Back when my wife and I were swinging pretty regularly on the East Coast, we had our share of great times, and now we have some stories to tell. At the time, Cass and I were in our early 40s. We lived in NYC, but we tended to meet people outside of the city for our wild times. You’ve heard of wanderlust? Well, that’s what we called our travels in search of sexual adventure. Sometimes we’d go as far south as Florida or to some of the well-known adult resorts in Yucatán and the Caribbean, but we also ventured to the Midwest — and once even went way out west to a weeklong mega-orgy in Northern California.

But much of our sexual play happened in and around a smaller city in upstate New York. We became “partners in crime” with a couple named Cissy and Joe who lived there. One day, they told us about this couple they’d met, Betsy and Colin. Joe called them the “new kids in the hot tub.”

“He’s not joking,” said Cissy. “We went bar-crawling with them, and they got carded by every bartender.”

The newcomers were actually in their mid-20s, but they were dyed-in-the-wool hedonists, with more experience than most. We learned that Colin was a quiet fellow, while Betsy was “oral” in multiple senses of the term — or as Cissy rather crudely put it, “The only time she stops talking is when she’s got a dick in her mouth.

Cass and I finally met this new couple at a meet-and-greet that was part of a hotel-takeover lifestyle event in Orlando. They were both nice enough, and we found them appealing, but we didn’t engage with them sexually that weekend, even though I would’ve been open to it. Betsy — a slim, slight beauty with jet-black hair, piercing dark eyes and stellar breasts — was impossibly sexy. But Cass was wary about the idea of playing with them. She pointed out that they seemed no older than our own college-age son.

“It would be just plain weird to fool around with them, Alex,” she said. “I’d be looking to find a babysitter, so you and I could have some adult time together.”

Nevertheless, we agreed to get together with them for cocktails and dinner the next time we were in their town or they were visiting Manhattan. As it turned out, they visited NYC about six weeks after we made that pact.

The four of us went for lunch at an elegant but relatively inexpensive Thai restaurant in Midtown. It was summertime, and we sat in the outdoor garden in the back. Betsy wore a strapless, tight-fitting top that showed off her spectacular rack and taut belly. Her cute belly button winked at us whenever she moved in a certain way. Her pleated, ultra-short skirt, meanwhile, revealed plenty of firm, tanned thigh. Colin was dressed more conservatively. He looked like a preppy college kid. Why not? He’d been just that only a year or two earlier.

The two were planning to go to a local swingers club that evening.

“We’ve heard mixed things about it,” said Betsy. “Some say it’s a bunch of creepy, old-man gawkers. Others say it’s packed with the fittest couples in New York. Guess we’ll find out! Are you sure you don’t want to go with us and check it out?”

We reiterated that, for discretion’s sake, we didn’t frequent local lifestyle events, though we’d been curious about that particular club.

“Maybe we’re too old for it anyway,” said Cass. “Sometimes we think we’re on the cusp of being creepy old gawkers ourselves.”

“Are you kidding, Cassie?” said Betsy. “You two are choice morsels of mature sexiness! Aren’t they, Colie?”

Honestly, that is the way that young woman spoke.

Blond, baby-faced Colin nodded with a slightly silly smile on his face but said nothing more.

“Cassie, you have such lovely skin,” said Betsy. “You’re a red-hot mama bear, and you don’t even know it!”

This odd compliment made my buxom wife blush, though I knew full well she was ticked off that Betsy kept calling her “Cassie.” Cass definitely did not appreciate the nickname. When we’d met Betsy and Colin in Orlando, she’d told them as much, but the point had apparently not registered with Betsy.

We parted after lunch, with our young friends returning to their hotel for a nap before going out on the prowl. We told them they should feel free to phone us later that night if the club turned out to be a bust.

That’s exactly what happened. They arrived at our place a little before midnight.

“Oh God, never go there, Cassie,” said Betsy. “Dark, smelly, overpriced and full of wackos.”

“That bad?” I asked.

“Just gross.” She made a face. “We saw two roaches at the snack bar. I said something to the attendant, and he said, ‘Hey, careful now. Those are our mascots.’ I let him know, in no uncertain terms, that I wasn’t amused.”

“A real dump,” Colin said, reminding us that he existed and had a voice.

“Let’s get you two some drinks,” I volunteered.

We sat in our living room and chilled for a half hour or so. Betsy looked incredibly scrumptious. She wore the same miniskirt she’d had on at lunch, but for their evening adventures she paired it with a snug, scarlet-colored sweater. She reminded me of a sleek red sports car. Colin and Betsy — well, mostly Betsy — regaled us with descriptions of the misadventures they’d had at the club, which hadn’t included any sex play on their part. I was glad that Cass and I had decided not to accompany them. It sounded as though the place truly was unappetizing

Cass and I had had a tête-à-tête before our guests’ arrival to see where we stood when it came to getting frisky with them. Cass had finally decided she was up for it, if the opportunity arose. After spending time with them at lunch, she no longer felt their age was an issue.

“They’re not like Dan in any way,” she said, referring to our son. “And they’re both hotties. So, fuck it. I’m ready to screw both of them.”

Still, we were surprised when Betsy beckoned Cass to join her and Colin on the sofa, while I fixed another round of drinks.

“Come over here, my dear,” she said. “Isn’t it time you and I made out?”

“Well, OK!” said my wife. Cass stood up and went to the sofa where our young friends were relaxing. She plopped down at Betsy’s left. Colin was at Betsy’s right.

Betsy brushed the strawberry-blonde ringlets away from Cass’s face and went in for a tender kiss. Enfolded in each other’s arms, the two women made out sweetly and quietly at first. But then they became more fervent, using their tongues as well as their lips. Betsy’s hands fondled Cass’s more-than-ample breasts. And vice versa.

I handed a fresh vodka and tonic to Colin. He was massaging his cock through his khaki trousers, but he stopped momentarily to take the tumbler from me. He put it down on the side table and then began unbuttoning that scarlet cardigan of Betsy’s. Soon, both women were topless. Betsy’s nipples were like swirls of pink frosting. My gorgeous Cass lapped at them hungrily. Meanwhile, my dick had seriously hardened. All four of us were clearly onboard.

“Tell me what you like, Cassie.”

Cass laughed.

“What’s funny?” Betsy asked.

“I like to be called ‘Cass’ not ‘Cassie,’” my wife reiterated.

“Oh, Cass! Cass! Forgive me. I forgot about that. Mea maxima culpa, sweetie!”

Cass laughed and told her, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Tell me what you like…Cass.”

“Scissors.” The word had been spoken not by Cass but by the taciturn Colin.

“I didn’t ask you, Colin,” Betsy teased him. “I know what you like.”

It turned out scissoring was a favorite sex act of both Betsy and Colin. She loved to grind her drooling pussy against that of another woman, and he liked to watch her do it. Cass said she was up for attempting it, though she confessed she’d found it difficult to accomplish in the past. Before the real action began, though, we all picked up our drinks and went into our bedroom, where scissoring and other such feats could be more easily accommodated.

The two women stripped to the buff. I pulled back the bedspread, and soon — after only a bit of maneuvering — my wife’s shaved pink pussy was jammed tightly against Betsy’s compact twat with its dark patch of prickly pubic hair. Athletic Betsy had accomplished this by positioning my wife on her side and then snapping into the groove like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

Colin and I stripped to our undershorts. We went to our respective wives and began kissing them. Our mouths could not stifle their moans.

When I took a break from making out with Cass, I looked up to see Betsy was sucking her youthful husband’s thick, helmet-headed dick. Colin may have looked like a kid, but he had the schlong of a grown-ass man. Watching the two of them got me even more aroused. I moved my face away from Cass’s mouth and — after shucking my boxer shorts — brought my stiff rod to her lips. Cass sucked me voraciously, even as she continued thrashing about to slam her crotch against Betsy’s. My moans harmonized with those of the two women.

Once more, Colin the Silent spoke — this time to me.

“Wanna switch?” he asked.

“If that’s what the ladies want,” I told him. Both wives assented eagerly.

It felt like a gift from the gods when Betsy took my hard-on into her wet, warm mouth. Her style of fellatio involved more of a steady suction action than Cass usually employed. I wondered how long my erection could hold out before spewing its load. Betsy sensed the nearness of my orgasm and cleverly backed off whenever I got close. She would lightly kiss my ball sac before resuming with the blowjob. I looked over and watched as Cass went to town on Colin’s dick, lapping at it and sucking it sloppily. She also seemed to enjoy kissing and playing with his big low-hanging balls.

At a certain point, the women were doing more flailing than grinding. So, Colin and I strapped on condoms and fucked each other’s wife in missionary position, side by side on the big bed. We blasted our loads at last. We then watched as Cass and Betsy brought one another to noisy orgasms with buzzing vibrators.

When it was all over, Betsy prattled on and on about how amazing the encounter had been. Colin was, of course, less verbose, but — in his own way — fully enthusiastic.

“Cool beans,” he summed things up. “Definitely cool beans.”