Sheep turned wolf turned shepherd My story: how you know I’m not talking out of my ass.

This is the part of a book I always skip – the smug bio. Yet I cannot tell you the ultimate answer without taking you through a bit of my journey, so I will skip the boring bits and be sure to include lots of sex and useful advice for you.  Mercifully for you and I alike, this is far from the full story.
After a long overdue divorce from a monogamous marriage, I was set to explore my sexuality and tick off my fantasy bucket list. After dating a few guys (and a girl), I felt I’d like to try a threesome. It had always been an interest, and since I was a teenager, my favourite witty answer to the question ‘what is your favourite position?’ was always ‘In the middle’. I was way out in the sticks, overworked and with little free time or money (as has been much the way of my life until recently), so I perused the vanilla dating sites like plenty of fish and zoosk, without much luck. I managed to meet a few guys who were keen to try a threesome, or who had had a drunken unplanned one once, but were hoping to go about it properly. My forays took me further afield, to the likes of polyamory.com, where I probably received a larger flurry of dick pics than at any other point in my life, but finding a suitable female still seemed to evade me. Eventually, I struck up a long distance relationship with an old friend overseas, and removed myself from the world of internet dating (in those days, I believed in love and intimacy and monogamy). After a difficult and somewhat fiery and insecure time, engendered by isolation and communicating only by messenger for months at a time, we went our separate ways, and I returned to my original mission. It’s about to get interesting, I promise.
I was asked to a killing kittens party as a first date. I’d never heard of it, and was a little taken aback, but I considered it, researched it extensively, bought some new underwear and had myself all set for an adventure at an elite swingers party. In the end the guy bailed the day before, but I’d psyched myself up enough that I went on the forum and chose someone else to escort me, who actually turned out to be taller and better looking than the first one anyway. We met briefly for coffee at the station, me walking in in a sense of deep surrealism at the prospect of what was to come, high heels and cocktail dress on. He was classy, charming and good looking, and we chatted for fifteen minutes, I and this perfect stranger, before heading off to my first sex party together.
The venue was opulent- the top two floors of a hotel, sparkling clean chrome and marble, hot tub on the terrace, champagne at the bar. Everyone was dressed beautifully in designer suits and cocktail dresses. The theme of the night was ‘diamonds and pearls’. As we ascended the stairs, I found myself clinging to his arm of my protector, this complete stranger less than half an hour ago, as I entered a strange and unknown world of promise.
As we passed the first bedroom, a beautiful Eastern European lady, a dead ringer for a young Mila Kunis, was on all fours on the bed with a playmate, wearing nothing but a string of pearls around her neck, beautiful firm breasts and slim but shapely hips on display. She looked up with her enormous smokey eyes, and called me over to join her. I was a little bit in love. She pulled me in and kissed me, discarding her playmate and taking my companion’s cock in her hand, as she encouraged me to stroke her breasts and murmured to me in a delicious accident I couldn’t identify. She led a tactile, sensual exploration with us both, and took me under her wing for the night. We played sex dice. We played dare in the hot tub. We played spin the bottle. I drank more champagne through nerves than I would usually be able to stand up with, but as the night progressed I relaxed more and more, and joined in with a beautiful blond 18 year old girl who whispered to me that she had never orgasmed, and later an orgy with a foxy oriental girl. I only had sex with the man I came with. Suddenly, at 3am, the lights came on, and the party was over, much to my regret. My companion escorted me to the train station, where he waited with me for the early train, both of us soaked through from the rain. I never saw Mila Kunis again.
My companion started chatting to me about his life, his fears, his job, trouble with an old flame, a girl he fancied at work. It seemed like a strange sort of post coital intimacy – almost a counselling session. After I got home, I realised he had left his mask in my bag, a red and black Venetian affair that looked quite costly. I messaged him to thank him for the evening and ask if he wanted it back. My message was rejected. I never saw him again. This was the first of a few lessons I learned about the artificial intimacy that attending a sex party together can engender. I was a little surprised, but not heartbroken. I was, however, quite hooked on the luxury and freedom I had experienced, and was set to go to the very next one I could find.
Having been once, I set out to go to the next party as a single girl. The day beforehand, I received a message from a cute, petite brunette with creamy skin, and lovely soft natural breasts, saying it was her first and she would like someone to go in with. This would be my first foray into the ease with which two single girls can achieve an mff, as opposed to hunting with a male partner.
We entered the scene and slipped into the giant hot tub, talking and kissing, stroking each other’s skin. A lovely 21 year old called Steve came over and we said hello to him. It was his first party and he had been brought by friends, so he wasn’t in a couple. We casually enticed him to join us and began a lovely MFF threesome, in a circle facing each other in the hot tub. We kissed, he kissed her, while I kissed her nipple, his hand slid down my buttocks. It was a beautiful, calm and erotic meeting of equals. He had sex with both of us, while we caressed each other’s bodies. The firmness of his male body contrasted beautifully with the softness of her skin and curves, for a delicious sensation I would be forever hooked on. It was lovely. There was no drama. It was a sensuous, primal experience one could be lost in for days, all thoughts of daily life, responsibilities, anxieties, anaesthetised by pleasure. Steve thanked us and left the hot tub, all of us blissed out and smiling. I never saw him again.
Next we talked to a Brazilian couple. She had enormous breasts and a curvaceous figure, with adult braces on her teeth, that I found perversely arousing. I didn’t find her partner attractive (as is so often the case with couples, I’m afraid) but he was part of the deal, I was in a euphoric afterglow and I was ready for another hit of pleasure to resume the dreamlike state. The two of us joined the couple, me kissing the girl, moving down her neck from the sharp braces on her teeth, holding and squeezing her gigantic breasts as the floated and bounced in the delicious warm water of the hot tub, my petite new friend’s hands on me here and there, blurring the lines of who was doing what, as I melted into the ecstasy that comes with losing focus as multiple hands glide over your body. Her boyfriend entered me from behind, rousing me from my stupor of pleasure. He hadn’t asked to, but I hadn’t said not to, and perhaps it was expected? I flailed for something to say, caught out in the agony peculiar to the British, of trying very hard not to be rude. “Um… are you wearing a condom?” I said in the end. He was. Then I didn’t say anything else. In for a penny, in for a pound. It was odd being penetrated by a man I hadn’t chosen and wasn’t attracted to, but he wasn’t especially well endowed and I kind of decided to roll with it. We were struggling a little with the geometry of the foursome, the depth of the water and the other people at play around us, so we all decided to go to a ‘private cubicle’. These cubicles were like a sauna- tiny and claustrophobic, blisteringly hot and with just a narrow wooden bench running along one side. We resumed play, this time the Brazilian girl fingering me and my petite friend, but she was quite rough and unskilled. They were both quite rough, and after a few minutes I excused myself, saying I needed water, as the whole thing had become unpleasant. I abandoned my petite friend to them, which I do feel a bit bad about in hindsight, but I just needed out of the tiny sweltering room of clumsy hands. I went to the bar, my head rather aswim, and went to order a rum and coke.
There was a cute dark haired bartender, little beard and an accent I that I struck up a conversation with. He said I looked sad. I didn’t really know what to say, I was still processing. I mumbled something vague about just having a break. He was gay, Greek and eighteen years old, and he gave me a free drink and a passionate kiss to cheer me up. He also decided to give me some life advice, “You will find your Prince Charming, but it won’t be here.”
He was very right, and very wrong.
As I stood by the bar, a few different people said hello, and promptly asked to play. I told them all I was just having a break for the moment, and went over to the seating area, which was a bit cooler and seemed to be less of an action zone. I was approached by a funny little Egyptian man, completely bald and stark naked, except for a top hat. He wasn’t quite the ‘sexual elite’ I was expecting, but he seemed quite a character and we had a chat for a while. He was quite funny. He said he’d brought a beautiful red haired lady with him, ity was her first party and she liked to play with girls, but needed a bit of loosening up. Indeed, she was a fine thing to behold when she appeared, with long auburn hair and perfect milky skin, tall and beautifully proportioned, with a quiet, elegant grace to the way she moved and spoke. I rapidly turned seductress, and was on top of her on one of the sofas, again enjoying the evening, its unpredictable pleasures and adventures. We got quite a crowd of spectators with our little lesbian display, the blonde and the redhead. A guy came up behind me and stuck his finger inside me. I said go away, and resumed.
Shortly after I discovered I was being entered by the little man in the top hat. This really wasn’t what I had signed up to at all, but the British awkwardness at being rude was still there inside me, and after a couple of minutes I just made my excuses and left them to it together. By this point I was not feeling in the best of spirits, and I got dressed. A very attractive young couple were in the changing room doing the same. “Leaving too?” I asked them.
“Its gross, there’s condoms floating in the hot tub, I just can’t handle that,” the beautiful young man said, as he pulled on a quality white shirt over his lovely torso. For them, the spell was broken for a different reason.
I went out to the bar, and looked around. There was a dark blonde in a little black dress standing by herself, looking somewhat unhappy. Misery loves company, so I went to talk to her. She said she was a novelist, who had come for material. We chatted for a while, other girls joined us, and the mood lifted. It wasn’t sex, it was social, but intimate. A guy who looked a bit like Hugh Jackman asked us to join him for an after party at a hotel, there seemed to be a big group of beautiful people going, taxis were scattered around and somehow myself, the dark blonde novelist and a pretty brunette who worked in hospitality ended up in a rickshaw, being peddled down the winter streets, talking intimate things and intermittently kissing. “I miss my boyfriend”, I said.  And I did.
When we got to the hotel, the others had gone in, and we were left with Hugh Jackman, but the security at reception wouldn’t let us in, as they said the hotel was at capacity. We stood in the cold street, discussing what to do. A very drunk lost Australian in his late 20’s, with an incredibly expensive suit on, was hovering nearby. He had taken a taxi to the wrong hotel, and now hadn’t a clue how to get back, as he’d forgotten the name and didn’t know where he was. The hospitality girl miraculously figured it out, and helped him order a cab. When we turned around Hugh Jackman had gone, abandoning the three of us to sneak in to the after party alone. The girls gave each other a look, and the hospitality girl suggested we all come back with him to get him home safely. I’d no idea whereabouts in the city we actually were, but they told me it was pretty far out, and I didn’t really have the funds to shell out for a cab alone. But that’s an excuse. The truth is, the twisty strange night had left me feeling adrift, and I was just going wherever the current was leading.
We took the taxi together to what turned out to be an incredibly plush hotel, with an executive suite. The Australian reclined on the bed, and the three girls stood around the room, all delicately approaching the subject of what to do next. He was quite good looking, and there was a strange sexual energy in the air. I think it was me who asked if he’d ever had three girls at once. That night, he did. My first MFFF, although it mainly seemed to be foreplay in pairs and then swapping. He took a shine to hospitality girl, who he fondled all night when we had finished and snuggled up together in the king size bed to sleep, for the hour or so that was left of the night. The next morning I was feeling unsatisfied, and as he played with me I said I wanted a ride. I climbed atop his hard cock and rode him cowgirl until he came. He then went to shower, the novelist said she had to be at work and left, and I reclined on the bed with hospitality girl, giving her gentle kisses in our new shared intimacy. He came back out the shower. “Shit, where’s my watch?”
It turned out he had gone out the night before for drinks, wearing the £15,000 Submariner that his wife had given him. I certainly didn’t have it, I hadn’t noticed it on and I suggested maybe he’d lost it while drunk. He did a frantic search of the bedroom. Whether one of the other girls took it, I’ll never know. I left with hospitality girl, took her details and she saw me off with a lovely gentle kiss on the lips at the tube station. I messaged her the next day. She didn’t reply. I never saw her again.
On the train home, I was in a tired, hungover state, trying to decompress the night’s journey. I’d had four cocks inside me in one night. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. My previous record was one. Should I chalk that up as really successful? Did that make me a massive slut? Was it a great night, or should I feel violated? I hadn’t said no, but I certainly hadn’t wanted two of them. It was oddly dis-empowering. Why didn’t I have the self esteem to just stand up for myself and say no? I hadn’t been expecting it- I thought the men were supposed to wait to be invited. Perhaps that was naive. Or was I an easy target there by myself? Should I have told security? In the end I emailed the party company to explain what had happened. They apologised and offered me a free party, but I didn’t feel like going to one any more. Turns out I’d be back though, later on.
That’s far from the last time I’ve had the ‘slip in quietly’ tried on me. It is, however, most certainly the last time they got away with it. My ducklings, be warned. If you approach me at play, you’d better have been invited. Cross the stealth strategy right off your list as of now. If I want you to join me, I will ask you. Do not interrupt me at play and ask, you will be firmly told to go away. As for sliding an errant paw onto me, or worse yet coming up behind me with your cock in hand, a tongue lashing is the very least of what you can expect. I will have you ejected and banned from the venue, and have been known to give a good flogging as an alternative. Yet from that night, I never attended a party alone again. I make sure I’m with someone who’s got my back. And I have theirs. So when you see the unicorns at a party, and they seem kind of bad ass, now you know why. Our soft clay has been baked in the heat of experience. We have become hard like diamonds, through necessity.
Let’s not dwell on this though, we all live and learn. And, as I said, I would be back. Let’s skip to the good bit.

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I got back with my overseas boyfriend, who was also mercifully always a bit of a sexual deviant like myself. I changed my profile from single girl to only seeking single girls, with an aspiration that we might find a playmate while he visited. My messages dropped from 10 a day to none. I was a little puzzled by this, but that was before I knew how it worked. My attempts to find a unicorn came to nought.
Later, we went our separate ways again, on better terms this time, and after a brief and awful foray into the world of vanilla dating (where I got ditched by a guy after he failed to get it up), I was keen to re-establish my sexual prowess. I didn’t want to go the the parties alone, however, so I set out to find a suitable party partner to watch my back.
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Single guys, single guys…..I scroll the profiles, look for someone who can spell, that I can wear my heels with, who probably isn’t a creep……………….
The profile write up was cute. Straight forward. The profile pictures were a bit naff, wasn’t sure how he’d look in person. But nice and tall, which is rare for me as I put my party heels on and I’m 6’2. I strike up a text chat. He’s a newbie to the scene, looking for guidance. I’ve been before. I’m looking for backup, and a chance to regain some of the sexual liberation and attractiveness I’d felt before. I offer to be his guide. We briefly video chat, and he’s cuter than I’d thought. My phone rings and I have to curtail it. He sends me his phone number and the next day I message to say hi.
‘Who’s this?’
‘Do you give your number to a lot of people?’
‘Actually, today yes, I was at a reunion’
I send this:

i-heard-youre-a-player-nice-to-meet-you-im-the-coach-quote-1

He laughs. He knows who it is now. We keep up this light and friendly banter by text throughout our time together. Almost throughout. Me in the role of mentor, he in the role of enthusiastic protege. It was a fun game.  Largely bullshit, but fun nonetheless.
I meet him for sushi. He’s charming in person; calm, balanced, intellectual. Knows all the right things to say, with an affable schoolboy innocence and a kind of lightness of demeanour usually reserved for those who have had an easy life. He doesn’t seem to be aware that his is a rare combination. The conversation is easy, fun, relaxed. He asks to kiss me outside and as he does so I break into an uncharacteristic blush, which he notices. I agree to go back to his place for a ‘trial run’ before the first party. I’m nervous, but he’s playful. The sex is amazing. But as he approaches orgasm, whenever he starts to come close, he throws himself away from me. I’ve never known another person to do that. Not in the literal sense anyway.
I straddle him and he comes hard. I’m hot and steamy now. I say that this is why parties are good, because when you wear out one man, you can have another. He says he can’t do that. I say I want to try. He is astounded to find that he can. “That’s not happened in years.”

We have sex in the shower, with me on tiptoe. He massages my back afterwards. I head off, a little giddy and happy as hell. I’m due to meet a couple for a party that night.
My couple are lovely. She, a beautiful curvaceous brunette, her husband an incredibly sweet man who clearly adored her. We drank wine and met with another single female who was a friend of theirs. She wasn’t really single, and wasn’t a unicorn as such- she was more of a ‘hotwife’. We have a lovely dinner and the couple pay for my dinner and wine (I’m a little tipsy by now) and my entry and membership to the venue. It’s a new venue to me, and I’m struck by how different it is to what I expected. The place is nearly empty, with a middle aged transvestite in a rubber maid’s uniform and heels strolling around. It looks like a youth club, that has been filled with every imaginable sex and kink toy. I’m rendered impotent by the alien nature of the place to me. Even when the female of my lovely couple sashays up to me, in just a bra and thong, sultry, seductive eyes burning into me, I can’t do a thing. I’m just not in the zone. She frolics about with her friend a little, and the husband gently talks to me, saying he’s happy for something to happen as a three too, but he takes a back seat as his wife likes to do the hunting. There is a sadness in his eyes, and this is something I have gradually come to notice with couples. In more cases than not, there is one who is more into it than the other. One likes to hunt, the other likes to please their partner. It’s not always in the gender roles you would expect, either. When it is the woman who is faking enjoyment, I can tell. I don’t care how much she screams and writhes about, if your nipples are soft and you are dry and tight, you are just a big phoney, and it feels like I’m raping you. I don’t like it.
In the end, I don’t do anything with them, though I do stay in touch and hope to see them again. It’s still not happened, but it was certainly my intention. Of the two new things I’d encountered that day, the place and the man, I could not have been more wrong in my initial assessment. The funny little sex-toy youth club has become a favourite haunt of mine- a home away from home, where I have excellent frolics with the unicorns in my life. Yet the man is dust.
But that is all a year or more away, so we will talk about my first party as a guide to the world of swing. It’s a good one. There’s lots of sex.
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We don our masks; myself in a sparkly gold one, he in the one left in my bag from my first ever party night. It seems fitting, somehow. He scrubs up nicely. I’ve ‘groomed’ (for want of a better word) a few attractive couples online, who are also attending the party. It’s a good show. Everyone looks amazing. That strange, first party intimacy descends on us and my protege kisses me passionately in the corridor. We meet the couples and chat. We end up having a foursome tucked away in a corner at the end of the evening, the thrill of being caught adding to the excitement. He reveals he isn’t quite new to the arts of seduction: he used to be a pro. But the swing scene is different- the rules are different – and he wanted a guide. We discussed strategies in the lead up and throughout. We end up going back with one of the couples to their apartment- exquisite and high above the city, floor to ceiling glass walls. We start making out in the kitchen, and ask them to join us. She starts putting some washing in, and they have a small domestic row about household chores, oblivious to us on the kitchen counter, me perched on the marble top and him standing before me, cock inside me, as I quietly whisper in his ear “I don’t think this is normally how it’s supposed to go.”
Eventually the couple settles, and we all play on the couch, her riding her partner, hand on my partner’s cock, him unsure if he’s supposed to touch her or not. I’ve left a puddle on the counter top and floor from our earlier frolics. The male half of the other couple finishes, and they resume light arguing. We make our excuses and leave. I didn’t clean up my puddle. I hope they didn’t slip over.
We get back and debrief. We talk strategy. Despite the weirdness of the night, he liked it. I leave the mask on his bed, like a trophy. I don’t expect to hear from him again. The next day, I get a message. He wants to do more parties. He wants to set up threesomes together. It looks like I have a new partner in crime. I see him again soon after, and I feel like he’d be quite easy to get rather fond of. I say so, by text. He says ‘That’s cute’.

I back off.
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From that point I had a new partner in crime. Yet there always seemed to be some sort of drama with a ‘crazy female’ getting doe-eyed on him and then causing chaos, one after another. I tried to tolerate it, but it was damn inconvenient. We worked on scoring a private threesome. I quickly learned that, despite his charm and knowledge, he was absolutely awful at identifying a suitable target. He would show them to me, and I’d give feedback. “She’s looking for a boyfriend. See the text in the profile? She keeps using words like ‘intense’ and ‘passionate’. She’s not going to be a good target, there will be drama. See this one? She says she’s slightly bi-curious. You know what that means? It means its bullshit and she’s just saying it to sound hot, and like she might be a suitable partner for you”.
He never listened, so we had drama after drama, spare F after spare F cancel on us. Meanwhile we both tried to hone our skills and up our game, bouncing ideas off each other and freewheeling through a journey of exploration, always trying to find the common denominator, the perfect equation that adds up to three. We achieved one threesome. There was immediately drama from the spare F. I’d taken the approach of downgrading my involvement to a casual kinky friend – I even described myself to her as ‘I’m like his mum’. But the next morning she flipped out and ran away, saying “I don’t care what you call this, this is a relationship!”
I’d been text chatting to another guy on my phone while he lay in bed watching football. To this day I’m not sure what it was that upset her, but to the extent she was upset, I am sorry. I’ve learned to value the girls now a lot more than the men. It never was officially a relationship. Though we were fond of each other, I think, it was always just a game of cat and mouse. When one stepped forward the other would step back. It worked only when it was light as a feather.
We decided to take charge of things, and step up once again, by arranging our own parties. The first was just 3 couples in a restaurant, followed by a hotel room. The girls were beautiful, the boys were delightful. We discussed strategy throughout the night to seduce them all, and get them upstairs. Our clandestine planning was the main part of the fun, and it is easy to see why couples enjoy it when they go hunting. But you must, must, keep it under wraps.  Nobody enjoys feeling manipulated, however Machiavellian you consider yourselves to be.
We held a bigger party, which went okay, and we achieved his first full orgy, which was one of the goals. I made crudites and cocktails, we set up a chat group for it to let the guests bond before meeting, and pretty much spent a month full time planning, organising and guiding the chat. The next morning, I sat in the bath with him behind me, while he washed my hair. To date, it is one of the most sensuous experiences of my life.
Our next goal was to ‘pick up a girl in a bar together’ – that old chestnut. Being aware of the spectacularly poor odds for this actually working, I took a two pronged approach. Firstly, I seeded every forum and contact I had made, asking if the ‘rumour’ that there was a swinger get together at the planned bar was true, hoping to spot some like minded souls at this vanilla venue, without actually promising anything. It didn’t work as well as I’d hoped, but in theory it still could. My second prong was to chat up a single girl with experience on the scene, and get her to meet us at another bar afterwards. This actually did work, but not in the way I expected.
We sat having cocktails, awaiting her arrival. She had messaged me to ask if she could bring some friends. ‘The more the merrier,’ I said.

She showed up with perhaps fifteen people, including two attractive single girls. One was a European blonde, who she was all over, and she had 2 guys she kept with her through the night, who were all over the both of them. I had unwittingly invited a ‘queen bee’.
Queen bees are a common phenomenon on the scene, and I find them tiresome on the whole. They generally do a fair amount of cocaine, and the buzz they get is from being the alpha female, controlling everything (especially the other women) and basically establishing their dominance socially. They do not make a good spare F, unless the primary female is really ready to relinquish any element of control. Furthermore, in this case, she had brought a pack with her, and showed little to no interest in us all night, nor to the other single girl she’d brought, who had in fact asked her if she could bring a friend along and been told no! Fate has funny twists and turns though. My partner in crime and I seduced this other girl, with him leading the way and me giving her passionate kisses during the night, and, as expected, downplaying my involvement. We went back to her place. As well as giving the best blow job I have seen in my life, she was actually a pretty amazing person. She was smart, and funny, with an impressive air about her that I hadn’t noticed earlier. She was also highly organised and knowledgeable. We had a threesome in the shower, and her skills with women were excellent. A while later, we decided to do another party- a bigger one- and I suggested we get her on board. It turned out to be an amazing decision. Our little sexual threesome had turned into a cerebral and organisational one, and our new female was astounding at it. I think most of the twenty five attendees were thoroughly in love with her before they ever met her at the party, as she led the kik chat with a sexy, naughty streak that was both hilarious and endearing. She came across like a little 1950s housewife nympho by text, and everyone was absolutely addicted to her. We have played together many times since, and her friendship has far outlived that of the male in our party triad. She became my first, and lasting female friend on the scene, and for that I can never thank her enough.
One thing led to another, and one night I woke up and looked across from me at the sleeping face of my male partner. It was absolutely beautiful. “Shit,” I said to myself, knowing it was the beginning of the end.
The mask I had given him at the first party had been used a few times. One night it rained heavily and the mask broke. “That’s a bad omen,” he said. He was right.
He pulled away, I tried to pull closer. It’s an age old story. He cut me off in my hour of need, I had no-one to turn to but my new female friend. Fortunately, it seems to happen that once you find one friend, its easier to find another. And just at the point it seemed I had lost my partner in crime, he was replaced with a rainbow of unicorns. Single girls on the scene who were genuine, and cared about each other. Who looked out for each other. We went to parties together. We shared our knowledge. Whenever a new guy would pop up, the girls would instantly check with each other if anyone knew anything about them.
-Married and cheating
-Doesn’t look like his picture
-Gets too drunk
-Never shows up
-Yeah, that one is okay
And so it goes on. We became more than a herd of gazelles facing out to the predators. We became a hive mind of facts. We became in control of the events we attended. We agreed our own rules. And we made good use of the reason this blog doesn’t need to cover finding MFF as a female- you just grab another unicorn and take your pick of the men. I’ve yet to be told no by any. A strong female to female bond, although it might not be romantic, is enough of a connection for nobody to be the spare F in a threesome. If anything, the guy becomes the sex object. There are a hundred stories I could tell about the fun with the unicorns and the vast amount more I have learnt with them than I ever did before. Yet we are not unconquerable.
Your typical unicorn (perhaps myself excluded), believes in love. She thinks of it as try before you buy. She believes that one day, she will meet a guy on the scene, have great sex, and start a relationship with him, where she will move from being the secondary, to the primary F. Single males on the scene are oblivious to this. They come for casual sex, and when they want a girlfriend, they will leave and find a vanilla, existing on the spank bank of their memories for their sexual excitement. Because, for the male mind, it seems we are tragically forced to be one or the other- the hot sex, or the good wife. Whereas all women are really both.
So why are the unicorns doing what they do? If they want a boyfriend why don’t they just go vanilla and put it all behind them? Because we are who we are. We are what we have become. If our journey doesn’t change us we were never an explorer, merely a tourist. We have spent from months to decades, doing what we do. And we can’t put away half our personality, discard our friends, regain our innocence and un-break our hearts, to pretend to be somebody else. We want it all. We are exquisitely beautiful, to those who know how to see us, carved through our experience the way a diamond in the rough can be cut without shattering, to become a glittering gem.
When people on the scene ask me what I’m looking for now, I don’t know what to tell them. I don’t know how to phrase it in any way they are going to understand.   I feel like an ethnographer, gone native.  I am looking to continue as I am without being forced to change. I am looking to expand my adventures further. I am looking for someone I can learn from. We all look for someone we can admire and adore, and that is a rare thing for us unicorns to find.
My love for the unicorns, their passion, bravery and support, their open mindedness, kindness and intelligence, is what inspired me to write this blog. They deserve better than the way they are treated – hunted, discarded and used. They are some of the most impressive, independent women I have ever met. They are my first true love, my relationship, my solace and my companions.
For we are the lost, and the found. We are the triumphant in defeat. We stand alone, yet together. You cannot hope to comprehend our motives for what we do. But unless you can fill our needs, as we see them, we will walk away from you. We are the educated, the sexual, the id and the cerebral. We are anything but a naive plaything to prop up your ego and grant your simple sexual desires. We are the empowered, yet spend our lives grasping for meaning and identity. We are denied love. Yet we are not different from you- we are the same as your primary female, in essence, though our stories may be more filled with more twists. We are Lazarus, returned from the dead. You will not hurt us, you will only insult us, or amuse us. When we are together, we are a powerful army of collective knowledge and experience, that you cannot hope to replicate as a couple. What we want from you, is your respect. We want to be treated as a complete person, not a reductive archetype. We want to be seen as your equals.

Happy hunting, my ducklings xxx

I heard you're a player. Nice to meet you, I'm the coach. Picture Quote #1

2 thoughts on “Sheep turned wolf turned shepherd My story: how you know I’m not talking out of my ass.”

  1. Hello,

    Fabulous blog. I have spend much of the afternoon lost in it when my mind should most definitely be elsewhere.

    I’m leaving a comment on this particular post because — despite all the others being wonderful — this one, the ‘smug bio’, seems to strike a particular chord. Maybe because it’s more about you, and about how you got to here, which thus means it’s arguably the post that is the most three-dimensional? I don’t know. Maybe I was just distracted by your own tales, but that seems so base. I wouldn’t like to commit to any one reason in a first comment. Early days, as it were. Thoughts sometimes need time to find their cause, meaning and soul I guess?

    You write wonderfully and are eminently quotable: “If our journey doesn’t change us we were never an explorer, merely a tourist” should arguably be a guide for life as a whole. Meanwhile: “There was no drama. It was a sensuous, primal experience one could be lost in for days, all thoughts of daily life, responsibilities, anxieties, anaesthetised by pleasure” brings me not only hidden internal smiles of both great times and even greater friends, but maybe a little melancholy. Or maybe that’s just me. I could go on, but then I’d be here all night as well as all afternoon.

    Anyway, keep writing.

    F.

    Like

    1. Thank you F. It sounds as though you might have had some similar experiences yourself? I’m doing a few more chapters before compiling as a book. If you have any quotes of thoughts I’d be happy to include them?

      Like

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