Episode 99

Good morning, good afternoon, good evening. Wherever you are I hope you have blue skies, a breeze on your back and sand between your toes. Welcome to That Other Lifestyle podcast. I am your host Jayson, leave Vanilla behind we continue the adventures of Steve and Rebecca, the newbie couple from the Cucumber story.

This show is for adults only. We will talk about sex, relationships, the lifestyle, and Ethical non-monogamy in an honest way with lots of real talk. If you are under 18, this is your only warning to go find a different show right now. Around here, on the beaches of sex freedom, consent, education and good times, everyone is welcome, lifestyle, vanilla or the curious. Whatever your gender identity, expression, truth, flavor you are welcome here. I do my best to use inclusive language, though you may hear words like husband or wife or man or woman to keep things simple.

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Suitcase wheels fight over the carpet mat at the entrance of the hotel lobby. Steve yanks and pulls the bag, trying not to draw attention to himself in the packed lobby. Rebecca is three steps ahead of him, taking in the wonder of their first hotel takeover like a kid at a theme park.

Clusters of people who are friends, former or future lovers and those scoping out the crowd pack into the lobby, people unsure where to go and wanting to connect early before the party tonight. Temporary words of friendliness hoping to connect later tonight in horny passion. Rebecca strides straight to the front desk because that is what is done, though she does not actually talk to the clerk. It is on Steve to speak when he arrives a few steps behind her. It is on Steve to hand over his credit card and driver’s license with his name to the woman behind the front desk who knows exactly what they are doing here tonight, exactly what they are in this moment.

Steve fumbles with the luggage, his car keys, his wallet while commencing the transition with the clerk all the while Rebecca is elbowing him for attention.

“Look, that’s the couple we saw at that meetup. We need to talk to them again. Oh and look at her shoes.” Gesturing to a different woman, Rebecca is mumbling half to herself, making mental notes, making assumptions about others, creating her own landscape while Steve tries to control his own.

“Remember what we talked about.” Steve responds.

“I know. I remember.” Rebecca answers.

“Repeat it back. What are the rules tonight?” Steve asks her, now fumbling with the newly added hotel keycard to his inventory, sliding out of line, away from the knowing hotel clerk and her imaginary judgement.

Rebecca gives an exasperated sigh. “The safe word is cucumber. I won’t run off, again. We stick together. And we won’t fuck anyone tonight.” She answers him then adds a “Maybe.” With a smile.

“Good.”  Satisfied, Steve yanks on the suitcase, closer to his body, sliding the keycard into his wallet, checking for his car keys again, lost in his thoughts of organization, he is oblivious to the couple that approaches. It is a dark haired woman with bright red lips, her top barely containing artificially augmented breasts. The man that stands next to her is wider than he is tall in a cowboy hat. How does someone so big move so quietly is the first thought that flashes through Steve’s brain.

The cowboy extends a large, fat hand towards Steve.

“Hi I’m James. This is Mary.”

The first word out of Steve’s mouth is What followed by a simple. “Oh hi.” Annoyed at these two intruding upon his attempt at regaining his composure, Steve instinctively grasps the hand that is offered. The man squeezes Steve’s hand painfully, collapsing Steve’s fingers into a cone. Steve fights back the urge to show any pain in his face. Large fat fingers curl around Steve’s hand, tentacles of diabetes and high blood pressure gripping down to bone.

“Steve nice to meet you.” Steve pulls his hand back away from the pain. He wants to soothe it by rubbing but does not want to show a sign of weakness to the cowboy who would break the spine of any horse he tried to ride.

The tall Mary gives Rebecca a simple hug, no reaching, all shoulder contact. Steve offers his now aching hand and Mary thankfully does not try to break his hand with her grip.

“Haven’t seen you two around. Is this your first time?” James voice booms at them with a thick southern accent, lots of drawl at the end of the words. Rebecca smiles and answers, “Yes this is our first takeover.”

“Good. We like fresh meat around here.” James laughs.

“Don’t mind him. He tells everyone that. We love newbies.” Mary speaks, a heavy Northeastern accent, diametrically opposed to James, strange for this part of the country.

James notices the keycard in Steve’s hand and asks, “So what room are you two in? We might want to stop by later.”

Steve blurts out 223 without thinking then regrets saying it, visions of these two showing up at their room in the middle of the night, naked, drunk and horny, demanding sex fly through his brain.

“223. I will remember that. Hope to see you two later tonight.” James winks and does a finger gun at Rebecca.

Steve is uncomfortable now and breaks the conversation. “Well we need to get to our room.” He does not offer his hand again.

“Oh yes. Of course. Nice meeting you two.” Mary catches the hint.

On the elevator ride up, Rebecca finally speaks. She laughs and says, “We are not fucking them.”

Steve responds with a simple “Deal.”

Swingers are packed into a little box. More people pressed together than should be legally allowed in an elevator, all in a hurry to get downstairs. Steve pulls Rebecca close, resting a hand around her waist, fingers flicking the sequins on her dress. Rebecca waited until the last minute to decide on her outfit tonight. Unsure what the theme of Naughty Sparkles meant, she opted for a silver sequined dress, unsure of what to wear under the dress, unsure if it would even fit right, the previous hour in the hotel room was stressful.

The group is vomited out into the lobby, each taking turns to exit, look around then follow the arrow placards towards the ballroom, around the corner from the lobby. Rebecca can hear the music pulsing through the walls, dancing and walking at the same time. Steve wonders how anyone can sleep at these events, imagining the whole hotel can hear the thumping bass. He thinks about the highway outside when they pass the glass front doors, do those vanilla people on the highway know what is happening here tonight?

Steve feels the crowd around him, pressing, moving, though his eyes can barely focus on any one person or couple as Rebecca speeds towards the ballroom, towards sound, towards action, towards a line. The line to enter the ballroom, controlled by one person checking tickets, the ride attendant for the heathen express. Steve is thankful for the line because now he can catch his breath. The delay flusters Rebecca who decides to burn off the annoyance by dancing in line to muffled music. She smiles at him, gives him a flirty nudge with her shoulder, more correction than implication.

“You have resting bitch face again.” She scolds him.

“I know. I’m working on it.” Steve answers, forcing a smile on his face.

There is a counter flow of people, one line waiting to get in and another flow of people heading back towards the lobby and their rooms and the bathrooms. The population split between those who have bright pink wristbands and those who don’t.

Steve nods ineffectually at the couples as they pass, making sure to give them a smile, taking notes of the outfits, their own interpretation of the theme tonight. Some couples match Steve and Rebecca’s energy, fancy, dressed up. Others go to the other extreme with rave clothes, sparkly and strappy for the ladies and the men attempting to mirror them.

 A muscular man dressed in a stripped fur coat, no shirt, silver pants snakes through the crowd, loudly talking to his wife in a bright red wig. Steve notes the look in his eyes, annoyance maybe, determination possibly. He averts his eyes because the man blurts out, “Fuck that. My dick doesn’t work after midnight,” and his wife, dressed as a fox, her response, “That’s why you can’t get laid. Ass,” before they disappear around a corner. Steve is confused why a man would yell that out and admit it in front of a collection of swingers.

Another couple walks past dressed as aliens, another in matching red outfits, a woman with pasties and a thong hugs a middle-sized redhead woman near Steve that causes him to side step out of their way.

Steve is still smiling though, however forced. His smile stops a couple in their tracks. They feel the attention coming from Steve and Rebecca like a psychic beacon. An older man, gray hair, wearing a white suit and a gold chain stops and smiles back at Steve then flicks his attention at Rebecca. Leathery chest skin showing through his shirt. His date follows his gaze and smiles at Rebecca.

“Well who do we have here?” Stopping mid step, the man makes a grand gesture towards Rebecca, his words tinged with a vaguely southern accent, the kind that is hard to place.

“Oh hi I’m Rebecca and this is Steve.” She smiles at the attention. The first direct attention she has received today.

“Well, aren’t you beautiful.” The gray-haired man steps close to Rebecca, wraps his arms around her. His body heavy against hers. Ron then licks his lips, first the top then the bottom, wet tongue ready to lick a stamp, then plants a kiss directly on Rebecca’s mouth. There is no time to stop him, no time for Rebecca to decide if she wants a kiss. Shock at the action maybe, like the shock on Steve’s face. Ron detaches, takes Rebecca’s hand, pulling her out of line a few steps away from Steve.

“Let me look at you.” The man spins Rebecca around. “That dress is lovely on you. Isn’t it honey?” His wife chimes in a yes then offers their names, Ashley and Ron.

“Oh I like this one. Honey I like her.” Ron continues looking Rebecca up and down. Ron opens his arms and wraps them around Rebecca, letting his weight destabilize her stance.

“She is so cute, isn’t she?” Ron asks his wife. “I would love to take her out on the boat.” Rebecca laughs through the affection, words not quite connecting in her mind under the onslaught.

Ashely giggles at Ron’s display of affection for Rebecca. Steve feels small in that moment and steps closer to his wife. Recognizing he is being shut out and per the conversations he has had with Rebecca, he asserts himself.

“Hi, I’m Steve.” He sticks his hand out, forcing Ron and Rebecca apart. Ron smiles big, takes Steve’s hand and shakes it hard with both his hands, the handshake of a televangelist shaking down a parishioner for money. Those hands are warm and too soft, nails a little too long.

“Nice to meet you, Steve.” Ashely looks Steve up and down, gives a curt nod of acknowledgement, little else.

“Steve.” Ron says the name with a long S sound. “Steve you are a lucky man. I can tell she is a firecracker. Makes me wonder what you have on under this dress.” Was that question? Steve knows the answer but doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s my secret.” Rebecca answers.

“I like secrets. I would love to find out later.” Ron presses, smiles, teeth too white. Turning to Steve he asks, “How did a woman like this end up with you?” Ron throws the words out and gives Steve a pop on the stomach for good measure. Despite Steve tensing his core to brace for it, Ron’s fingers still land in the squishiest part of Steve. Tips to fat.

“All personality.” Steve answers, a trained answer, unsure of what to say to that question which has come up before.

“Must be. Steve, you need to come to my gym in the morning. This hotel has a wonderful gym. I bet I could teach you a few things.” Ron gives Steve a slap on the shoulder, unexpectedly that shifts Steve’s center of balance.

“Ron is a personal trainer. He always wants people to come work out with him.” Ashley adds, “You know if you don’t like the party downstairs, we always like company in our room.” Steve notices Ashley wink at Rebecca.

“Oh. We could stop by later.” Rebecca agrees, she is now unsure of what to say. Unsure if this is platitudes or a commitment on her part.

“Well we know a couple, Dan and Maria, you two would love them. What’s your dynamic?” Ron asks, taking Rebecca’s hand in his.

“Not really sure. Still feeling everything out.” Steve feels the conversation shifting and remembers their rules for the night. Is that disappointment in Rebecca’s face? Resignation? Steve can’t tell from this angle.

“Oh well if you change your mind tonight, find us.” Ron replies. “We should hang out sometime.” Ron presses for connection with Rebecca while letting his hand stroke down the front of her body, feeling the sequins, feeling her. Wanting more from Rebecca, wanting this minute of conversation to mean more later.

“Come on dear. I need to change my shoes. These bitches hurt. You two look lovely. We will find you later Rebecca.” Ashley tries to pull Ron away from Rebecca.

“Yes. Definitely.” Ron leans in for another kiss and Rebecca turns her head this time, his lips planting on her cheek. She lets Ron’s hand drop from hers as Ashely pulls him away.

Steve looks at Rebecca. “What the fuck was that? You let that guy kiss you?” He asks through clinched teeth, hoping no one could hear him.

“He went for it. I don’t know.” Rebecca stammers then laughs it off.

“Telling me I need to work out. Asshole.” Steve huffs.

The room will burst soon from the ionic swinging assembled here in the pulsing nucleus of the takeover. An upscaled high school prom, decorations haphazardly taped and stapled on the walls, a DJ that can barely carry a beat in a bucket pumping up the protons in the room while the neutrons stand in the darkness beyond the dance floor, too cool to dance or socialize, hoping to be magnetic enough to attract attention.

Through this human haze, Rebecca scans the room and locates the bar set up on the far side of the room.

“I need a drink babe.” Rebecca tells Steve, pointing across the gulf, past the dance floor, to a corner of the room. Steve nods and follows her, holding her hand as she weaves through the people. They pass the old, still charged, the young, looking for bonds and the middle aged, bending to the gravity of the night. The responsible adults who assemble here under flashing disco lights, dancing on a temporary dance floor, being unresponsible. In this room are teachers and doctors and lawyers and whatever project managers do. Upstanding members of the community that could be sitting next to anyone on the train or church, silently vibrating to a different polarization of life. Steve loves that idea about all this. The mixing of people, the vibe, the shadow side of regular life.

They approach the bar and are met with another line. Steve laughs under his breath realizing what the bar really is. A folding table packed with bottles while a man behind it frantically tries to keep the drink coming in the corner of the dark ballroom. He has on a name tag, though it is too dark to read it.

Rebecca, never one to miss a chance, starts to dance in the line doing a mostly hip centric shuffle to keep her own energy up. Steve stands still, silent watching and taking in the crowd. To entertain himself, he creates narratives around the couples that pass by. Bet that one is a stag/vixen he thinks based on the obvious age difference. That other couple, that woman is very much a librarian. Bet she will get airtight tonight. A short brunette with a pretty smile walks past dressed like a neon fairy, her husband not dressed up at all, both of them oblivious to Steve.

“Hey. RBF.” Rebecca scolds him.

“Yes. Sorry.” Steve replies, again forcing a smile onto his face.

“Good.” Rebecca tells him. On the drive over, Rebecca implored Steve to have fun or at a minimum to pretend. He agreed and part of the agreement was to control his resting bitch face for the night. His slack expression is not the lack of fun souring his facial muscles, he allows himself to be hypnotized by the pulsing sound and lights, his mind becoming ionized to the environment.

Rebecca’s voice snaps Steve back to reality.

“I love that.” Rebecca yells out.

Steve blinks, trying to get his bearings and figure out who Rebecca is talking to, who her attention is centered on. Three steps away a woman in white angel outfit with a cape for wings, stops and smiles at Rebecca’s compliment.

“Thank you.” She replies doing a cute curtsey for added effect.

The angel steps closer, conversation igniting between them. Steve can barely make out the words. Something about where the outfit came from, why she wore it, how it ties back into the theme for the night. The words don’t matter to Steve, joy fills the vacuum inside him at the prospect that maybe Rebecca made a new friend. She needs friends in the lifestyle, he wants her to have friends in this. A secret desire he keeps even more hidden than his own desire to try hotwifing.

Cutting through the static of pineapple fun, a man approaches with an air of contempt. A sour look on his face, framed by a heavy artificially black beard, wearing a backwards baseball cap. Steve can’t make out the true color of it, can’t identity the association with a team or a sport due to the distorted colors of the room. The looming figures blue jeans and plain t-shirt seem oddly out of place here, like a dad who wandered into this space after getting lost on his way to the hardware store. A nondescript man that could be walking through any parking lot carrying a piece of lumber.

The man does not acknowledge Rebecca or Steve at first. His eyes scanning the room above and beyond Steve, like he is looking for his missing wood. Baseball cap man places a hand on his wife’s back to let her know she is there, she looks over her shoulder, smiles, acknowledges his presence then returns to Rebecca. Steve feels uncomfortable under this man’s gaze, judgment and distain possibly. The room smells heavy of perfume and bodies though Steve’s nose is filled with the phantom scent of gasoline and grass.

Steve is unsure what to do next though Rebecca’s attempt to make a new friend gives him courage, courage enough to stick out his hand and offer, “Hi, I’m Steve.”

The man shakes Steve’s hand, rough hands, no squeeze, a limp rough cold steak slapping against Steve’s hand. The man nods once and yells out “Garrett” over the music, standing two paces away from Steve, no attempts made to close the gap on Garrett’s part.

Steve takes a step forward, a measured step, half way. “So is this your first time here? This is our first time.” The overture lands flatly.

“No we come here all the time.” Garrett answers back. His tone is clipped at the end, letting the words feel expensive and a waste of time, a weed eater slicing errant grass then moving on. No time to linger.

Steve nods, unsure how to proceed. “So I didn’t catch your wife’s name.” Steve tries again to launch a conversation, trying to yank the lawnmower engine to life.

“Tiffany.” Again Garret makes the words sound like they are costing him for each syllable.

“Okay cool. That’s Rebecca.” Steve points at his wife. Garret nods and continues to scan the room for something or someone. Steve is not sure. Who is he looking for?

“Do you want to cut in line?” Steve offers to Garrett since the line for the bar is now considerable, the poor bartender swamped. Garrett raises his hand to say no or maybe to end the words. Steve nods.

“So where are you guys from?” Steve asks a fourth question, at this point desperate to match the conversational energy of the wives.

Garrett perks up, not at the question Steve asked but at the something or someone he was scanning for this whole time. “Hey come on.” Garrett tells his wife, punctuated by tugging gently on her angel wings. He takes a half step backwards, not turning but also not looking at Steve. The angelic wife smiles as she is pulled away from Rebecca.

“Oh okay. Nice meeting you.” Tiffany waves as she is drug away somewhere else, some other conversation, some other thing that is more important to Garrett than Steve.

“She was so nice. I didn’t get her number.” Rebecca turns to Steve as they finally reach the bar.

“That guy was a dick.” Steve tells her then asks the bartender for two margaritas.

“What. No. She was so nice.” Rebecca replies.

“He didn’t talk to me and then he straight up walked the fuck away when I tried to talk to him.” Steve takes the drinks from the bartender and hands one to Rebecca.

“I thought they were nice.” Rebecca again replies then sips her drink.

Steve sighs hard in the bathroom, this oddly quiet space. The music is dim here. The cold tile walls drink in the heat of the night, locking it away, giving him sterile peace. He stands in front of the urinal, his nerves too high to allow himself to relax and pee.

Uncomfortable thoughts cross his mind. Will Rebecca wonder why it is taking him so long? Is she done already and waiting for him? What if she starts talking to someone she doesn’t want to? How much longer do they have to do this? What if someone walks in and knows he can’t pee. Steve sighs and tries to relax.

And his sigh is interrupted by the door opening again. A loud man comes in. The man in the fur coat he saw earlier. Hulking and looming out the corner of Steve’s vision. Shirtless in silver shorts. The man is muscles, solid. Steve assumes much about this man. The muscles denote vanity, the air of arrogance and annoyance radiating off him. Bet he is an asshole Steve thinks. No one who looks like that is ever nice.

The fur coated man pushes into a stall and groans loudly.

“Fucking hell. I want to go to bed.” The man proclaims from the stall making Steve wonder if he is doing it for an audience or is just the kind of man who yells in bathrooms. Steve kicks himself, he should have taken the stall instead. Unsure what to do since normally men don’t talk in the bathroom like this, Steve yells out, “Yeah I know what you mean.”

Steve begins to pee, his words causing his body to relax enough.

“Why can’t we start these damn parties at noon?” The other man yells out then joins in a chorus of liquid splashing.

“Yeah I know. It’s getting late.” Steve replies, shaking himself and buttoning his pants.

“Late” is when all the weird shit happens. Just have to stay awake for it.” The man yells back through the stall door.

The men converge at the sink. The man in the fur coat pumps out nine clumps of soap and washes his hands with the attention of a surgeon. Feeling the societal pressure, Steve pumps out one dollop of soap and washes his own hands.

“Fucking germs everywhere.” The man throws out to Steve when he notices that Steve notices the way he is washing his hands. “The swinger flu is real.”

Steve nods and chuckles. “What is the swinger flu?”

“The swinger flu. An unclassified virus, unknown to science. Everybody gets sick after these things cause they make out with strangers and no one washes their hands.” The man answers drying his hands now with many paper towels. “Not me man. I hate getting sick.” He adds, throwing the wad into a trash can. “Alright back to being heathens.”

“Oh. Okay.” Steve replies opening the door for Roman.

The men exit the bathroom to find both their respective wives waiting for them in conversation. Rebecca is talking to a short brunette in a bright red wig dressed like a fox, ears and a red fluffy tail.

“Miranda!” The man exclaims. “Did you make a new friend?” He asks his wife, giving her a peck on the cheek. “Thank you for waiting.”

“No problem. Yes. This is…” Miranda trails off because she forgot Rebecca’s name so quickly. Unphased, she stops midsentence and asks, “Fuck, what was your name? I’m sorry. Been drinking.”

“That’s okay. Rebecca and this is Steve.” She points at her husband now standing next to her.

“Steve!” The man in the fur coat yells, throws his arms up and hugs Steve. “New friend Steve. I’m Roman.” Releasing his hug, he looks at Rebecca and opens his arms, offering a hug. Rebecca smiles, leans in and accepts. Roman throws his arms around her and says “New friend. Rebecca.” Leaning back he admits. “I won’t fucking remember that so y’all had better find us later and remind us your names.”

“Okay. Steve and Rebecca.” Steve points at himself and then Rebecca.

“Steve and Rebecca. Check. Please remember that for me.” Roman loudly whispers to Miranda.

“I will try very hard to remember that for you. No promises.” Miranda answers.

“Alright. I’m fucking tired. My feet hurt. I have been wearing a fur coat all night so pretty sure I smell bad. Check out is in eight hours. I am getting my money’s worth out of this night.” Roman declares to the trio.

Rebecca smiles, “I think you smell great.” Which causes Roman to smile.

“Thank you. Will you two come dance with us?” Roman places a hand over his chest waiting for an answer.

“Do you want to?” Rebecca asks Steve, unsure how much energy he has left.

“Dancing!” Steve raises his arms triumphantly, summoning what little bit of energy he has left.

“Dancing! Come on fuckers.” Roman cheers, raising his hands with Steve. The quartet heads back to the ballroom.

Rebecca joins Miranda on the dance floor close to the stage, feeling the music pound through their bodies. Steve dances behind his wife while Roman scans the room every few minutes, then returns to dancing, mostly with his arms. Steve is not sure what Roman is looking for but is comforted by Roman’s resting bitch face, happy that he is not the only one to default to a slack expression.

Roman shed the fur coat, showing off his muscles to the crowd, drawing women in to touch him like moths. Steve watches Roman smile at the attention then returns to his mostly arm dancing next to his wife.

They lose track of time, unable to judge minutes with the fractured beats of the ever-changing songs. Rebecca leans in and kisses Steve with passion fueled by the whole night. He smiles at her and squeezes her butt.

Roman grabs Miranda by the shoulders, squares her up to his face and tells her, “Alright, I need a drink.”

“Okay. Get me one too.” Miranda responds.

“Steve. Rebecca. Drinks?” Roman makes the universal sign of drinking then points at them.

“I can go with you.” Steve offers.

“Okay.” Roman responds then looks at Rebecca. “Alright this is important. Watch my wife.” Rebecca nods. “You watch his wife.” Roman then orders Miranda.

“It’s fine. Go get me a drink. Margarita please.” Miranda laughs off the command.

“Let’s go.” Roman waves Steve to join him.

They approach the bar, the crowd has thinned down at this time of night, no line this time. Those who found new friends are happily fucking upstairs. Those that gave up are trying to go to sleep. Roman orders two margaritas while Steve orders the same.

“Woo hoo tequilla.” Roman cheers when they each receive their drinks.

The men turn and head back to the dance floor. Roman notices the issue first and mumbles, “Fucking wife poachers.” Steve finds his wife and Miranda in the crowd, across the room. The two women have stopped dancing and are now conversing with Ashely and Ron from earlier. The tall dark-haired woman easy to spot in the crowd, a full head taller than Miranda and Rebecca.

“Motherfuckers.” Roman picks up his pace and Steve follows.

The men move in unison, both standing behind their wives. Roman interrupts whatever words Ron was saying to Rebecca. “Miranda here is your drink.” He hands Miranda the drink and locks eyes with Ron, the gold chain twinkling in the light.

“How the hell are you, Ron? Haven’t seen you all night.” Roman tells the man.

“Oh hi Roman. I was just asking Miranda where you were.” Ron replies.

“Oh I am here. Right here.” Roman’s eyes glitter in the flashing lights with a new intensity Steve has not seen all night.

“Ron good to see you. Do you know Rebecca and…” Ashley trails off, realizing mid-sentence she doesn’t remember Rebecca’s husband’s name.

Steve catches the slight. “Steve. I’m Steve.”

“Yes. Steve and Rebecca. I didn’t know they were your friends.” Ashley responds.

Ron says, “Yep met him in the bathroom. Met her outside the bathroom.”

“Okay.” Ashley is not sure how to respond, the word comes out of her mouth slowly to buy her time. She turns to Rebecca only and says, “Well we are heading upstairs. We wanted to ask if you had plans tonight. Would you be interested in coming up to our room? We can introduce you to our friends. Ron thinks you are very cute.”

Perceptible only to a man who has been married to his wife for over a decade, Steve feels Rebecca tense up, not in a good way at the offer.

“No. We are good.” Steve answers for Rebecca. “Going to keep dancing.”

Ashely and Ron share a look between them.

“They said they want to keep dancing. Ya’ll can go fuck around now.” Miranda decides it is time to talk using her work voice, powered by habitually breaking executives and thought leaders.

“Have a good night.” Ron tries to kiss Rebecca again, telegraphed by his lip licking. Rebecca takes a step back from him, turns her head and gives a broad fake smile followed by a simple “Good night.”

Ron and Ashley leave.

“Assholes.” Miranda shares. Steve detects history in that word.

“Motherfuckers.” Roman exclaims once they are out of hearing range. “Always trying to wife poach at these things. No body wants to fuck his wrinkly ass. Good job Steve.” Roman pats the man on the shoulder.

“Thanks.” Steve finally releases the tension in his body and looks at his wife, who smiles back at him.

Thank you for listening and tuning in every week. Make sure you tell a friend about the show. Thank you to the love of my life, my wife who is on this wonderful lifestyle journey with me.

If you want to reach out, ask a question, suggest a topic, send me an email to host@thatotherlifestyle.com. My website is thatotherlifestyle.com and the patreon is patreon.com/thatotherlifestyle. Send me a tip if you want at buymeacoffee.com/thatotherlifestyle.

My personal disclaimer, I am not a medical professional nor a trained and certified educator of any kind in any way. I am a guy with a microphone, sharing my personal experiences with you. This podcast is for entertainment purposes only and please join us for the next episode. Go to STDHero.com, use my promo code TOL15 for 15% your order and get tested.

Whatever you may do today or tonight, I hope you do it with enthusiasm, consent, curiosity and a little bit of spice. You are appreciated, loved and I will see you for the next episode.