9 - From Peer Pressure to Pleasure Pressure

You already know my husband and my BFF. So here’s a quiz: what do they have in common? Exactly—they love me, they know everything about me, and they’re both wickedly hilarious. But also this: they’re on Tinder. And I’m not.

My better female half was quick to point out that this whole experiment was about trying new things. And she was right—I hadn’t signed up for an open marriage just to play Rapunzel in her tower, waiting for a Swiss guard with a functional knee to rescue me. Long story short: I caved and made myself a Tinder profile.

How did I like it, you ask?

Well… For about an hour, I found it flattering that 26-year-olds were suddenly knocking on my virtual door, eager to get me into bed. Apparently the entire MILF thing is more than just an urban legend. But the thrill didn’t last—rapidly it became overwhelming and just plain annoying.

My husband immediately seized the moment to reinforce his argument that I am hopeless when it comes to guessing people’s ages. Just because I was off by ten to twelve years with the Swiss. I tried to talk my way out of it—“he’s just really well preserved”—but the mister wanted empirical proof. He opened my Tinder, pulled up pictures of men, covered their ages, and made me guess. Every single time I was way off—in both directions.

So what did we learn?

Age matters to me about as much as the color of my toilet paper.

Speaking of toilets, that’s where I was, swiping through men like outfits—while wondering how fast they could “deliver” and which ones might come with a return policy. Within 24 hours I’d found a guy who seemed like a sure bet: he lived nearby, wasn’t monogamous either, and our safety protocols and preferences all lined up.

We texted for a while before I suddenly got cold feet—it just felt odd to meet a stranger purely for sex. And moreover, my husband suspected that this guy was part of Tinderella’s regular rotation—basically in her frequent rider program. As usual, the hubby was right.

Which left me wondering: did I really want to share two men with this pleasant, yet unknown woman? On the one hand, fair is fair—if she’s sleeping with my husband, then I could sleep with one of her guys. On the other hand, it just felt bizarre.

Do you want to know if I did it?

No, I didn’t. But not out of moral concerns—I don’t have that many of those. We asked them: it wasn’t a problem at all—except that something had gotten in his way. Namely, the sad leftovers of a busted condom that had failed the stress test. Which benched him until his next test result came back clean.

I have to confess, I was almost relieved… but don’t tell anyone!

I’m just not twenty anymore, and maybe my sex-on-demand subscription has expired.

Back then I was spontaneous—now I’m platinum-certified and lab-approved.