? Not sure, but certainly not objection!

With that, I put my left hand on Harry’s soft face and start kissing him. Not the kiss of strangers, but a passionate, sensual, almost loving kiss.

His hand slips under my TShirt and fondles me firmly, my nipples having long ago shown their thoughts on the matter.

As passion overcomes me, I almost rip the shirt off his back. before struggling to unbutton his jeans so I can feel what he’s packing below. He helps me with this task, and pulls his jeans and Calvins down below his knees.

His eyes are fixed solely on me, I suspect too nervous to look over the front seat given what was unfolding.

I return the favour by pulling off my shorts and undies, and position myself so my back is to Harry and I’m looking directly out the front of the car.

Harry glides is finger into me to get me prepared, but there’s no need as I’m already dripping. So I reposition his hands back onto my hips, so he can gently lift me, then lower me back down onto his upright piece of manliness.

That feeling when a guy first enters you is always the most memorable, and the forbidden nature of this encounter doubles that pleasure.

Harry releases my hips for a moment to pull my TShirt over my head. I hesitate at first as I don’t really want every truckie on the Prince’s Highway to see me like this, but rear window is tinted, and regardless, the exhilaration is too much.

Both his hands are now firmly caressing my bare boobs as I use my knees to propel myself up and down on him.

So, I’m now fully naked, riding this hitchhiker bareback, whilst looking directly at my lifetime partner who is almost jumping out of his skin whilst towing a caravan!.

I’m a squirter, and it doesn’t take long for that start, which only seems to excite Harry even more, allowing us the mutual delight of climaxing simultaneously.

It’s all over way too quick, but that intensity was never going to last long. I settle back down across the back seat with my legs across his lap using his backpack as a pillow. We share a few more moments over the next hour or so, before reaching his drop-off point and bidding each other farewell.

That night, Rich and I re-live the experience over and over. I ask him if I went too far, desperate not to have broken our trust bond, but also secretly hoping he’d say that I had.

The Permission Paradox.