7 - First Times

The mister and I intended to try new things, but what actually came our way looked very different from what we had in mind. We’d imagined adventurous positions, exotic locations, and maybe some thrilling new sexual practices. Instead, we found ourselves talking about blood tests, body hair, and bedding arrangements.

Sexy, right?

Tinderella, whom my husband had met, was, in many ways, a stroke of luck. She’d been in an open relationship for years and came with plenty of experience—as well as established routines we could adopt without having to make the itch-inducing mistakes ourselves. She required every partner to present both blood and urine tests for sexually transmitted infections: HIV, hepatitis B, chlamydia, syphilis, and gonorrhea. It's not exactly a turn-on to demand that kind of paperwork—it almost seemed a bit German, so I liked her right away—but when you choose this lifestyle, it makes perfect sense.

And in France, this approach isn’t even unusual. As the world saw during the 2024 Paris Olympics opening ceremony, this is a lifestyle the French state seems to envision for its citizens. It’s hardly surprising, then, that the national health insurance covers the cost of these tests. Now that’s what I call tax money well spent.

A quick prick in exchange for being able to prick around later?

Sounds like a fair deal. But Tinderella had other conditions too: no hotel rooms, because they made her feel like Pretty Woman. Understandable—but the flip side was: sex in our marital bed. That was not exactly how I’d pictured things. Then again, my husband probably hadn’t pictured his marriage with me quite this way either.

So—like in every good relationship—it came down to compromise.

Ours?

Sex in our bed, but with separate bedding. My hubby now has his drawer under the bed for what we call his “fling linens.” Nothing says romance like that!

(For fairness’ sake: by now I have my own special drawer under my side.)

And then there was the matter of body hair. For us, it had never been a big deal—we’re both fairly hairless, and years of parenthood had taught us that diaper duty takes priority over intimate grooming. But once strangers entered the picture, suddenly it felt urgent. While my husband pondered the best way to shave his balls, I booked my first waxing appointment since leaving my home country.

Time for a new vocabulary list. 

He wasn’t thrilled by the idea of waxing himself, though. So I suggested depilatory cream. Depilatory cream? He looked at me as if I’d just introduced a brand-new element to the periodic table. So there he was—lying on the bathroom floor for eight minutes, slathered in cream, until his balls emerged baby-smooth.

I thought I was a grown woman with both feet on the ground—until I found myself naked from the waist down on a table while a stranger spread hot wax across my most intimate parts. It might sound like the setup for a sex fantasy. In reality, it was my waxing appointment.

Turns out, pre-gaming has taken on a (w)hole new look.