4 - Naked Truth with Champagne

How and where do you ask your partner about opening your marriage?

Is there maybe some kind of guidebook for this? – Something like ‘Open Marriages for Dummies.’ Of course, the title should have been more neutral; otherwise, the book would have already started the conversation for me. That could’ve been clever, but unfortunately it only occurred to me in retrospect.

So how did I do it?

I chose a place where I could sip some liquid courage, where we always strip down—physically and emotionally—and where no one interrupts us for a couple of hours: our bathtub.

The Sunday bath is a sacred institution in our marriage, a place of closeness and openness. Warm, bubbling water, the flicker of candlelight, the sparkle of champagne glasses—it’s all part of the ritual. This is where we talk about everything: us, our feelings, our daily lives, and our future.

As much as I trusted my husband, it would be a lie to say I wasn’t scared. You think you know your partner, and yet their reaction can be unpredictable. In none of my imagined scenarios did he leap up with a huge smile and say, “Finally!” In my head, it unfolded like a bad movie:  he would silently climb out of the tub, dripping wet, leave a trail of puddles through the house, pack his suitcase, and walk out wearing nothing but a bathrobe. My mind oscillated between a stunned, wordless stare and a disappointed,“Then let’s just go our separate ways.”

Thankfully, I was wrong on all counts.

My husband wasn’t shocked, and he didn’t want a divorce. Once that became clear, I felt enormous relief. I had dared to speak up, and my life hadn’t collapsed like a house of cards. Of course, he wasn’t thrilled by the thought of each of us having our own sexual experiences. But he understood that I had needs I had suppressed for his sake—needs we couldn’t fulfill together.

The image of him sitting in a swinger club questioning which beer to order while another guy contemplated how best to spank me was absurd—neither of us would have enjoyed that. I talked a lot, and he listened. Really listened. He didn’t judge my desires, and he didn’t belittle them either. Neither of us felt like our marriage was failing. It felt more like standing at a crossroads without any road signs—no clear directions, only the certainty that we had to choose our path together.

That evening we got out of the tub without a decision. He had listened, but I knew he required time to sort through his thoughts. I understood—after all, I had shuffled this very idea from one corner of my mind to the other for months. He needed to weigh his fears and doubts and decide whether they outweighed his trust in our love and in me.

That night, we made love, tangled in warmth, trust, and deep relief, since naked truth deserves naked bodies.