Bambi Meets the Wife

So where was I...? Oh yes. My first ever first date with a man and his wife. A firefighter and his wife. You know - nothing unusual at all. Totally normal...if we happened to be polygamist Mormons.

However, we weren't polygamist Mormons as far as I knew so I was very, very nervous. Who should I be trying to impress? If I wore something revealing would she think I was trying to seduce her husband? Was I not trying to seduce her husband? Do I pay more attention to her or him? And were these people mentally ill?

Overall, I don't think I've ever been as nervous before any date as I was walking into that pub and looking for a man and woman both wearing something red. As it turns out, I don't think I've ever been as shocked as to what happened next.

They were wonderful.

It was probably the best first date I'd had in a long time. The FF was even better looking than his pictures. She was lovely. They were friendly, and funny and we all got along like old friends. Holy crap.

I had walked in expecting both of them to be perverts, liars or psychopaths or some combination of the three, and I prepared accordingly. I'm not entirely sure what I was planning on doing with the pepper spray in my bag or even which way I was supposed to aim the nozzle, but dammit...I was ready. I had also expected him to be taller...but that was asking a little much I suppose.

Once we finished off a plate of nachos we got down to business. Why in the hell was I there? What were they after? As everybody at the surrounding tables can attest, this couple was very open and to the point. I know everybody in the immediate area can tell you all about the conversation, because every single person went completely silent to eavesdrop.

I can't really blame them, because if I heard one woman asking another woman, "Are you really OK with me sleeping with your husband?" I suppose I'd shut-up and listen too. As everybody in the upstairs section heard, this couple was looking for a third person to hang out with, spend time with and take home to bed on a regular basis.

If at all possible, the surrounding silence became more deafening when I explained that although she was absolutely lovely, I would not be having sex with the wife. If I swung that way, she would totally be my type but really I was just interested in her husband.

The peanut gallery gasped in surprise when both the firefighter and his lovely wife said that would be perfectly alright. In fact, the last girl they had this arrangement with felt the same way and she was "with" them for two years.

Two dirty old men at the next table over actually moved their chairs closer when they described that sometimes the wife would be there, in the room, if and when I was with him. Sometimes she wouldn't be but most of the time she'd be there.

Doing what exactly? I believe at this point the band actually stopped playing and the table of four behind us who had been ready to leave decided to stay and order another round. As I might have suspected, the wife would not be in the room quietly reading a magazine in the corner with her back to the bed. Oh no. And because this couple was extremely forthright, an entire section of one local drinking establishment is now so much clearer on what three naked people could potentially do to each other at the same time.

I wasn't bothered by this for any moral reasons, but what immediately concerned me was how self-conscious that scenario could make me. I can barely type with somebody looking over my shoulder - I couldn't imagine what could go wrong if I was doing something more...involved.

Would I actually consider this? The entire time I could only sneak glances at him. I spoke mainly to her, partly because it seemed the polite thing to be doing rather than draping myself over her husband and partly because...well...he was so damned attractive.

For years friends have said that I fall for the "bad boys," and while this isn't entirely untrue it's never been quite right. I've figured out what the problem is with the men I'm attracted to, and my friends have it wrong. I don't see a guy kicking a puppy and decide that he's the one for me. I don't write to men in prison or long for a man who can't legally enter the US.

I want a man who's good to me, who loves his mother and has never been tasered, unless of course it was part of his military or police academy training. However, I have noticed that men with an overabundance of testosterone are like catnip.

Perhaps I'm deficient in this area, and I seek out the hormone my body needs. Much like feeling tired due to a lack of vitamin D in the winter, or craving whatever vitamin is contained in those two-bite brownies, I fall for men whose testosterone levels cancel out a good part of whatever hormone it is that's responsible for common sense.

Naturally, a guy who makes his living driving through red lights and running into buildings that are on fire would qualify as being particularly gifted in testosterone. And naturally, I wanted to hump his leg. It's hard to look somebody in the eyes when all you can notice is the outline of his muscles under his t-shirt and his wife is sitting right across from him talking about what kinds of things they like to do in bed. Good Lord.

None of this seemed even remotely strange. Frankly I was more shocked by the realization that both of them were doing their very best to impress me. I had been so nervous about what to say or do, and as it turns out all I had to do was show up. There was no need for me to seduce or impress anybody, they were knocking themselves out to prove to me that they were worthy.

The evening ended with me walking them to their truck so I could meet their dog. (Don't worry - it was just to meet and pet the dog, because I love dogs. The dog would not be involved in any potential activities between the three of us - this was not why I met their dog.) We hugged good-bye, they asked me what I thought about what they were wanting, and I walked myself home. I had a decision to make.