Wife swapping

page views:1 Publication date:2022-09-28

The idea for this grand undertaking came several years ago during a summer vacation. After more than six months of patient persuasion and brainwashing, my wife finally reluctantly agreed to go on vacation with me, albeit after I made significant compromises. My wife loves to travel. But apart from our honeymoon, I can hardly recall having had the chance to travel and have a proper trip with her in the past decade. First, we lived apart, then we had a child, then I went abroad to work—a second separation. After the three of us reunited in a foreign land, we were in the early stages of starting our business, focusing entirely on making money. Only after settling down and finishing building our house did we begin to indulge in the lifestyle of the bourgeoisie (or at least the petit bourgeoisie)—skiing in winter, going to the beach in summer, experiencing different cultures, sightseeing… My wife bought several LonelyPlbnet travel guides, enthusiastically researching must-see attractions, suitable hotels, and driving routes before each trip. But why was my wife so reluctant this time? It stemmed from two highly controversial "grand undertakings" that were about to take place during this beach vacation! First, my husband wanted to go to a nude beach, something he'd never done before. My wife said, "You can go to the nude beach, but I won't. I can just watch you from afar." Of course, I couldn't agree to this kind of trip where we'd be like strangers. After much discussion, we reached a compromise: we could go together, but my wife wouldn't go completely nude. Second, during our vacation, we were going to meet a couple we'd met online. Their profiles and contact information came from a swingers website (some call it a "wife-swapping club"—a translation heavily influenced by male chauvinism). What would we do with them? I don't need to explain. But before the trip, what could we possibly do with them? I wasn't even sure myself, or even if we could actually meet them. I first heard the word "swinging" on a German adult television program. Although I don't speak German and couldn't understand the host's live interviews with the swingers, understanding about 60-70% of the images (given my higher education?) wasn't difficult. The scene of group sex was undeniably stimulating to the senses. What caught my attention even more was that the swingers didn't seem like a bunch of sleazy scumbags, but rather couples who appeared no different from ordinary people. Most were middle-aged, and some couples, judging by their cars and clothing, were quite respectable and sophisticated. It was as if the middle class or wealthy were enacting scenes from adult films, actively leading a certain lifestyle trend… There was no transactional relationship between employer and employee, one for sex and the other for money, as in traditional sex work, nor any coercion between the strong and the weak. It was clearly a group of like-minded people united by a common goal. Having sex with a third party has always meant "betrayal," the most intolerable act between spouses or lovers. But here, this "betrayal" was not only forgiven, but practically nonexistent, because everything happened in front of their spouses… Was this a return to primitive tribal life? Or was a lofty ideal being gradually piloted starting with "shared wives"? Although what's yours is yours, and what's mine is mine, what seems most sacred and inviolable in traditional morality—the body of one's beloved—is willingly shared among residents in this community… There are no other ulterior motives, no monetary transactions, no spiritual betrayal. No matter how I try to find reasons for this new, carefree lifestyle, or to pave the way for entering the community, during the couple's democratic discussion, the wife, though unable to offer stronger arguments to refute her husband who always prides himself on his high level of thinking, firmly believes: "Swingers are all bad people; good people would never be so lewd." For ordinary people, this is already outrageous and absurd; no couple would be so insane. I replied: "That couple from online friends claims to be a married couple, and they happen to be near our vacation spot; it wouldn't hurt to meet them. Only by seeing them in person can we be sure if they're mentally sound." The beach we're going to this time is Hel Cape in northern Poland. Shaped like a peninsula, it resembles a long causeway, more like a small brother on land. The caress of the waves makes it erect, extending over 40 kilometers into the Baltic Sea. The date was set for the day after we arrived. Arriving a day early would give us ample time to settle in, familiarize ourselves with the local environment, warm up, and recover from the long drive of over 400 kilometers. The date was at 4 PM the next day. After breakfast, it was only 10 AM when my wife started getting ready, despite her vehement disapproval of the date. Her preparation was several levels more meticulous than usual for going out or entertaining guests. She changed clothes repeatedly, checked herself in the mirror again and again, and even changed her lipstick and nail polish several times to ensure they coordinated with her outfit. It was practically a blind date. I've always admired sophisticated women. Normally, I enthusiastically help my wife with her preparation, often setting higher standards than she does herself. This time, however, it took hours to finally settle on a new look. My wife, whom I've been with for many years, had become almost oblivious to my appearance; now, I had to impress her, and she had undergone a complete transformation. I even started to hesitate—was it too much of a loss to trade such a beautiful wife for a new one? Was my months-long enthusiasm for organizing this activity just out of curiosity? Would I regret this foolish mistake? Should we really keep the appointment? ... There was no time to think anymore. Breaking a promise is never elegant. Let's see. The meeting place was a bar on the pedestrian street in the center of the small town of Hel. The street was full of tourists, a dazzling array of shops, bars, and beer halls, exuding a seaside resort atmosphere. The bright sunshine and relaxed atmosphere eased our slight tension. ... On the third day, we lazily slept in, had breakfast, and prepared to head to the nudist beach to achieve our first breakthrough. The second feat, originally planned, might have to wait until later, since nothing out of line had occurred on yesterday's date. The date (according to my wife's later assessment) was basically confirmed to be a married couple, and one that looked no different from most Polish couples. The wife's name was Elita. The husband's name was Malik. Elita is about 170cm tall and slender, with short, light blonde hair, blue-gray eyes, a high nose, a long neck and lips, and well-defined cheekbones and jawline. Perhaps due to her race or because she never smokes, my wife looks younger than her peers. However, it's safe to assume that Elita was a model-like woman in her youth. Her denim shirt has a low collar, which draws your gaze without requiring you to lean forward, making you involuntarily follow the deep cleavage... She doesn't talk much, and her eyes, while not provocatively alluring, are hazy. Her slender fingers, with their long, meticulously manicured nails painted in a dark evening gown style, and the way she holds a cigarette, are very alluring, exuding an elegant sexiness through the haze. Malik, of medium build, sports a small mustache popular among Europeans, has regular features, and seems quite friendly (although my wife's husband thinks he's more handsome). His eyes often sparkle with a smile, and he's friendly and talkative. Perhaps intentionally accommodating Elita's lack of English (to subtly demonstrate my gentlemanly manners), the conversation was primarily in Polish, occasionally interspersed with English words, as our Polish was barely sufficient for daily life, and Malik knew a little English. The topics ranged from the weather to vacations, from island scenery to the allure of distant China; from our shared interests to beautiful Polish women, oh, and of course, China! For example, Malik was already full of praise for my beloved wife; the conversation then veered to nude beaches, slowly touching upon swinging… We learned that they had two daughters (this somewhat disappointed me, because according to my exclusive, yet-to-be-claimed Nobel Prize-winning discovery: women who give birth to sons have a stronger sex drive. For example, my wife, and of course, others…)(This is not an isolated case—as evidenced by the fact) Malik is a naval officer stationed on the island, and Elita works at the naval hospital. This made us feel very close. Having served in the military for six years, and my wife, who has also been a military spouse, we couldn't help but recall many past memories. When we talked about swinging, Elita and Malik smiled at each other and only told us that they had only had a few unsuccessful experiences. As for what those experiences were, we didn't ask any further, after all, it was our first meeting. But we could tell that they were not much more experienced than we were in this area, because when we asked about the exact location of the nudist beach, they had only heard of it but had never been there. Naturally, they couldn't give us the exact address. It seems that Elita and Malik, these local residents, are unlikely to be up to the task of "luring people into the water." The "historical mission" of broadening horizons will depend on how we, the two members of the Red Chinese Expeditionary Force, will shoulder this responsibility in the future. The couple's strict adherence to propriety finally prompted me to ask, "Aren't you worried about your colleagues, relatives, or neighbors recognizing Elita's photos on the swinging website?" Elita turned to Malik and asked, "Hey, what photos of me did you upload? I don't know about them." Malik replied, "The photos aren't very big. If someone asks, maybe we can answer: 'Really? Does she really look like my wife? Is she as charming as Elita?'" Elita added, "People who browse this page carefully are probably interested in this activity. As fellow enthusiasts, even if we bump into acquaintances, we'll just keep quiet." Since the next day was Wednesday, and they both had to work, we agreed to contact each other again on the weekend. As we shook hands and said goodbye, I couldn't help but kiss Elita's cheek. My lips brushed against her light blonde hair near her ear, and I inhaled her intoxicating fragrance… Elita didn't pull away and even returned my kiss affectionately. Malik, who had already shaken hands in farewell, looked back at our deep bow and immediately pulled my wife back, returning the gesture with equal respect. My wife, though slightly shy, readily accepted. The 40-kilometer-long Hel Cape, a nudist beach, is dotted with five towns at almost equal intervals from its base to its head. The so-called Chblupy nudist beach isn't actually in Chblupy town, but rather on the way from the popular tourist town of Chblupy to the next town. There were no advertisements, no signs (the business opportunity was yet to be developed), the only marker being a parking lot. Across the road from the parking lot, after climbing a small hill and passing through a grove of trees, the beach and the sea unfolded before you. And of course, what greeted your eyes were: countless living, breathing, naked bodies, completely returned to nature. My wife couldn't help but take a soft breath and exclaim, "Oh!" The people enjoying the sun, the sea, and the air didn't seem to mind our uninvited, civilized-dressed presence. The three points that always evoke voyeuristic desires and attract countless eyes, the focus of tabloids and gossip news, are now laid bare before you, face to face, up close. My wife was a little embarrassed to look directly at these living sculptures, but I was excited by the vivid human figures that seemed to have stepped out of an oil painting, as if I had entered God's Garden of Eden... People emerged from the hundred or so cars in the parking lot and spread out along the beach, no longer needing to be so close together like when cars are parked. We easily found a place with a good view. Having long yearned to visit this tribe, I immediately joined in the fun. My wife was reluctant to leave her new bikini, which she had bought specifically for this trip, unused. Because of our prior agreement, I didn't try to persuade her repeatedly; we should give her enough time to choose or change. Just being able to experience this place with my wife was already wonderful. The nudist beach here has no fences or clear boundaries; the carefree attitude of nudists roughly presents a human landscape stretching from tens to hundreds of meters along the beach. Along the beach, the more populated public baths can be seen in the distance. Occasionally, people in swimwear appear to be casually strolling by, their eyes constantly busy, feasting on a visual feast. We chose to camp in the middle of the long side and on higher ground on the short side. This allowed for an unobstructed view to both sides and significantly reduced the visibility for passersby, as the sand was firmer and easier to walk on in the areas wet by the waves, while the sand further back was quite soft and difficult to traverse. Most of the people at the nudist beach were couples, and there were also happy families with children (should nudity education start from a young age?). The young children played happily, seemingly oblivious to the fact that their male companions differed from them in every way except for the length of their hair. Teenagers, seemingly fully developed and on the verge of blossoming, face such openness with their siblings, mothers and sons, and fathers and daughters. How will their psychology dictate their orientation? In this prime of life, can their bodies and minds withstand the weight of these risks and benefits? We can only turn to sexologists for answers. If their answers are convincing, could you please let us know? I remember being constantly plagued by erotic dreams in my youth. I had to relentlessly fight against fleeting thoughts of desire, trying to suppress the urge to fantasize about the opposite sex. Oh, and there are even three generations involved! Regarding ethical questions such as the unvarnished interactions between a daughter-in-law and father-in-law, and how the son and mother-in-law feel, my mind is in turmoil as I seek answers. Yet, how can my meager ability to worry about the future shake the natural harmony of that naked family portrait? Evolution and civilization, while teaching us to at least cover ourselves with clothes, have also sealed our values with various restrictions. Lying carefree on the soft sand, my entire body exposed to the sun and sea, I let nature thoroughly cleanse me of the dust and grime of the city, my soul and mind receiving a refreshing purification… The warm sunlight gradually soothed my initial excitement. All my muscles and nerves slowly drifted into a state of complete relaxation… After some time, my wife gently woke me, asking, “Honey, why do those foreigners’ little brothers look so much like yours? Oh, and they all look pretty big!” Still half-asleep, I didn’t know how to give my wife’s adorable question a decent answer. But I noticed that my wife had already freed herself from the constraints of her bikini. Noticing my gaze, she quickly explained, somewhat embarrassed, “There were so many people, but I was the only one wearing a swimsuit.” Wearing a swimsuit at a nudist beach isn’t like running naked in a public place and getting taken away by the police. But those few pieces of clothing you wear can create a huge barrier between you and the rest of the community. Faced with someone else's complete lack of privacy, your reservations create a one-way perspective, blocking at least visual equality and freedom. My wife's final act of self-liberation signifies that our preparatory period as naked villagers has been successfully completed. This renewed unity of thought and action gives me a sense of accomplishment, another successful navigating of our marital life, and I'm even more grateful to have such a close comrade-in-arms in this life. As for my little brother, let's leave aside the professionally enlarged versions in pornographic films, but looking at current reality shows, even those foreigners who aren't particularly tall seem to have surprisingly large penises, at least compared to the impressions I had in Beijing's public bathhouses as a child. I remember back then, during puberty, my little brother would often inexplicably swell up during baths. I was often laughed at, which made me very embarrassed. Therefore, I would secretly mutter to myself, fearing that others wouldn't understand. Over time, it seemed to have worked; aside from the occasional burst of brilliance, it was usually quite well-behaved. I was secretly pleased about this. Even my usually quiet wife was now secretly eyeing other women's penises and discussing size with her husband. Of course, I wouldn't miss the waves of excitement and the hidden channels that had captivated so many heroes. Poles naturally have a variety of hair colors. Many women like to dye their hair to frequently change their style. So normally it's hard to tell if a woman is a blonde (assuming you prefer light blonde hair). But now, the answer is easily found. Where can you tell? It's obvious, I won't say it, you can tell yourself. Because the private parts of the body have been voluntarily brought into the public eye, places that are usually the subject of prying eyes are now rarely seen with any unruly hair. Like pruning eyebrows, the female nudists who came all seemed to have meticulously trimmed their private parts. Or perhaps the grass is trimmed and the roots removed, revealing slightly pouting lips, as if about to send a seductive kiss; or a narrow strip is left, the fine threads leading you into the deep valley, to explore its infinite mysteries; and then there are the fearless heroines, adorned with silver rings and embellishments, the secluded valleys and channels already shimmering with silver light, foreshadowing the treasure-laden shipwrecks deep beneath the sea… Women of refined taste, even in their temporary return to nature, still do not forget to display their innate love of beauty, their lives are exquisitely refined. The nudist beach is truly a sight to behold, muscular men exuding masculine power, girls with devilish figures appearing even more alluring, and wealthy ladies and gentlemen, their bellies bulging, relaxed and serene… there is no difference between rich and poor, no tension under pressure. The entire paradise has only one slightly regrettable aspect, because…Although it was a mixed-gender bathing, there was no sign of eroticism. It turns out that people are divided into two distinct groups: swingers and nudists. Many in the former also practice nudism, and not all nudists are swingers. Sexual intercourse generally requires nudity, but more often it's like walking into an art exhibition—you can't touch, you can only observe. You can have your own fantasies, but you must never mistakenly intrude on someone else's paradise, even if a beautiful woman is completely naked in front of you, her privacy fully exposed. From then on, we added a must-visit attraction to our annual trip—the nudist beach. As for the CBPd'Agde on the Mediterranean coast—renowned as the nudist capital of the world, a must-visit for swingers—how it exuded French romantic charm? That's a story for later; please allow me to leave it for now. We can talk about it another time when we're interested. The novel experience, the breathtaking scenery, made us momentarily forget the passage of time. One afternoon, we returned to our temporary resort from the nudist beach and found Elita and Malik already waiting for us, realizing it was the weekend. That evening, we were invited to Elita and Malik's home. Their 100-square-meter duplex apartment with stairs was clean and simply furnished. Several of the paintings hanging on the walls were actually the husband's own work. Also present were Malik's comrades Peter and Robert, and their wives, Isabella. Malik introduced us as his newly acquainted online friends (of course, we couldn't mention swinging). We hadn't seen many Asian faces on the entire island of Hale. The only Chinese couple at the nudist beach attracted a lot of curious glances. These guests from the mysterious East naturally became the stars of the private party for the island's garrison officers that evening. Alcohol was an indispensable part of the party. Perhaps a little tipsy, the only single man at the party—computer expert Peter—became almost obsessively fascinated by my wife's cheongsam. From the brocade fabric to the knotted buttons, he looked and looked, asked and asked, repeatedly searching for where he could buy it. He kept praising how beautiful my wife looked in it! So beautiful he wanted to take it off her right then and there. Peter's childlike friendliness and persistence seemed to leave his boss, the host, helpless. Strangely, Isabella managed to keep him in check. Seeing Peter's slightly drunken behavior, Isabella actually kicked him out of the party and sent him home. Later we learned that Peter had a crush on Isabella, and although he never received any response from the sociable Isabella, he often willingly gave her gifts without expecting anything in return, even wanting to buy her a Lada. He was dissuaded by Malik and Isabella's husband, Robert, because it was too expensive. Peter's fascination with my wife's cheongsam was because he wanted to buy one for Isabella. Isabella was indeed very eye-catching, with almost all ten fingers adorned with rings, and she was also adept at seducing men. Completely disregarding the presence of her husband Robert and my wife, she shamelessly flirted with me, stealing the spotlight from the other female guests that evening. Even my wife seemed a little annoyed, frequently asking me to ask the hostess to invite Elita to dance. Elita, on the other hand, seemed quite pleased to have the Chinese version of her name. My few illegible Chinese characters captivated her all evening. Although Isabella and I flirted openly, I could sense her discomfort with the distance between us when I put my arm around her waist while dancing. Elita, however, was different. I didn't see any seductive glances, but our cheeks occasionally brushed against each other, and I could feel her breasts resting against my chest… When Elita and Malik escorted us back to the resort, it was well past midnight. The gentle sea breeze made the island's night even more tranquil. As Malik and my wife conversed quietly, I, emboldened by the alcohol, put my arm around Elita's waist from behind and slowed our pace. Elita remained as docile as when she danced, leaning gently against me. My hand slowly slipped inside her short dress, touching her back and caressing her smooth skin… Elita didn't stop, nor did she push away or dodge my increasingly audacious hand. The wife and Malik continued walking and talking ahead, not looking back at us, and Malik made no inappropriate advances towards the wife. We strolled along like two couples, one in front and one behind, through the quiet island night, just like in that "Moscow Nights"… Following Elita's smooth back upwards, I could feel the clasp of her bra. Just as I hesitated whether to try unhooking it, we arrived at our resort. This time, Malik didn't hesitate and went straight to the wife for a passionate hug and kiss goodbye. I, of course, wasn't going to be outdone; I embraced Elita, kissing her left, right, and left cheeks, then hugged her tightly and showered her neck with kisses. Hands—this time both hands—penetrated from behind, reaching inside Elita's clothes, caressing her skin, then slowly sliding down to her shapely buttocks… Elita had long legs, and with her short skirt, it wasn't difficult to reach the hem. Slowly lifting the skirt, I could touch her thong, then grope along it… Just then, I heard someone call my name. I turned around and saw my wife and Malik watching everything. It was then that I snapped out of my daze and realized this wasn't just between Elita and me. My behavior had been a bit excessive. Fortunately, Elita didn't struggle, and Malik didn't roar in anger; he simply said, "We'll leave you here. Goodnight!" I felt a little embarrassed, ashamed of my earlier loss of composure. I hurriedly said goodbye to them, turning to explain to my wife, only to find she had already left me behind. When I caught up with her, I found her crying. And she had never cried so bitterly before. No matter how I explained or apologized, I couldn't stop her. I enjoy women and am occasionally a womanizer. But I truly love my wife and would never want to hurt her. So, although I've had affairs, I never allow my actions to directly harm her. After each affair, I always try to fabricate stories to appease her, avoiding the pain of the truth being exposed. While sweet talk might work temporarily, fabricating lies is always exhausting. Especially with my beloved partner with whom I share almost everything, I feel a twisted and agonizing pain. My enthusiasm for swinging, besides its novelty and curiosity, might also stem from a subconscious desire to legitimize my infidelity in front of my wife. Clearly, Isabella and I's blatant flirting in public has far exceeded my wife's expectations. My insistence on pursuing Elita is an even more serious violation. Because the rules of swinging require each participant to be voluntary, and it only works when all four are willing to participate.The online viewing of "Sao Lang Yin Yu" clearly states that one can only begin after expressing their own consent. If even one person is unwilling, there is no majority rule, and the other three cannot be forced. Here, no means no. No reason is needed. Did I consult the others before acting on my own? What was initially a promising situation has turned into such a mess, naturally a result of my violation of regulations. I must bear the consequences. The consequences seem to be more serious than I imagined. The next morning, when I woke up, I found my wife missing. I couldn't find her anywhere in the resort, so I had to eat breakfast alone while reflecting on my mistakes. It was actually already one or two in the afternoon. Elita and Malik arrived. Still somewhat embarrassed by the abruptness and awkwardness of the previous night, I felt a little awkward around them. But the couple acted as if nothing had happened the night before. After exchanging pleasantries, Malik asked quietly, "Could we arrange a sexual date today?" "Faced with what I'd longed for—something I couldn't have—I felt a bit like the man who professed to love dragons but was terrified of them, completely at a loss for words. I hadn't even discussed this with my wife in the first place. I'd planned to gradually build up the relationship before seizing the opportunity, but last night, in a drunken frenzy, I ruined what was a promising plan, and now I couldn't find her. Not only was there no good atmosphere to talk to her, but I was also frantically worried about where she was, so how could I possibly be thinking about having fun? Just as I was caught in this dilemma, my wife returned. She was carrying quite a few things, including a large bath towel, a parasol, and a windbreak. Why buy another set of beach gear when we already had it, especially since our vacation was almost over? But then I remembered—indiscriminate shopping is a common tactic women use when they're angry. Although my wife rarely does this (because her husband is always excellent and rarely makes her angry), there are often scenes like this in movies, except the items in those movies are mostly designer shoes and fashion, rarely sunbathing products." Seeing my wife return naturally lifted my spirits. Perhaps because of our guests, she didn't seem angry at all. Before I could even relay Malik's earlier question, my wife suggested going to the beach. Except for Elita, who said they needed some time to go back and pack, all four of us thought going to the beach was a great idea. By the time we arrived at the nudist area, it was nearly four in the afternoon. Most of the nudists had already left, with only a few scattered on the sand. We tacitly found a secluded spot, laid out four towels side by side, and began setting up camp. The windbreak fence was made by connecting four single-pointed wooden poles with a piece of colorful cloth about one meter wide and five meters long. When unfolded, the four poles could be driven into the ground to form a private, three-sided windbreak enclosure. It offered convenient sea views, wind and sun protection, and privacy. Perhaps because the Baltic Sea winds are a bit stronger, it wasn't commonly used by tourists on other coasts. We connected two windbreak fences together, creating an independent kingdom of a closed castle, completely cutting off outsiders' view. I began to understand why my wife, who was always thrifty and good at managing the household, had bought another fence. Elita generously and methodically undressed completely. My wife, Malik, and I then appeared naked as well. Perhaps because we were familiar friends, the sudden change made us slightly embarrassed to look at each other. Malik stared intently at my wife's naked body but didn't dare approach, only half-sitting beside Elita. At the crucial moment, I said, "Could I lie down next to Elita?" "This eased the slightly awkward situation. Malik immediately moved to his wife's side. But the four of them still looked at each other in silence. I tried to break the ice again, so I gently placed my hand on Elita's thigh and began to stroke it. When my wife saw my action, an uncontrollable jealousy immediately appeared on her face. She immediately turned her face away and got up to get our luggage. Had my actions upset my wife again? Worried that she would get angry again and get up to leave, I quickly removed my hand from Elita's leg. Just as I was about to sit up to appease my wife, I saw her get up from her thigh..." She pulled a nylon clothesline from her bag, tied it to the wooden poles in the middle of both sides of the enclosure, and then took out clothespins to hang her newly acquired bath towel on the nylon line. A barrier immediately divided the four-person enclosure in two: Elita and I on one side, while her wife and Malik were in the other. It turned out that her wife's "crazy shopping spree" that morning had produced quite a few props to "calm down." To compensate for the temporary screen's lack of sealing, her wife simply turned her head away (of course, Malik followed closely behind). This way, even if she turned her head to the side, she could only see the four feet of the two people in the other "room" through the gap. A man and a woman sharing a room, both naked, I immediately climbed on top of Elita and began my "work." As my fingers and tongue explored her body, Elita would occasionally stroke my back with her long fingertips, a gesture of encouragement and affection… The two people next door seemed slower than us; their legs were spread apart, toes pointing upwards or downwards, as if they were whispering something… Elita's lower body quickly became wet… My little brother, of course, was no slouch either, frolicking freely in her labyrinth… …Suddenly, I heard a soft moan coming from next door. I turned my head and saw that my wife's feet, toes pointing upwards, were tightly gripped by Malik's feet, toes pointing downwards. I could imagine Malik lying face down on top of my wife, writhing up and down, while my beloved wife allowed a man who wasn't her husband to be naked beneath her, without any resistance, without any cry for help, only low moans… This was my beloved wife? Right next door? Accepting another man's defilement with equanimity… I couldn't accept it! A nameless jealousy welled up inside me, my blood boiled, my body became excited, and an uncontrollable fire, like molten lava, erupted with a shout… Elita smiled and hugged me tightly, caressing my back, letting my penis throb inside her like a volcano erupting… I don't know how much time passed before I awoke from the gentle caresses. Elita was on top of me, tenderly sucking and licking my penis. Her magical tongue licked and rubbed my scrotum, gradually rekindling its heat, and my penis proudly stood erect again… We merged a second time, this time Elita on top and me on the bottom… There was no sound from next door. But the image of those four legs intertwined, the low moans, still haunted me. Driven by jealousy, I made love to Elita wildly… The second round of battle lasted an unknown amount of time, but it was certainly protracted, until Elita began to moan and her body began to throb. As she reached her climax, my penis also gushed forth… We enjoyed the aftershocks, no, the resonance… When the four met again, the two original couples had seemingly reformed into two new couples. I noticed that the wife's slightly embarrassed expression radiated an undeniable glow. Because we had to rush back to Warsaw the next day, and Elita and Malik had to go to work, the four of us reluctantly said goodbye, still wanting to relive the experience. Of course, the kisses weren't limited to just cheeks... That evening back at the resort, whether it was because my jealousy hadn't subsided and I wanted to make up for what I'd lost; or because I realized my wife wasn't solely my property, and others were also interested, and that if she wanted, it wasn't just my exclusive right to sleep with her; or for some other reason, a strange and novel attraction suddenly arose between us. We made love twice that night. And again the next morning. Good heavens, in less than 24 hours, I did it five times! On the way back to Warsaw from HEL, my wife and I talked non-stop about this unusual trip and our newfound feelings. My wife told me that Alec's sexual prowess was very strong... We talked with such excitement and passion... breaking through any dead ends in our conversation, and from then on, we could truly talk about anything! What had become mundane and even somewhat dull, to the point where we sometimes only had sex once every two months, suddenly became twice a day a little over a month after our return. It was as if we had returned to our honeymoon more than ten years ago… Not long after, Elita and Malik had a second date with us. This time, it was four people sharing a room and bed, and my wife could now face and watch her husband having sex with other women. Elita was still so obedient; she didn't even resist when I tried to explore her clitoris… Looking back, over the years, our partners have come from different countries, including England, Italy, France, the United States, Ukraine, Slovakia, and Switzerland, and even some of Arab descent… (Oh! We've almost become an international couple without realizing it!) Of course, there were many local Polish partners (Elita and Malik still keep in touch with us). If you're interested, how many pairs have we had? It's definitely not a handful, even if you add up all four of my wife's and my hands. I don't know why, or perhaps for various reasons…To this day, I have yet to meet a Chinese partner, even one from overseas. The inability to communicate in my native language during passionate encounters with a partner is undeniably a slight disappointment. Once, during a meal with a friend from Hong Kong, we got into a lively conversation. He boasted excitedly about his various experiences with women and prostitutes, and in the heat of the moment, I inadvertently brought up the topic of "wife swapping" (of course, one shouldn't easily reveal their private hobby in front of close friends). My fellow swinger immediately declared righteously: "We are Chinese." Does engaging in wife swapping make one Chinese? Already prone to being slow to react, I was almost stunned by his solemn declaration, unsure how to respond to his earnestness. I could only secretly rejoice that I hadn't spoken out of turn and gotten myself into trouble. I only heard Professor Li Yinhe say that mainland China still has a legal provision that "group sex can constitute hooliganism," which is yet to be amended. Those involved in wife swapping should be cautious and avoid such situations. It's surprising that our free Hong Kong compatriots, who have only recently returned to China, have such strong traditional sentiments, even elevating them to the level of national identity. No wonder we're still largely confined to the circles of "foreign devils." As for "wife swapping," it's true that many couples have the husbands initiate the swinging, like in our family, but we've also encountered many wives who readily agree with their husbands' participation. Should we call it "husband swapping"? Or is "partner swapping" fairer and more in line with gender equality? Perhaps it's necessary to clarify: partner swapping—swinging—is currently only an activity of a minority group, not the mainstream. Not only is it off-limits for those under 18, but it's also not very suitable for older singles. Moreover, it may not be suitable for every couple. But would you be interested in trying it?

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