Krissy

single ladies Abigail
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Information

  • Years old:
  • 23
  • Where am I from:
  • Russian
  • What is my sex:
  • Lady
  • What is my Zodiac sign:
  • Aquarius
  • I like to listen:
  • Rap
  • I like tattoo:
  • None

About

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Description

My first project, a reality show about the swinging lifestyle has been greenlit. So, he has a lot of institutional knowledge about the lifestyle. However, if we want him to be the face of our show, we are unequivocally prohibited from revealing that the hunky 80s TV star is a swinger in real life. Apparently, he makes a lot of money starring in the occasional family movie.

Murrow Award-winning executive producer. Gosh, this all makes me feel so good about where I work. Despite the fact that I live in the San Fernando Valley, I know very little about swingers and the lifestyle myself. I need to attend an actual swinger party. ME: Swinger horror stories do I find one? Then one afternoon, the Smut Sherpa hips me to an upcoming lifestyle party thrown by a group called The Valley Flirts in the quaint bedroom community of Woodland Hills, not too far from my house.

I ask my husband if he wants to accompany me. ME: No. Swingers are asked to gather in the lobby bar — an achingly forgettable dump that could easily be mistaken for every other forgettable hotel lobby bar in America. However, single ladies always get in free.

Score one for Gloria Steinem. The sizing-up and STD-status sharing begins. The five of us make our way through the bar and find a long table at the edge of the dance floor, overlooking a live episode of National Geographic: After Dark. The seating order at our table is Cara, then me, then Hannah and her husband.

Sulking at the far end of the table is my husband. Cara, as usual, has taken discomfort to a whole new level.

Swinger real life story: when swapping partners goes wrong

This is a woman who carries dozens of bottles of hand sanitizer with her wherever she goes. As head of research for Playboy TV, she wanted to us at the Swinger party in order to gain a better understanding of the lifestyle. After we settle in Cara leans over to me. Having a somewhat more manageable crisis at the far end of the table is my husband. I check in with him. ME: You okay?

The wrong idea? Even I was afraid to talk to him. Spending a few hours in a sexually charged environment with him can only have a positive effect on us. I have a good feeling that spending time at a sex party will pay off for the two of us later. But first I have to get the lay of this land, and vice-versa.

Most hotel bars are, by nature, sex-charged environments, and this dump is no exception. The room is dark, creating a world of mysterious romance while at the same time masking cold sores. Some couples hold court in secluded booths, while others gather at the bar.

Females outing males at these parties is preferred for obvious reasons. Ringside at the dance floor, Hannah, a culture and trend analyst, goes into full-on research mode. A couple of pretty single girls begin to gyrate against each other on the dance floor, hoping to attract attention. I can see that a lifestyle like this would be a complete impossibility for my husband and me. First of all, neither one of us is remotely interested in opening up our marriage. As I said, we have a fulfilling sex life, but ever since I started this job, things that I had taken for granted, have begun to slightly shift.

Then, without warning, a stocky, early sixties couple commandeers the dance floor. He looks like someone who works in the stockroom of a Van Nuys muffler shop, while she resembles a disheveled, suburban Yeti in a New Yorker cartoon. Yeti is aggressively scanning the room for supplemental male company. Things are bad when you come off as over-eager at a sex party.

Yeti, tipsy in every way, decides the best way to attract a fella is to flash some boob. This is a classic move for a year-old girl in Daytona but a disturbing move for a drunk, sixty-something Yeti in Woodland Hills. So, the Yeti re-furls her breast for later use. Hannah and her husband cannot stop laughing at the raw ridiculousness unfolding before us.

The five of us pack into an elevator along with some background swinger types and ride upstairs. I smile at my husband with a glimmer of excitement. Seconds later, the elevator doors open to a dark hallway. Right before us, a nondescript hotel room door is wide open with people already heading in. Stepping into this dump of a Presidential Suite, I think to myself you would have to be the President of Irritable Bowel Syndrome to be relegated to this room. Situated between them is a beat-up coffee table covered with regrets, and an issue of Woodland Hills Magazine.

On the wall is a television not turned on. All of the lights in this main room have been turned off except for two sconces on either side of the TV. The standard light bulbs replaced with red light bulbs.

This is some serious Fuck Shui. The suite reeks of industrial carpet cleaner and mediocrity. Piled on top of a cheap dinette table in the opposite corner are piles of white, 2. It looks as if the table has been set for a dysentery party. The TV is off. All of the furniture in here should be covered with sheets! What are they thinking? We are never sitting on hotel furniture again! Having weathered this level of germ phobic rage many times in the past, I simply nod in agreement. On the other side of the living room, I see a few people standing in an open doorway, which I assume is the entrance to the bedroom.

They appear to be sipping cocktails and watching something.

ME: Hey look! A bunch of people have gathered over there in that doorway to look at something.

‘swingers’ stories

Wanna check it out with me? My husband reluctantly shakes his head in disbelief as we cross the room together, walking past all of that sheetless furniture. We step through the doorway into what turns out to be a small, darkened bedroom. Everyone is watching four naked people having sex on a queen-size bed covered with only a white fitted sheet.

No top sheet, no pillows, no blankets, no headboard or even a bed skirt. Sort of like kindling for your genitals. I make a mental note for the TV show. This is the first time my husband and I have ever witnessed live sex. Much to my surprise and disappointment, there is nothing sexy about it. No offense, four random people fucking on the bed with no skirt, but right then and there I realize that watching strangers having group sex in the Woodland Hills Hilton is not a turn-on for me.

Who knew? I turn to look at my husband, who has plummeted to an all-new depth of horror and disgust. This party is working wonders for the two of us. Hannah is probably building a complex statistical analysis in her head, while her husband is thrilled not to be in a courtroom. Suddenly, we hear a drunken voice bellow out. YETI: I want some cocks in me! I reel around and to my horror see the Yeti, now completely naked, blasted drunk and refusing to get dressed despite the protestations from all humanity.

She is certainly communicating her desires well, but everyone Swinger horror stories her vicinity desires that she do it somewhere else. Anywhere else. My husband stares at the Yeti in abject revulsion.

My first time at a swingers club

He is a very honorable and upstanding child of teachers who never drinks alcohol and always makes sure to do the right thing. YETI: I want some cocks in me now! Yeti becomes more belligerent, demanding booze, cocks and more cocks.

In her. Yeti stands next to her, shrugging helplessly to the gathering crowd the way a parent shrugs to the others while his or her toddler has a full-on meltdown in the mall.

A bump in the road – a swinger party goes bad

Only this is no toddler. This is a drunk, middle-aged, loud, lumpy, naked woman screaming for erect penises to be inside of her right this minute. By the way, if you ever find yourself wondering what would be the single best-ever buzzkill for a swinger party — or any party for that matter — I can assure you this is it. Yeti tries desperately to wedge his wife back into her acid-washed jeans, but Mrs. Yeti is having none of it.

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