We had reached the awkward stage of the wedding reception. The bit between the meal and the evening do when you’ve identified whom is worth speaking to and latched onto them for the day. Skip forward to the end of the evening and you’ll be exchanging numbers and swearing to keep in touch with your new best friends forever. You won’t though. You know that at the time, but you still go through the process. It’s the done thing.

I was with my wife in the lounge bar of the hotel and we’d got talking to this couple called Belinda and Liam. We’d done all the usual conversation bollocks about how lucky the newlyweds had been with the weather (and hats and jobs) when Samantha and Belinda buggered off for a group visit to the toilet, as women do.

It was then that Liam made his suggestion.

I liked Liam; we had a lot in common. Not just physical similarities either—both six-foot tall with long, shaggy, rock star hair—but in our attitudes to life. If there’s something to be done, do it to excess. “Fuck moderation,” was how Liam put it. We’d also both reached that stage of our marriages where we’d entered into same sex relationships, by which I mean that sex was always the same. You had a routine: Feel this…twiddle that…twaddle the other...flick something else…have that pulled…pump, pump, pump for a while…and then:
“Oh baby, I’m coming. I’m coming.”
“Yes I know you are; I can feel your buttocks tensing up. You don’t have to announce it every time; it makes me wonder if you want me as a sexual partner or as a witness.”

These things happen. Go out with someone for long enough and sex turns into any other habitual chore; like going to work, or mowing the lawn—only grass doesn't criticise your technique or get a headache just as you're about to take the top off it.

The suggestion Liam made was pretty outrageous. Normally, if someone you’ve just met asks to fuck your wife you’d hit him. But there was something about Liam. Or maybe it was the something about Belinda that made the idea of a wife-swap so tempting. This wasn’t just any old wife-swapping deal either; Liam was proposing doing it and not telling the women.
“Won’t that be a little tricky…bearing in mind neither Belinda or Sam are blind?” I asked.
“Nope. I’ve got this mate who did it once and neither women had a clue.”
“Oh come on, that’s bollocks," I objected. "They’d spot the difference in cock and action.”
“Look, most cocks when pumped up to shagging pressure are roughly the same size, give or take the odd imperceptible centimetre. And as for the action, well that’s just a case of good planning. Most couples establish a sexual routine after a while, that’s why sex gets so boring.”
“True," I admitted.
“So really it’s just a case of learning the routine and sticking to it,” added Liam.
“Okay. What about the fact they’ll recognise us?”
“Not in the dark they won’t. This is one of those hotels with those heavy curtains that make the rooms pitch black so people can get some decent shut-eye at any time of the day. And besides, Belinda likes it from behind. Bosh…bosh...bosh…so she won’t see your ugly face.”
Liam’s explanation was interrupted by the return of our wives.

“You two look like you’ve been caught with your trousers down in a lap-dancing club!” said Samantha, sweeping us with a painfully perceptive glance. “We’re going through. The disco’s about to start and we don’t want to miss the first dance.” And off we went, plan hatched and developing disgracefully in my head. Liam continued to expand on his idea as the newlyweds self-consciously span round the dance floor to the sickly strains of ‘Everything I Do I Do It For You’. It was that time of the day, as I said, when events start to get boring.

Me, I was just about to get deep, down and extremely dirty.
Looking at Belinda across the table, her firm tits struggling to escape from her skin-tight top with her ‘that’ll do nicely’ smile, made Liam’s plan seem more attractive. I started to picture it. Picture me doing her doggie-fashion whilst slapping her lovely arse. Apparently that’s what made her come quickest. And making her come was part of the plan. Liam seemed more than willing to tell me what Belinda liked and how she liked it. Perhaps if I hadn’t had so much to drink all the intimate details that leaked from his mouth would’ve made me uncomfortable. When he finished describing their intimate shagging pattern in graphic detail he asked if I thought it was a technique I could successfully copy.
“Yeah, pretty much; one thing though, doesn’t she get bored?”
“Bored? Why so?” he asked.
“Well you do seem to go on for an awfully long time. If I took such a leisurely approach with Sam she’d probably nod off half way through.”
“No. Believe me when I say; Belinda does not get bored. I take it you’re more of a wham-bam-thank-you-Sam merchant, Stan?”
“Well yes, I suppose I am. But believe me when I say Sam doesn't get bored either. I once fucked her so well she started crying. At least I think that’s why she was crying.”

Then it was my turn to tell Liam the intimate and well-worn sexual routine I had practised for the last seven years. I have to say that, despite not being embarrassed listening to Liam describe his stroke-by-stroke method, I did feel horribly conscious being so frank about mine. It didn’t help that he kept bursting into laughter every time I revealed another of my lovemaking tricks. I mean, hasn't everyone stuffed a pair of used women’s panties into their mouth?

Confidential details exchanged, we formulated the practical side of the plan. The wedding reception was due to wind up at 2.00 a.m., whereupon we’d both head to our separate bedrooms, wait for the women to fall asleep and send a text message to confirm their respective slumbers. Liam suggested it would be a good idea if we didn’t pass each when we were making our way to each others' rooms, because seeing the person who was about to fuck your wife might cause some last minute indecision. To celebrate the conquest we’d meet up in the lounge bar to toast our sordid success with a cigar and a port. That was his idea, and I liked the thought of it. We exchanged room cards and headed in entirely different directions.

I got the text at 2.15 a.m. “She’s asleep. Let’s do it, man.” I’d forgotten to switch my phone to silent and thought for a second that the piercing, Crazy Frog ringtone might wake Sam. She had only just dropped off and was snoring like a pig in the middle of a mildly erotic dream. Making love to Sam used to feel like slowly tearing velvet. Recently it felt like stubbing a fag out. She slept on; blissfully unaware that she was about to be unfaithful to me for the first time. I pictured Liam on top of her and instead of feeling pangs of jealousy it turned me on. Bosh…Bosh…Bosh!

The corridors of the hotel were fully illuminated. I felt everything should be dark. Or at the very least fading into soft candlelight. As I crept stealthily along the carpet like a Japanese Ninja it suddenly occurred to me that I had no need to adopt such a comically suspicious gait—nobody knew that I was about to cast my magic and commit a sexy rape. I could just be up late walking my invisible dog. As I got to the lift all thoughts of what Liam would soon be doing to Sam vanished and my mind filled with what I was going to do to Belinda. My only concern was triggering too soon and giving the game away. What was it Liam said? “She likes it long, hard and deep. Don’t forget to slap her arse and treat her like the cow she is!” Which I presume didn’t mean letting her wander round a field for a few years before shooting and eating her. The spanking was a worry though. I just didn’t see the point. Call me old-fashioned, but what’s erotic about slapping somebody’s bare buttocks with your palm whilst ferociously masturbating? It’s all a bit porno if you ask me.

I reached room 208. Liam had put the ‘do not disturb sign’ on the handle as agreed; signalling everything was as cool as James Brown on a skateboard. I slid the entry card into the slot and the green light flashed. I was in. My armpits prickled and the sweat on my palms trickled down my wet fingers. Hopefully that wouldn’t give the game away when I slapped her arse. The room was pitch dark. Everything was happening faster than disaster. I felt like I was stepping into a black hole.

Once I shut the door, the only way I could guide my way to the bed and my sleeping target was by following the gentle, feminine snoring of Belinda. She’d soon be grunting like a pig the little slut! Or was it a cow? I slipped quietly into bed beside her. She was lying face down just as Liam said she would be. I paced myself for a minute and then started my seduction, stroking her long hair and then butterfly kissing her soft ear lobes. The perfume she was wearing tasted like Parma Violet sweets. She soon started to groan appreciatively and began controlling operations, so to speak, just as Liam said she would. It wasn’t long before she was gripping the headboard whilst guiding me into her. And then I got my first surprise of the night. Liam had neglected to tell me she…well how can I put this delicately? That black hole I talked about stepping into earlier, well this hole was a lighter shade—brown, in fact. Liam had gone into great detail about the arse slapping but hadn’t mentioned the arse fucking.

Maybe you’ve been through this before but I'm a chocolate virgin. Please don’t let me be misunderstood. Fuck moderation. He was certainly right about her loving it: her hips bucked uncontrollably as I banged away like a migraine.
Slap. Slap. Slap. Bosh! Her orgasm arrived like a plane crash.
She collapsed onto the bed, still face down, leaving me unsatisfied with a tablespoon of anger brewing in my bollocks. I briefly considered whacking off over her back but didn’t know whether it was the kind of activity Liam would’ve indulged in. I suspected it was; but without knowing for sure, decided against risking it. I lowered myself onto Belinda and kissed the back of her head and bid her a goodnight. I was very delighted with my performance; I’d made her come in half the time it took Liam. Fucking amateur—I almost felt sorry for Sam.

Rising triumphantly from the battlefield, I wiped my cock on the curtain, put away my beast, and left the arena. Time for that cigar and port, no doubt I’d have to wait a while for Liam as he flailed away for Sam's G spot. There were still guests from the wedding milling about in the lounge bar. Some of them had stayed up for a few hands of bridge. I ordered a glass of Port and a Romeo Y Julietta Cuban cigar. As I was telling the barman my room number I felt a tap on my back and swung round grinning expecting to see Liam. But it was Belinda.

My heart missed several beats before taking refuge in my mouth. I swallowed deep and hard. She’d obviously come looking for Liam. She smiled. Maybe she was in on the plan from the start.
“Hello Stan. Has Samantha abandoned you for the night already? What a lightweight! Liam’s the same; he went to bed early too. I’ve been playing bridge over there, why don’t you come and join us? I’m in the middle of a lucky streak.”
“Hang on a s-second," I stammered, "you’re here and Liam’s up in your bedroom? And you’ve been down here all night. So you’ve not been to bed?”
“No, like I said," Belinda replied. "It’s just Liam that went to bed. He’s flat out! Will you stay for a quick rubber?”

The word shrivelled what dignity remained to me. I declined her offer and, feeling slightly ill, scuttled off to bed with my tail between my legs.