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I taught Communications in a large, state university for 25 years and my wife taught in the School of Nursing for 20. A couple of years ago we retired in our 50’s with comfortable pensions.

Upon retiring, we moved to a community that was occupied, for the most part, with folks, many retired and most about our age, close enough to the university that I can return to teach an occasional class, if I choose, but far enough that we can feel like we’ve started a new chapter in our life together.

We joined a small, relatively inexpensive country club (golf, tennis, gym, & swim), and a community church that we expected would meet our needs – progressive in theology, traditional in form, a lesbian pastor, and a friendly congregation. What more could we ask?

We quickly made lots of new friends. We were invited to join a sharing group with three other couples who all played golf, as we did. They had recently lost their fourth couple to a job promotion and a move and we were flattered to be invited into the group. We play golf at least once a week, I work out at the gym four days a week, and Jan walks or plays tennis with the girls.

In the winter we play Euchre every other Sunday night with the sharing group and last year we went on a two-week mission trip with our group and two others to help rebuild a medical clinic in Puerto Rico. In February, all eight of us went on a ski trip as volunteer chaperones with the church youth group. (Jan likes to ski. I like to sit around the lodge, ogle the ski bunnies, and drink.)

Over the course of the first year of our retirement, we became close, nearly inseparable friends with those three couples in our sharing group. And why not? We shared many of the same values, enjoyed the same activities, and genuinely liked each other. They were fun and funny, active and attractive. We felt lucky to be part of the group and looked forward to our time with them. We ate out, went to shows, had Christmas, New Years, Super Bowl, and Oscar parties, and regular cookouts and swim parties. Sometimes one couple would have a commitment and couldn’t attend but most of the time it was all eight of us at every gathering.

One Saturday morning, early in the second summer we were part of the group, we were all playing golf. The girls’ foursome was ahead of us guys, and I was sharing a cart with Brad, who owned his own insurance agency. He was retired military, squared away, square jaw, high and tight and handsome with a hard edge. Off the golf course he favored navy blue, pinstripe suits and white shirts with enough starch that I suspected he could lean them against the wall. Today, he was in cargo shorts and a Hawaiian shirt with big water lilies on it. We were smoking cigars, sipping ice-cold beers, and watching the girls tee off. Brad’s wife, Melanie, a cute brunette dental hygienist, with a nice, tight, athletic figure had been playing tennis in the morning and had decided to just wear the same little white outfit for golf. I don’t know if Brad noticed or not but I was enjoying watching her butt as she bent over to tee up her ball.

Brad flipped his cigar ash into the wind. “You know, Kyle,” he said, as my wife, Jan took her place at the tee. “We are some lucky guys.” Jan was wearing golf shorts and a Polo shirt that didn’t show off but didn’t exactly hide her perfect, round butt and high, boobs, which I affectionately referred to as her “Hi-C’s”. Her dark, red hair was pulled back in a ponytail that stuck out the back of her baseball cap. She looked like she was sweating but, in fact, the shine on her lily-white skin was the gallon of SPF 50 she had slathered on to keep from getting sun burned.

Not knowing what Brad was talking about, I was non-committal. “Yes, we are, Brad.”

“I mean, look at that little foursome up there. Not an ugly one in the bunch. I’d rate them all eight or above.”

“I’d say nine’s at least.” And I meant it. They were all very attractive ladies.

“And nice girls, too,” he said. “Pleasant, agreeable, smart, sassy, fun.”

“We are lucky, no doubt.”

He looked over his shoulder at Dick and Chet in the other cart. “And, to be fair. Our wives don’t have it so bad, either. Their husbands are all pretty good-looking guys. Except for Chet, of course. He must have inherited the ugly genes from his parents.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Poor guy.” We both nudged each other and laughed. Chet was, in fact, as handsome a man as I had ever seen. Women and men stopped talking to look at him when he entered a room. He was the tennis teaching pro at the club and the women were lined up for six months to take lessons. He was about six feet tall with a tan that was so even it had to be sprayed on, gray at the temples, flat stomach, ropy muscles in his arms, and even his wrinkles were attractive. What a dick.

“Melany says that she’d do him in a heartbeat if I’d give her a hall pass,” Brad said. “You are second on her list.”

I laughed at the absurdity of such a thing. “Yeah. I imagine Chet is at the top canlı bahis şirketleri of everyone’s list,” I said. “All the women and at least half the men at the club. I’m flattered to be second.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re first on Elaine’s list,” he said. Elaine was Chet’s wife. A natural blond with boy short hair, she had been a champion swimmer in college and kept her tall, lean swimmer’s physique by hitting the pool every weekday morning. “Personally, I think she gets a little tired of the way Chet lords it over her that he has a potential harem chasing him around everywhere he goes.”

“Well, I’m pleased to be in the same company as Chet,” I said. “But I don’t think Jan would go for it. She’s funny that way. Doesn’t like it when her husband has sex with other women. Go figure.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be a one-way thing,” he said. “I think a lot of times it’s not the sleeping with other people that gets women so upset, it’s the sneaking around. It’s the lying and the cheating that honks them off. Besides, she’s at the top of Dick’s list and Chet has staked a claim, there, as well..”

Dick was a big African American man with mahogany skin, maybe six feet six or seven, and solidly muscled. He had been a Big Ten defensive lineman but a couple of injuries had kept him out of the pros. His hands and feet were huge but he was as graceful as an ice skater on the golf course. He never seemed to swing the club hard but he always drove the ball at least 300 yards. A former home contractor with a degree in urban planning, he had turned 90 percent of the business over to his oldest son, an engineer with an M.BA., and retired in his early fifties. His wife, Carol, was a doctor, a general practitioner who had worked her whole career, part time, for the county Board of Health. She had also taken the reigns on raising their five kids and, even with all that, she managed to maintain her Hollywood figure. She was a natural beauty with skin like caramel colored velvet, and she favored those “housewife style” dresses that women wore in the fifties and sixties. Dick and Carol were both kind, generous, decent, plain spoken folks and I liked them a lot.

“Dick?” I said, startled. “Our Dick is involved in this and he’s got eyes for my wife?”

Brad laughed as he got out of the cart and pulled his driver from his golf bag. “We’re all involved,” he said. “It’s a game we play.”

“Why am I just now hearing about it?”

“We wanted to wait until we knew you. Didn’t know how you’d take it. We’ve known you long enough now that we figured you’d be cool.” He teed up his ball and took a practice swing. He motioned to the Chet and Dick as they came up to the tee box. “I’m explaining The Game to Kyle,” he said. “Tell him how it works in case I left something out.”

Dick shrugged his big shoulders and spoke around his cigar. “Hit the ball. Find the ball. Hit the ball again. Repeat until it goes in the hole.”

Brad feigned exasperation. “Not that game, asshole. The Game!”

Chet jumped in. “He knows what game you’re talking about. He’s just busting your balls.” He looked at me while Brad took another practice swing. He started to say something but stopped while Brad hit the ball, slicing it into the edge of the woods, as usual. He motioned for Dick to go ahead and tee up. “It’s just this game we play. We call it Hall Pass. You know, like when we were kids in school and you had to go to the john or the library or whatever, your teacher would give you a hall pass and you were free to roam around the school. Someone asked what you were doing you just showed them the hall pass.”

We heard the thwack of Dick’s club hitting his ball, watched it sail into the stratosphere and shook our heads. Unbelievable. He came over to join us as Chet took the tee box. “It’s just between those of us in the sharing group. Who would you do if your spouse gave you a hall pass for just one weekend? It started out with movie stars and famous people. My hall pass was for Halley Berry, Carols was for Brad Pitt, of course. When we got tired of celebrities we changed it to the sharing group. Who in the group would you if you had a weekendd hall pass? Then it became, what would you do with them? Then we started talking about it in the group, sharing. Hey, it’s a sharing group, right? It’s flirty but it’s harmless. Tell ya the truth, I think it’s helped our sex life. It makes Carol horny when she thinks other guys, guys she likes and thinks are attractive, think she’s hot. I would say that since we started The Game our sex life has improved a hundred percent.”

“Amen to that,” Brad said. “I get more action now than I did when we were in our thirties. And better, action, too. We’ve christened every room in that house, including the closets. We’ve also been doing this thing where…”

“You know, Brad,” Dick interrupted. “You don’t have to tell us every detail about your sex life. We get these images of you and Mel stuck in our brains. Things we can’t unsee. It can be painful.”

“Painful, canlı kaçak iddaa my ass,” Brad shot back. “You love it. Helps you get it up with Carol.”

“Only help I need is that little blue pill, thank you very much.”

“And you share your game fantasies with each other? You actually tell each other that you want to do each other’s spouses?”

“Not just that we want to do each other’s spouses,” Brad said. “But what we want to do.”

“And the women go for this? You share it with them, too?”

“Oh, Christ,” Chet laughed. “They’re nastier than we are.”

“Way nastier,” Dick said and rolled his eyes like he was still having a hard time believing it. “That woman o’ mine starts talking about sex at one of our get-togethers and, I swear, I have to leave the room.”

“How about you, Kyle?” Chet butted in. “How’s retirement treating your sex life?” There was a fairly long, silent pause. “Oh, shit. That was too personal, too soon, wasn’t it? Just tell me to butt out. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“What’s wrong with you is that you’re a thoughtless turd,” Dick cut in. “But, as long as the question has been raised…” He looked at me.

I took a big gulp of my beer and started toward the tee box. I teed up my ball and took a practice swing. I looked up at them and could see no guile in any of their faces. They were all nice guys who saw nothing wrong in sharing information about anything and everything including their sex lives. They took the phrase “sharing group” seriously, I guess. Another foursome was coming up behind us so I said, quickly, “Well, we aren’t kids anymore. And, to tell you the truth, things have slowed way down in the bedroom. I’m not sure what the problem is. Not a word of this to Janet, you guys. She’d kill me if she thought I was talking to someone else about our sex life.” I hit the ball, it went high and left but managed, miraculously, to stay in the fairway.

They all looked at each other and then laughed. Brad spoke for the group. “We’re not laughing at your golf, shot, brother. It’s just that, well, what do you think the girls are talking about? They’re telling Jan about The Game and how it’s improved their sex lives and they’re asking her about you guys, just like we did, here.’

Dick clapped me on the shoulder as we walked to our carts. “You two are going to have a great conversation, tonight,” he said.

“And who knows where it might lead,” Chet added.

They all laughed again. Brad tossed everyone a fresh beer and we were off to find our balls and hit them again.

______________________________________

“Man, they really do share everything. When the pastor called it a sharing group, I had no idea.” Jan was making grilled Swiss cheese sandwiches with brown mustard on rye. One of my favorite lunches. I was sitting at the table, reviewing my golf scorecard, nibbling on potato chips, and sipping a diet soda. My 84 had merited me no better than third place. I’d beaten Brad’s 88 but Chet and Dick had trounced me by breaking 80.

“I sorta doubt that our pastor has any idea what kind of sharing is going on in this group.” I said. “They told you about The Game?”

“Oh, yeah. And a lot more. A whole lot more.”

“Can you believe they sit around and talk about what kind of sex they’d like to have with each other?” I said. “What else did they talk about?”

“Their sex lives. Details. Intimate, details.”

“Like?

She sighed and flopped my grilled cheese on a paper plate. “Well, Brad and Melany have christened every room in the house including the closets.” She giggled.

“Yeah, he told me that. And Chet and Elaine have done it late at night on all the greens at the club golf course. They have to be especially careful on the 18th green because it’s near the clubhouse and the local cops patrol the parking lot. Can you imagine?”

Jan took a small bite of her sandwich and a sip of white wine. “Dick and Carol have tried every position in the Kama Sutra, she says, and they’ve been to a swingers club, twice. Just to watch.”

“You think she’s telling the truth?” I asked. “About just watching?”

She shrugged and smiled and leaned toward me. “I don’t know,” she said, conspiratorially.

“I guess Melany’s bi-sexual,” I said. “She and Brad like to go to strip clubs. Sometimes they both go in the Champagne Room together.”

Jan sat down across from me with her paper plate and wine glass. She took a small handful of potato chips out of the bag I was nibbling from. “They pretty much shared all their kinks with us,” she said. “So, what of our kinks did you share with them?”

“Not much, really,” I said. “I shared that we were both a little frustrated that our sexual activity has fallen away since we retired. The guys sympathized and said that they had gone through that, too, but The Game and ‘some other things’ had recharged their sex lives.”

“Some other things?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t get them to be more specific than that. What about you? canlı kaçak bahis What did you share?”

She was silent for nearly a full minute, looking away, refusing to make eye contact. Finally, she turned toward me, dipped her finger in her wine and licked it off and looked me in the eye. “Well, I, uh, I may have mentioned, uh, your…thing?”

“My thing? What thing? Oh! Oh, shit. You told them about my anal fetish? Oh, my God. I’ll never be able to face them again. I’ll be humiliated.”

If you’ve read any of my other accounts, you already know that, thanks to my mother and some other sexual adventures in my youth, I have a serious anal fetish. It’s not that I can’t have sex any other way, it’s just that I really, really enjoy ass play. Gjving and receiving. I can think of nothing more beautiful than a smooth, well-toned, female ass and a tight little butthole. And, as much as I enjoy butt sex, I enjoy receiving anal stimulation and prostate massage as well. I’m the most fortunate of men in that Jen shares my enthusiasm for ass play.

She laughed. “Humiliated? Oh, quite the contrary, mon cher. You and I are, or soon will be, the envy of the sharing group. Their husbands all want to try anal but the girls are afraid to let them. Especially, Carol. Apparently, Dick’s, uh, dick, is as huge as the rest of him. They asked me if I could give them a sort of in-service, seminar on how to ‘go to Greece,’ as it were.”

“Any way I could be involved in that little continuing education event?” I said, winking.

“You never know,” she said. “Just between you and me, I kinda wonder if talking about all this sex with each other is as far as it goes.”

“You think, maybe, they’re swingers? Swingers who met at church? That’s a new twist on, whatathey call it? The Lifestyle.”

“I don’t actually know that they swap or orgy or watch each other or whatever they might do,” she said, popping the last potato chip in her mouth and licking the salt off of her bottom lip. “I’m just speculating. But I do know that sexual thrills are like drugs. You have to keep increasing the dosage to get the same high. Most intimate groups couldn’t just keep talking and talking about it. Sex, I mean, not drugs. At some point they would have to take it to the next level.”

“And the next level is us?”

“Maybe,” she said, nodding thoughtfully.

We sat there thinking for a few moments. I don’t know what Jan was picturing in her mind but I was thinking about what it would be like to have Elaine’s long, swimmer’s legs wrapped around my waist when I entered her, missionary style. Finally, I broke the silence. “Well, if you’re going to be the professor, maybe we should take a refresher course.” I pointed to the bedroom. “Fortunately, we have a classroom handy.”

She stood and carried her plate to the trash compacter under the counter, then opened a drawer and rummaged around. When she turned back toward me, she was wearing a pair of blue surgical gloves and a devilish grin with just the tip of her tongue sticking out between her teeth. She picked up her wine glass, and reached her other hand out to me. I took it and stood and off we went to take a refresher course in butt play and anal sex which just happened to be my post doctorate majors. The guys were right. The Game was already improving our sex life.

_______________________________________

“The End-of-Summer-Retreat is this Labor Day weekend getaway we used to do every year. Then, I don’t remember why, but we kinda fell away from it. We, that is, Melany and I, were just wondering if it might be a nice thing to revive.” Brad was talking.

It was an early-August Friday night and we were all sitting at a round table at our favorite Italian restaurant. The place had been a big home at one time and we were on what was the front, screened-in porch. The air was suffused with the smells of garlic and cheese and we were all flushed with wine. Dessert had been served and we were passing the spumoni, cheesecake, and cannoli around the table, everyone taking a small bit of each and putting it on their own dessert plate. The coffee was strong and aperitif was sweet and delicious.

Carol used her spoon to take a dollop of cheesecake to her mouth where she licked it slowly off. Some stuck on her lip and she used her finger to wipe it off then stuck her finger all the way in her mouth and sucked on it while she made eye contact with me. Her finger finally clean, she laughed silently at her little joke and winked at me.

“I think it sounds like a wonderful Idea,” she said. “A getaway for just the eight of us. You think we can get a cabin on a holiday weekend with only three or four weeks’ notice?”

“Leave that to me,” Chet said. “I know some people.”

Everyone laughed. That phrase was one of Chet’s favorites and, the funny thing was, he usually did know some people who usually were more than willing, even anxious to offer him their help. Another of the benefits of physical beauty, I suppose.

“We’ll have to move some things,” Dick said, looking at his cell phone, “but I think it’s doable for us.”

I looked at Jan. We don’t have kids so our time is usually our own. She nodded and I said, “We’re in. Now, what, exactly do we do on this retreat?”

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