gail schimmel

The blog of writer Gail Schimmel: A bit of writing, a bit of parenting, a bit of thinking and some book reviews

That bulge in your pocket better be your own keys

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The other day, a friend told me about a swingers’ club in Another Suburb. Just to be clear, by swinging I do indeed mean that business where people put keys in a bowl and have sex with each other’s spouses. I am not talking about the innocent business that children get up to in parks.

Now, if you are not a Jo’burger, I must also clarify that we are very parochial here, and regard what people do in other suburbs with the utmost suspicion. I was not at all surprised to hear that people in That Suburb were up to kinky things, because who knows what I would be driven to if I lived there. Although they probably say the same about My Suburb.

Anyhow, my friend and I lightly agreed that the worst thing about swinging would be if you got the ugliest possibility; and we agreed that we personally would never be interested. But the thought remained with me, not because I was at all tempted, but because I realised that pulling the ugliest guy was not the worst thing that could happen. Not at all.

So I decided to share with you the reasons that only the very brave or mad must indulge in these shenanigans.

The first thing is that you might end up with not only the ugliest, but the smelliest, possibility. I once had a boss – a very long time ago – who, when he visited the toilet, caused the whole building to clear. You could pick him. Only uglier. And you know, for ugly you can just close your eyes. Or convince yourself that he’s one of those ugly-but-sexy types. But smelly – well, it’s very hard to have sex while holding your nose. So you’d be thinking “Please don’t make me go through with this, please don’t make me go through with this”. But imagine if you got back to this ugly, smelly man’s place (or hotel room, or whatever – I am not really clear on the mechanics of swinging) and then this terrible, ugly, undesirable man turned around and said, “Actually, I don’t fancy you at all. Can we just skip this?” I mean the humiliation! You would want to curl up and die from the rejection of it! How would you possibly tell your spouse the next day?

And if he doesn’t reject you, and you have to go through with it, well, you’re going to have to make an effort. I mean, your partner of 100 years might understand if sometimes you are a bit dull in bed, and have a bit of cellulite going on, but this ugly oke won’t. You’ll have to pull out all stops, so to speak. Because unlike your loyal partner, this guy might criticise you afterwards, publicly. Can you imagine it? The ugliest man in the swingers’ club complaining that YOU were a bad deal. And imagine if, having done every trick that you know, he shrugged afterwards and said, “That was okay.”

I’m getting quite upset just thinking about all this, which why I would never, ever, swing. Not that there is much danger of it – the only time that I thought another couple were sexually propositioning me and my husband, it turned out that the man actually wanted to beat my husband up. In my defence, it happened in Cape Town, and everybody knows that Cape Townians are very hard to understand properly . . . even worse than folk from That Swinging Suburb.

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One thought on “That bulge in your pocket better be your own keys

  1. Loved this 🙂

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