Zero for 44

Luke

Here's a list of the people we haven't had sex with so far: 

i) The glum engineer who wanted to marry T;

ii) The chatty, busty blonde who looked a bit like T's old boss back in the UK;

iii) The staggeringly attractive 26-year-old who really probably could do much better than the likes of me;

iv & v) The Scottish ex-pat couple who have the low-down on sex parties in industrial estate warehouses;

vi) The beautiful Latino boy with the perfect pecs and contagious smile;

vii & viii) The couple old enough to be my mum and dad who host suburban sex parties;

ix - xxxix) The various couples and single men who were due to attend the above couple's party;

xl & xli) The gregarious texting couple who we'd been messaging for a good couple of weeks;

xlii and xliii) The couple who would have loved to but were round some other couple's giving them a good seeing too;

xliv) The handsome bi man with a profile pic of him in what looks like a locker room.

XLIV of them then, forty-four for those of you who, quite rightly, never bothered to learn a dead numerology system. Of course, you can add to that list 'everybody else on the whole site', but the key to my moment taking stock is that these are the people we've been on the cusp of being - or actually were - face to face with.

Our strike rate, then, is 0 for 44. Not particularly major league stuff so far.

The glum engineer was in the first week. As T became more and more a fan of flaunting on cam to her army of tugging troops, she - the social soul she is - spoke to them via the keyboard as well as flashing flesh to take them to the edge. Our engineer replied regularly and soon a friendship of sorts seemed to develop between my wife and cock #16 on the cam. Mobile numbers were exchanged and a textual relationship was spawned.

As such, one morning as I folded towels and scrubbed down the hob, I was presented with the premise that T, the engineer and I should hook up. In a bar, perhaps, then up to a hotel room, maybe even heading back to his flat - it looked quite nice from what I could see over his shoulder and behind his busy hands on the webcam.

Fair enough, I suppose, but his big drawback was that he was adamant that he was very, very straight. Now, I'm not here to come out of the closet, but I really can't see the point in playing with a man if he's going to jump like a startled kitten if I accidentally rub elbows with him.

My mobile number was passed on to him, then, so I could put this point across. I promised I wasn't going to insist on coming in his hair, but gently stressed that I also wasn't that interested in a chap who just wanted to shag my wife while I watched - or better still, I imagine, left the room and sat in the bar with a nice book til it was all over. He accepted all this, but wouldn't be moved from his 'no touchee L' stance. 

Well, we wanted to break the duck, so we suggested enlisting a woman. Straight partner swap territory, you see. Not quite what I'm looking for, but it seemed the best we were going to get was me one end of the room with a pleasant bird, T rocking his world at the other.

And we gave it a go - which was where the doppelganger of T's old boss came in. She was sweet, clever, funny and she and I chatted on cam, then the phone - at which point I put our indecent proposal to her. She mulled it over for a few days and declined, saying she'd love to meet us, but wasn't that keen on going toe to toe with our new pet.

To give him his due, the engineer had a crack at lining up someone for me to pass the time with - the too-pretty 26-year-old. Her pictures painted her all sleek, olive-skinned beauty, pretty, long, flowing dark hair. We chatted with her about the arrangement on the site and she seemed keen enough. When push came to shove, though, she wouldn't commit and the doubts that whether our chap was a) paying her or b) had set up a dummy profile of a beautiful sex kitten who, surprise surprise, would have to pull out at the last minute, kicked in.

So we politely called it off, waiting a horrible 10 minutes for his texted reaction, then both sighed deeply in relief when he said that was all fine, maybe next time and, no, he wasn't going to hunt us down, decapitate us and wear our skin as a fetching hat. 

He hasn't been on the cam since. Hopefully, he's found a girlfriend.

Our engineer plus-one-TBC was tentatively arranged for a Friday night. Disappointed that we were to be home alone again, T put out feelers on the site and netted a meet with the Scottish ex-pats - to date the only fellow swingers we've met face to face.

We met at a nice bar, presumably all wearing nice undies, and chewed the fat for a while, exchanging tales of Glaswegian restaurants and warehouse orgies. They'd been to a few, it seemed to be their thing, but admitted neither of them had had sex with any strangers at them. He'd had his cock sucked a few times - even once by a chap, which was a relief after the relentless heterosexuality of the engineer - and she admitted to a dabble with a woman in a hot tub. 

But click, we didn't. Then T told them she didn't have any interest in girl on girl and the spark went out in his eyes - it had long gone in hers, unfortunately, despite my attempts at charm.

So we went home, picked up some wine on the way, T made a couple of cam-wankers come and then we shagged on cam to make sure everyone else had spilled what they needed to spill. So, at least we had a nice end to the evening, but still we'd not broken our duck.

Bull by the horns then and we applied for the party thing. In at the deep end doesn't quite cover it, so we came up with a plan to get our feet wet earlier. I had a late shift on the Thursday and the kids would be at school, so T would take a sickie and we'd get a couple or a single chap - T has made it clear that FFM is going to have to wait a while - round to our place and go all wham, bam, thank you ma'am on their asses before turfing them out at one o'clock and discussing the date over a nice lunch.

We put out an invitation for that scenario - and the applicants rolled in. Dozens of them - though in a sadly predictable way, all single men, no couples. Still, we vetted them and picked our favourites - mine was the beautiful Latino boy - but on the day, one of our brood was sick so the plug was pulled. 

Maybe that was for the best, we said afterwards. After all, were we ready yet to invite complete strangers to our homes? Especially ones who had nothing else to do on a Thursday morning.

So, the party loomed, but T has described that washout. Then the 'meet and greet' which served only to bring me to the most hideous pub I have ever had the misfortune to set foot in - and I've graced some real dives. In truth, I think if they'd picked a lovely bar, all floaty ambience, giggles and polite, charming staff, I'd've probably been up for going home with at least the gregarious couple we'd been messaging for a couple of weeks, if not all them. Yes, perhaps she didn't quite live up to her profile pictures, but she had a pretty face, was very blonde and, hey, had a nice pair of tits and an arse you could lose yourself in.

But no, we made it to the perfect bar - but alone, messaging the couple who were playing and the locker room chap on the off chance of adding extra flesh to our own in our lovely hotel room. Both replied the next morning, both would have been keen, but it seems planning is all if you're going to get what you want.

Still, ever onwards. It feels like we're getting closer, after all.