I Swear We’re Not Perverts…We Just Want To WATCH Perverts

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I have to preface these texts by telling you that Ryan and I have a running joke about Anthem, this very Stepford-esque suburban “planned community”, that lies just north of Phoenix.  He claims he heard a rumor about an underground swinger’s scene that goes on up there, where reportedly, the swingers identify themselves to each other by placing purple rocks in their yards.

Ryan: Damn it!  I was up in Anthem for that service, and I didn’t get a chance to look around.

Me: You mean that, while on your way to a FUNERAL, you didn’t try and track down some swinger-sign?  What’s wrong with you!?

Ryan: We could always go back this weekend.  That’s a fun date, isn’t it?

Me: Me, you, some flashlights…good times. What do we do if we find any?

Ryan: “I’m sorry, but we couldn’t help noticing your rocks.  We were wondering how you get them off?”

Me: “No, we don’t want to join…nice cold sore, by the way, but we’d like to observe from a safe distance.  Outside the ‘Splash Zone’, if you will…”

Ryan: “Do you provide tarps?  Oh, no, nevermind, we have rain panchos…that’ll do.”

Me: Good thing I keep those in my car.

Ryan: Yeah, we don’t want anything to get stained.

Me: LIKE OUR SOULS!  Bring that vial of holy water I saw in your kitchen.

Ryan: Pretty sure that turns to vinegar the moment it crosses a swinger threshold.

Me: So…Saturday?

Ryan: Sounds good.  Bring galoshes.

24 thoughts on “I Swear We’re Not Perverts…We Just Want To WATCH Perverts

  1. Oh so much more makes sense! My last address before Yucatan, Mexico was 15th Ave. and Indian School. I did 5 years there, 20 years in Mesa (not even Mormon), and 20 years before that in Paradise Valley.. before you needed a membership card to get in.

    There can’t be swingers in Anthem! the lube would gunk up the gears on the wives.

      • Hahaha! Nah – my friend is presently “boy-crazy” on the verge of divorce and wasting no time jumping full in to the deep end of (cess?)pools like Match.com, etc. She sent me a pic that threw me into fits of “FUGGEDABOUTIT!” & “Yo! – Ant-NEE!!” (I used to live in the land of Guidos, aka Bensonhurst, Brooklyn where they filmed many scenes of Saturday Night Fever. I kid you not – I ate at the same pizzeria as Stallone & Travolta)

    • And I never wore purple socks again… Wouldn’t that be horrifying to find out that all this time, I had been inadvertently identifying myself with a sexual subtype?

  2. changeling

    The rumor around here, is that the swingers put gnomes in their yards. I can’t get anyone to tell me if my zombie gnomes qualify, and if so, do they mean special level of kink? No knocks on the door yet

  3. Having been a part of the Swinger and Bondage scenes in Atlanta a number of years ago, I can tell you–nothing makes for a great date night like pretending you and your “special friend” are Jane Goodall and Sir Richard Attenborough–true story. Though you really want to avoid the key parties. Clubs are much more exclusive. 😉

    Also, Anthem communities are creepy. My brother and his Stepford Wife (yes, we actually call her that) live in one built in another Western state that shall remain nameless…

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