The next morning, her husband thanked me for making his wife happy. He wanted me to come back. I had enjoyed myself, his wife had clearly enjoyed herself, and he seemed delighted with the whole arrangement. I left feeling guilty anyway.
I’m 23. She’s 57, and her husband is 61. I’d known them for a while before anything happened between us. They told me they used to be swingers, but what they wanted now was different: he wanted to stop having sex himself and watch his wife with someone else. That someone turned out to be me.
We didn’t go straight from that conversation into their bedroom. For a few weeks, she and I went out for dinner and kissed. That was as far as things went while we eased toward having sex. There was time to get used to being together, rather than trying to figure everything out in one evening.
She and I also agreed that we wouldn’t sleep with other people. It was an exclusive arrangement within their open marriage, which takes a little more explaining than simply saying I’m seeing someone. Exclusivity was part of how we wanted to handle it, though an agreement like that isn’t a guarantee of sexual safety.
Then I went to their house. She and I had sex while her husband watched. I won’t pretend I was reluctantly doing anyone a favor: I had fun. She was excited throughout, and he encouraged me and told me I was doing great. Nothing in what either of them said suggested I was somewhere I wasn’t wanted.
But enjoying it didn’t stop me from feeling bad for him. That’s the part I’m struggling to explain. I was with his wife, and some part of me responded as though I must be taking something from him, even while he was showing me that this was what he wanted. His encouragement and my guilt existed at the same time.
I can understand the arrangement when I describe it. He wasn’t being kept in the dark. This wasn’t an affair we were hiding, and I hadn’t been asked to persuade him to accept it afterward. He was there because he wanted to watch. Still, knowing those facts didn’t make my feelings fall neatly into line with them.
They invited me to stay the night. He let me stay in bed with his wife and went to a guest room himself. That was another generous gesture from someone I already felt oddly guilty toward. He wasn’t asking me to leave or acting as though I’d intruded. He was making room for me in a way I hadn’t experienced before.
I don’t know yet whether this discomfort comes from the unfamiliarity of it all or whether I’ll keep feeling it if I see them again. I have one experience to go on, not enough to claim I know how this will feel over time. I enjoyed being with her. I also care about how he feels, even if my reaction doesn’t match what he’s telling me.
Before I left, he thanked me again. He said he couldn’t wait for me to return and was grateful for how happy I made his wife. The invitation was clear. Whether I could accept it without carrying the same guilt back through their door was still unresolved.
