If I had met you before, my life would have been completely different

"If I had met you before, my life would have been completely different."

 

It wasn't the first time someone had said those words to me, and each time, I found them strange. They echoed oddly within me, as if brushing against my skin without ever sinking in.

Anaïs had been part of my world for ten years. She’s the wife of one of Giacomo's best friends—my husband. For years, the two childhood friends had been mischievously trying to convert the wild creature she is to the pleasures of swinging. Needless to say, when I joined the group, I could feel a certain pressure to be the one to initiate her. But for me, no way. The motto, “Everything is possible, nothing is mandatory,” isn’t just a catchy phrase in this circle. I don’t proselytize. I simply share my life, like I do here, through this blog, and people are free to explore this philosophy or not.

 

Anaïs was always curious about my adventures. And they clearly had an effect on her, since shortly after my stories, her husband would call mine to rave about their nightly escapades. He encouraged me to share more often—he enjoyed the aftershocks.

He was frustrated that she wouldn't take the plunge into libertinism. He called her sensuous, sensual, and a true epicurean.

Three pregnancies had made her body one of a fulfilled mother—but sadly, they also trapped her in a prison of self-consciousness.

As is often the case with us women, our eyes become distorted mirrors, and our self-judgment, merciless.

And yet, Anaïs had so many gifts: a sharp mind, natural beauty, rare sensitivity.

Over ten years, we took the time to get to know each other, to gently tame one another. Me, the city girl; her, from the countryside. She taught me (and still teaches me) so much about nature and animals during the countless forest walks I so love. Her curiosity knows no bounds, and I adore how she shares her passion for rural life—a true encyclopedia. She’s very instinctive. My husband has always said she was “wild,” with heightened senses. They, too, are childhood friends, and know each other well.

 

She doesn't trust easily—she's been burned by the gossip in her small town. I always felt like she was watching me, trying to figure out if I was "all talk... or all temptation," haha.

 

Over time, we became friends. She even did a few photo shoots where I posed with libertines. With her sensitivity, I was eager to see how she’d capture my sensual entanglements through the lens.

Usually, she’d cut the session short, blushing furiously, rushing back to her husband—who’d then deal with the “aftereffects.”

She was becoming increasingly comfortable with me, though I could still sense a bit of tension. As if she was afraid I’d jump on her—while also, maybe, wanting me to.

Then one day, the apprehension vanished. My husband noticed it too and mentioned it. We were on vacation together, and he suggested I give her a gentle push—that this was the moment. I was too tired, lacking sleep, so I brushed it off. It was siesta time, and I went back to bed. Anaïs did the same.

The guys wanted to watch a movie.

 

Alone in our bed, the idea of seducing Anaïs, of making love to her, stirred me. I began to feel it, both emotionally and physically.

I stepped out of the bedroom, not really expecting anything, and she did too—at the same moment. We both looked surprised. I took her hand, and she shivered.

I led her to our room. I could feel she was overwhelmed, but I also felt her desire.

 

“First of all, if you’re not feeling this, just say so. I won’t force anything if you don’t want it.”

Yes, I’m a firm believer in consent, whether it’s with a man (see blog post…) or a woman.

“My heart’s racing, I don’t know where I’m at… but I think I want this.”

“ Okay, so if you like, we can start with some soft cuddling... and if at any point you feel uncomfortable, we stop.”

“Okay.”

“ But promise me you’ll say something.”

“Okay.”

 

She stammered and giggled like a schoolgirl. I moved closer to kiss her. Our bodies pressed together, her chest against mine.

“I feel like a teenager who’s never kissed before!”

We burst into laughter—perfect to ease the tension.

I came back to her, one hand on her cheek, the other around her waist, holding her close, my lips nearing hers. I kissed her for the first time. Her lips were soft and delicate. Her tongue searched for mine, and quickly found it. We savored the kiss as it ignited us both. Clothes flew across the room in a swirl of laughter, and soon we were both completely naked. She had a gorgeous, full bust. I invited her to lie down on the bed and nestled against her. I could feel her trembling—part excitement, part nervousness. I kissed her again, softly, while my hands explored her body. Her skin, so silky against mine, heightened my arousal. I was savoring every moment. She was incredibly responsive—moaning so melodiously that it encouraged me to give her more, and fueled my own pleasure. Gradually, her tension melted as she let go, and her desire grew.

 

I straddled her, kissing my way from her lips to her breasts. I licked one nipple while watching her with lust, as my other hand teased the other. Her voluptuous body swayed under my touch. I continued downward, kissing her belly, her mons, and then, after parting her thighs, her lips. My kisses grew more intense, and I slid my tongue into her warm, wet slit. I licked her pussy while observing her pleasure. Head thrown back, moaning, hips undulating—every sign told me she was loving it. I alternated between suckling her clit, circling it with my tongue, and gliding up and down her folds. I slipped a finger inside her soaked entrance, moving in and out. Her breathing quickened, her moans shorter. She pulled me up to her, kissed me, and suddenly, took the initiative. She slid a hand between my thighs, slipping a finger into my wet little pussy. I did the same while we kissed deeply. Our touches grew more urgent, our breaths shorter. I was on fire, pleasure building.
For a first time, this “novice” knew exactly what she was doing. Maybe she’d fantasized about it often. Then, in the peak of her arousal, her climax arrived in a beautiful, feminine moan. Her body completely relaxed. As she slowly came back to herself, she kissed me, stunned by the experience. She said:

“You have such an effect—on men and women.” 

 

It was flattering, but still a mystery to me. Sometimes, you just stop trying to understand and enjoy what’s offered. She wanted to return the favor, but I declined. I’m difficult to make come, and I didn’t want to leave her with a sense of failure. My pleasure could wait. This afternoon was hers. I savored that rare moment—two women discovering each other in bed, in a tenderness that brushed up against pure eroticism. She dressed and went to find her husband—to indulge herself again. I could still hear her "singing". The next day, I joined her in the shower and gave her pleasure once more, with my tongue. She stepped out beaming, called out to the guys:

“Some things, you’d be a fool to miss out on!” 

 

Leaving them wide-eyed. My husband was proud of her—especially happy that she had finally let go, overcome her inner walls, and lived something extraordinary. He was also proud of me—for succeeding where he and her husband had failed. As for me, I was still buzzing, thrilled to have been her first woman lover. I knew other intimate moments would follow. Being bisexual, I’m used to ending up in a woman’s bed.

Nothing extraordinary for me—but for her, it was a giant leap. She glowed for weeks, to her husband’s delight. And it was lovely to witness. Since that experience, Anaïs and her husband have become regulars at swinger parties—and now she’s the one telling me stories to turn me on…

 

**Moral of the story:**

 

What seems like a mountain to some is just a small step to others.  Live extraordinary adventures. Regret nothing. Life is too short—and we too often forget we only get one.
Step out of your comfort zone—not just sexually. That’s where the most rewarding things in life await.