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Later, Diana admitted she had been suddenly overcome with jealousy. This other woman went from object of desire to clear and present danger once I was involved.

So we co-authored a kind of rulebook: To begin, a sexual third wheel would have to be equally attracted to both of us. Certain acts were off-limits.

And under no circumstances could one of us indulge on our own. Diana pushed me on the details in ways that made me wonder if she was trying to derail the whole project.

Another couple? Sure, I said. Another guy? Under the right circumstances, I'd be game. But I am almost always game, the product of a happy and relatively trauma-free childhood that left me mostly fearless when it comes to new experiences.

Diana was not so lucky, having watched her parents fuck up so many times you'd think they were crash-testing their marriage.

Sex, in her experience, could be a threat to stability. Diana and I were both happier than we had ever been with a partner, but that became a problem.

The depth and seriousness of our relationship grew in lockstep with her apprehension about letting other people into our bed.

Her abiding enthusiasm for the female body won out in the end because, in case you haven't been paying attention, that's how these things work.

The heart wants what the heart wants, and this goes for other organs, too. At first, we stuck to erotic couples massage and strip club back rooms, where Diana felt safe in the knowledge that I was paying and she could pull the plug at any time.

Paying a stripper friend seemed like a logical next step—a more intimate experience with an eject button close at hand.

So on a recent Friday night, we had a few drinks before we had a few drinks and then summoned an Uber to Midtown.

I was scanning building numbers when I saw the telltale pack of dudes in striped shirts and slacks smoking near an unmarked entrance.

I had never seen a female guest at SVT, but Diana's friend—let's call her Jenna—insisted that couples come in all of the time.

We ponied up the cover charge and found ourselves in a sea of men and scantily clad "shot girls. She took Diana and I by the hand and led us to the back room.

Remember The Devil's Advocate , in which Al Pacino plays a litigious version of Satan with a massive high-relief sculpture of naked women in his Manhattan penthouse?

At some point, the artwork comes to life and becomes sea of female bodies writhing in an approximation of ecstasy.

This is what the back room of Saint Venus Theater looks like, with the addition of one finance bro buried under each nearly-nude woman.

Diana, Jenna, and I waited patiently until a corner of the banquette opened up. Jenna stripped down to her panties; Diana took off her shirt in solidarity.

A new song started. It was on. If I couldn't handle Diana having a sexual experience that had nothing to do with me, then all of my anti-monogamy rhetoric was just self-serving bullshit.

I was ecstatic. The woman I love and a woman whom I sort of know were topless and making out in my lap.

Jenna was attentive and enthusiastic. I felt enveloped by a soft, narcotic cloud of calm and gratitude. The shitty music barely registered.

But after eight or nine songs, I sensed a shift in Diana. She was scanning the dancers all around us, fidgeting, biting her lip.

I know what a wandering eye looks like, but was I projecting my desires onto her? No, my own nagging chorus of perennial dissatisfaction had gone home for the night.

Was she hungry? She had refused my offer of the cheap pizza SVT brings in at midnight, so how hungry could she be? I had another idea.

The fact that you find other people physically attractive does not shatter my self-worth or the faith I have in our commitment.

We should acknowledge these attractions and discuss them and explore them and even act on them, as long as everyone involved is comfortable.

Otherwise, we're just erecting artificial barriers to keep each other in sexual captivity. Listen, if we're lucky, we'll be 40 someday, with three kids and two mortgages, and the stakes will be different then, but right now it's a.

I followed Diana around the floor, giving her enough space that a few dudes eyed her all the way up and down, mistaking her for a dancer.

Which brings me to the most important advice I can give anyone looking to expand the definition of monogamy with a cautious partner: Give them space.

Let them drive. Don't push, and don't make suggestions beyond the original one. I stopped giving personal dances after the fourth girl and changed into my sailor outfit for the second routine.

I could feel the music moving through me and I knew I was rolling off my ass, but the girls were way into it and I thought I gave a more intimate performance.

The bride to be got up just after I gave a sneak peek to the whole crowd. I finished up that routine and was again in that awful mankini so I started giving out lap dances again.

I was doing a double for two women who seemed to be just as into each other as they were into me when I heard the bride to be call out my performing name.

I turned and I shit you not this girl is standing in the doorway with nothing on but a whip cream bikini. Just like that scene in Varsity Blues.

I put my mankini back on and walk over to her while the other girls are cheering at the top of their lungs, and she throws the hundreds into my bag on the table and walks up to me and is just kissing the fuck out of me.

Normally this is a HUGE no no, but:. So I started licking the whip cream off her, then she sucked my dick to get it completely hard, while the other women chanted for her to fuck me.

So we Fucked. When we finished she gave me her phone number and told me to keep playing with the other girls. So I did. This basically ends like one of those stories no one would believe.

I tended bar for a number of years and saw countless bachelorette parties pass through. Dozens at the least, possibly hundreds.

I caught a bride wearing a stupid little plastic tiara, feather boa, covered in beads and drinking through a penis shaped straw sucking a guy off in our storage room.

The most confusing thing to me is the group approval. This was at a strip club. A fat woman, I mean really fat, leaned up against the pole, slid down to her knees, opened up her legs and started masturbating on top of her jeans while making loud orgasm noises.

You had to be there to understand the horror. I was at a bar and a bachelorette party rolled in and situated themselves right by my group.

My friends and I started talking to them and as everyone got drunker, the bride to be mentioned that the one thing she never got to do before getting married was hook up with another girl…apparently in my drunken generosity, I volunteered to help her out with that and some making out ensued.

A stripper tried to do a cool move where he did a roundhouse over another girls head. Except he kicked her. She got a concussion and threw up in a trashbag the entire limo ride to the hospital.

Carved penises out of giant cucumber using only out teeth. The cucumber penises were then judged, the most realistic won. I drove a large group of women to the strip club female dancers.

The bride to be was large, at least lbs. The girls drag her on stage, do their thing, get her shirt off revealing her enormous breasts.

She has a girl sucking on each tit. One of the strippers gets freaked out, but the other is way into it. She starts squirting the milk all over herself.

So I was co-maid-of-honor with our other best friend and over all the months leading up to the wedding sucked hard.

My friend is a nice person but kind of turned bridezilla and the other maid of honor pretty much spent all of her time trying to one-up me and make me look like the lesser friend.

The night of the bachelorette party I was just like.. I just wanted to get fucked up. So we get to the male strip club when the bride decides she wants to bail and go to where the men are at.

We went and the boys all looked at us like… wtf are you all here? The bride spent 20 minutes inside before she left in a rage and ended up crying in the parking lot, screaming at her fiance while the other maid of honor tried to calm her down.

I just kind of was like, fuck this and went back inside to watch the strippers with the rest of the guys. Me and my younger sister were bridesmaids so we were invited to the party we had no business being at.

Most of the games we played were pretty tame we didnt hear much that would make us feel awkward, thats until we got to the game never have I ever.

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Diana, who was dating a woman and a man when we first met, said that sounded good to her. I was relieved.

I've fallen for plenty of women whose idea of monogamy flexed for no man. This does not make them uptight or unimaginative—it just makes them better partners for someone who's not me.

Monogamy apparently works for some people; my parents have been conventionally and mostly happily married for 39 years.

I respect and appreciate their lifestyle, but it's right below their Georgian armoire on a list of things I'm not dying to inherit.

To me, monogamy has always felt unnatural. Yes, but swans are assholes—narcissistic and prone to senseless acts of violence. I'm no ornithologist, but it would not surprise me to discover that their shitty temperament is due in part to their inability to fuck more than one other swan before they die.

Of course, non-monogamy is a minefield for modern humans, as Diana and I quickly discovered. Our first attempt at a threesome—us plus her friend in a bathroom at a birthday party—was going swimmingly until a whispered conversation between the women turned into some light slapping.

I wasn't sure where they were going with this, but I wasn't mad about it, either. Earlier that night, all three of us had eaten mushrooms that were neither porcinis nor chanterelles.

I was feeling optimistic. Then a glass broke, and I realized I was witnessing an honest-to-god fistfight. I have never watched my childhood home burn down, but I imagine the feeling is similar to the abject despair of watching a beautiful threesome turn into a brawl.

Later, Diana admitted she had been suddenly overcome with jealousy. This other woman went from object of desire to clear and present danger once I was involved.

So we co-authored a kind of rulebook: To begin, a sexual third wheel would have to be equally attracted to both of us. Certain acts were off-limits.

And under no circumstances could one of us indulge on our own. Diana pushed me on the details in ways that made me wonder if she was trying to derail the whole project.

Another couple? Sure, I said. Another guy? Under the right circumstances, I'd be game. But I am almost always game, the product of a happy and relatively trauma-free childhood that left me mostly fearless when it comes to new experiences.

Diana was not so lucky, having watched her parents fuck up so many times you'd think they were crash-testing their marriage. Sex, in her experience, could be a threat to stability.

Diana and I were both happier than we had ever been with a partner, but that became a problem. The depth and seriousness of our relationship grew in lockstep with her apprehension about letting other people into our bed.

Her abiding enthusiasm for the female body won out in the end because, in case you haven't been paying attention, that's how these things work.

The heart wants what the heart wants, and this goes for other organs, too. At first, we stuck to erotic couples massage and strip club back rooms, where Diana felt safe in the knowledge that I was paying and she could pull the plug at any time.

Paying a stripper friend seemed like a logical next step—a more intimate experience with an eject button close at hand. So on a recent Friday night, we had a few drinks before we had a few drinks and then summoned an Uber to Midtown.

I was scanning building numbers when I saw the telltale pack of dudes in striped shirts and slacks smoking near an unmarked entrance.

I had never seen a female guest at SVT, but Diana's friend—let's call her Jenna—insisted that couples come in all of the time.

We ponied up the cover charge and found ourselves in a sea of men and scantily clad "shot girls. She took Diana and I by the hand and led us to the back room.

Remember The Devil's Advocate , in which Al Pacino plays a litigious version of Satan with a massive high-relief sculpture of naked women in his Manhattan penthouse?

At some point, the artwork comes to life and becomes sea of female bodies writhing in an approximation of ecstasy. This is what the back room of Saint Venus Theater looks like, with the addition of one finance bro buried under each nearly-nude woman.

Diana, Jenna, and I waited patiently until a corner of the banquette opened up. Jenna stripped down to her panties; Diana took off her shirt in solidarity.

A new song started. It was on. If I couldn't handle Diana having a sexual experience that had nothing to do with me, then all of my anti-monogamy rhetoric was just self-serving bullshit.

I was ecstatic. The woman I love and a woman whom I sort of know were topless and making out in my lap. Jenna was attentive and enthusiastic.

I felt enveloped by a soft, narcotic cloud of calm and gratitude. The fourth girl was super touchy feely and I realized they were on whatever the hell it was that I was on, so instead of freaking out and leaving I decided to just go with it.

I stopped giving personal dances after the fourth girl and changed into my sailor outfit for the second routine. I could feel the music moving through me and I knew I was rolling off my ass, but the girls were way into it and I thought I gave a more intimate performance.

The bride to be got up just after I gave a sneak peek to the whole crowd. I finished up that routine and was again in that awful mankini so I started giving out lap dances again.

I was doing a double for two women who seemed to be just as into each other as they were into me when I heard the bride to be call out my performing name.

I turned and I shit you not this girl is standing in the doorway with nothing on but a whip cream bikini. Just like that scene in Varsity Blues.

I put my mankini back on and walk over to her while the other girls are cheering at the top of their lungs, and she throws the hundreds into my bag on the table and walks up to me and is just kissing the fuck out of me.

Normally this is a HUGE no no, but:. So I started licking the whip cream off her, then she sucked my dick to get it completely hard, while the other women chanted for her to fuck me.

So we Fucked. When we finished she gave me her phone number and told me to keep playing with the other girls.

So I did. This basically ends like one of those stories no one would believe. I tended bar for a number of years and saw countless bachelorette parties pass through.

Dozens at the least, possibly hundreds. I caught a bride wearing a stupid little plastic tiara, feather boa, covered in beads and drinking through a penis shaped straw sucking a guy off in our storage room.

The most confusing thing to me is the group approval. This was at a strip club. A fat woman, I mean really fat, leaned up against the pole, slid down to her knees, opened up her legs and started masturbating on top of her jeans while making loud orgasm noises.

You had to be there to understand the horror. I was at a bar and a bachelorette party rolled in and situated themselves right by my group.

My friends and I started talking to them and as everyone got drunker, the bride to be mentioned that the one thing she never got to do before getting married was hook up with another girl…apparently in my drunken generosity, I volunteered to help her out with that and some making out ensued.

A stripper tried to do a cool move where he did a roundhouse over another girls head. Except he kicked her. She got a concussion and threw up in a trashbag the entire limo ride to the hospital.

Carved penises out of giant cucumber using only out teeth. The cucumber penises were then judged, the most realistic won. I drove a large group of women to the strip club female dancers.

The bride to be was large, at least lbs. The girls drag her on stage, do their thing, get her shirt off revealing her enormous breasts.

She has a girl sucking on each tit. One of the strippers gets freaked out, but the other is way into it.

She starts squirting the milk all over herself. So I was co-maid-of-honor with our other best friend and over all the months leading up to the wedding sucked hard.

My friend is a nice person but kind of turned bridezilla and the other maid of honor pretty much spent all of her time trying to one-up me and make me look like the lesser friend.

The night of the bachelorette party I was just like.. I just wanted to get fucked up. So we get to the male strip club when the bride decides she wants to bail and go to where the men are at.

We went and the boys all looked at us like… wtf are you all here? The bride spent 20 minutes inside before she left in a rage and ended up crying in the parking lot, screaming at her fiance while the other maid of honor tried to calm her down.

I just kind of was like, fuck this and went back inside to watch the strippers with the rest of the guys. Me and my younger sister were bridesmaids so we were invited to the party we had no business being at.

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