Swinger Stereotypes Made Me Think I Could Never Actually *Be* One

More From Navigating Non-Monogamy:

The hotel room orgy was in full swing—me, my girlfriend, and three married couples double my age. If you’re counting, that’s eight bisexuals having sex in every single configuration physically possible. A woman riding her husband while he sucked a stranger’s penis. Two women 69-ing. Me in the middle of a daisy chain, getting penetrated in the rear while fucking a woman whose children were older than me. The room reeked of sex, the bedsheets were drenched in squirt, and everyone was wearing grins far too large for their horny faces.

While I don’t believe in heaven in the sky, I do believe in heaven on Earth, and this was it. At 33 years old, I never thought I’d be a swinger (by definition, singles and couples in committed partnerships playing sexually with other singles and couples). I never thought I’d travel to “swinger takeovers” across the globe to attend neon-themed dance parties and have orgies. For the past decade, I’ve considered myself polyamorous. I’ve had multiple romantic partners simultaneously and even once lived with a boyfriend, his wife, and his wife’s girlfriend. But I never considered myself a full-blown swinger, and frankly, I never thought I would.

I didn’t have the best opinion about swingers before actually getting to know them. Admittedly, I thought that as a whole they were kinda creepy, apathetic toward consent, and painfully heteronormative. It usually felt like the husbands had more control than their wives, dictating the terms of engagement, choosing the partners, and setting boundaries without equal input. I also found that most of the men weren’t bisexual like me and were often actually a little homophobic, so I didn’t feel welcome to embrace my bisexuality and hook up with men (aka suck some peen). Still, it seemed like the wives were expected to perform bisexuality for their husbands’ pleasure. It felt like a double standard.

Not to mention, I assumed that most swingers tended to be older—usually between the ages of 50 and 70. This part has been true (at least in my experience), largely because younger couples in open relationships don’t really attend events marketed to swingers (see: all of the aforementioned swinger stereotypes). Even those who technically qualify as swingers—meaning they’re in an open relationship and only play together with other couples—don’t really call themselves that.

For all of these reasons and more, I actively eschewed swinger spaces and events. Until I found a small subset of swingers who host bisexual-specific events, where everyone (not just the women!) is bi. While still plagued by some aspects of heteronormativity, there’s something about a hairy, pot-bellied 64-year-old getting railed by a fat cock while his wife of 30 years watches and masturbates furiously that dismantles the patriarchy. These bi-specific spaces tend to be more consent-forward, less gender norm-y, and a lot more fun.

I’ve also found bisexual swingers to be way more chill and down-to-earth than the poly circles I was part of. It’s not that poly folks are “dramatic” (that would be a sweeping and condescending generalization), but let’s just say I saw a lot of arguments that, in my opinion, felt juvenile and easily reconcilable. Think messy breakups and vengeful exes. Everything felt like such a big deal all the time.

I get it though. When I first embraced being poly, I felt like it was the most salient part of my identity. I felt poly first before anything else, and it quickly became my whole life. After all, you don’t have time for much else when you have a boyfriend, a husband, and three other secondary partners. I also tried really hard to be “perfect” at being poly. Unfortunately, and despite the fact that it’s 2024, polyamory is still often looked down upon by monogamists. I really wanted to prove to people (*cough cough* my parents) that polyamory is valid and can indeed work out long-term. But this perfectionism added a lot of unnecessary pressure and stress to my life. I can’t tell you how many conversations and arguments I had with my partners about sex, time, attention, holidays—the works.

None of this is to say that long-term polyamory isn’t possible. Tons of people make it work and live full, well-rounded, stress-free lives in healthy polyamorous dynamics. I loved being poly and I know I could happily do it again. But swinging—especially in the bisexual subsets that have welcomed me with open arms—is a form of non-monogamy that, at this time in my life, feels like a better fit.

Swingers don’t really consider their sexual escapades as the primary part of their identity. They’re other things, like parents, spouses, and professionals first, so they can go to events for fun, have a ton of hot sex with strangers, and then return to their regular, seemingly traditional lives. I think the fact that swingers aren’t usually “out” as swingers also contributes to this—it’s commonly thought of as a thing that you do, not necessarily a thing that you are. Many swingers have kids and traditional corporate jobs, after all.

Swingers also get to experience only the parts of poly life that they want—the sexually non-monogamous side. The raunchy, juicy, voyeuristic, and adventurous side! It is undoubtedly less emotional labor, less planning, and involves fewer challenging conversations with fewer people. Plus, swingers tend to play together. Because it’s a shared experience among couples, there’s less jealousy and clearer mutual benefits. As a result, swingers seem to be more pura vida—more go with the flow, if you will.

At the end of the day, my girlfriend and I are choosing to sleep with other people because it’s fun—it’s that freakin’ simple. We want to have a good time together, and having sex with other convivial people makes us feel happy and fulfilled and adds a little spice to our sex life. So, while still non-monogamous, we’re moving away from being fully polyamorous and instead moving toward a more traditional open relationship (where we don’t have multiple serious romantic partners but do have sex with other people, both together and separately).

Honestly, I’m still kind of shocked that I’m moving away from being poly. It’s been such a big part of my life for so long. But that’s the beauty of ethical non-monogamy—you’re allowed to evolve, and your relationship dynamics can reflect your growth. Contrary to what many might believe, there’s space for everyone here. It might take a little bit of searching—in my case, it took nearly a decade to find the bisexual swinging community—but it feels liberating to know I fully belong. If my partner or I ever want to reassess, maybe we’ll go back to being poly one day. But in the meantime, I can confidently say I’m happy to be here.