…ipation. 

I know. I know the actual line is, I see you shiver with antic…

That’s pretty much my default setting anytime a meetup, house party, hotel takeover, or trip lands on the calendar. With more time between events than ever, everything feels scheduled instead of spontaneous,  which means my brain has plenty of room to go into overdrive. I plan. I replay. I overthink. I mentally write an entire choose-your-own-adventure of what might happen… usually several versions of it.

It’s not that I need to control the universe or predict every detail. I just don’t want to come across as inflexible or look like a deer caught in the headlights. Sometimes that means pushing myself out of a comfortable personality box I’ve lived in for decades. It’s not a bad box. Being steady, reliable, and a creative, committed, loving husband and father has always been core to who I am. Add to that a childhood raised in a well-attended, church-going family, and there’s a little extra internal wiring that still hums quietly with guilt in the background.

When you attend lifestyle events, you can be your true self, but sometimes I want to be a touch extra or show a slightly different side of me. Not just everyday Bruce, but Bruce with a hint of lime. Or Bruce! Now with flavor crystals. Gluten-free, pumpkin-spice Bruce? Probably not. Definitely not Extreme Bacon Bruce. Extra Protein Bruce? OK… I’ll stop. You’re welcome. 

Some may say, “Oh, I can be myself anywhere, anytime. I don’t change for anyone. You can either love me or hate me,” my response is: Good for you. I don’t change who I am either, I just choose which parts to lead with, and I still know how to read a room. And if everyone were truly comfortable being themselves all the time, why is there so much alcohol, or other mood-enhancing recreational chemistry at lifestyle events? Personalities are usually dependent on the situation, even if only slightly. People want to be known for doing something that’s fun, intentional, and confidently them in the moment. Not as, “Oh look… it’s that guy. Sigh. Well shit. Time to go.”

It’s less about acting and more about highlighting an underused personality trait or gently repressing something you’re actively working on. If it’s authentically you, it’s not a performance. But this stage of life doesn’t come with second takes, so a little preparation helps. I want to experience new things. Change is hard. That part doesn’t get talked about enough.

The upside is that I know who I am, who I’m not, and who I want to be. And honestly, who I am versus who I want to be is situational. Sometimes planning looks like deciding to wear something I’ve always wanted to try but never felt brave enough to wear, like the kilt I wore to the last hotel takeover. I’d love to wear it again.

Was it outside my comfort zone? Maybe at first, which is funny, considering I’ve been completely naked in group settings and felt perfectly normal. I guess that’s because everyone else was naked too. At the takeover, most of the guys were dressed. BDSM-themed outfits, sure, but still pants and shirts. I altered my kilt so it was more mini-kilt than traditional length. And no, I wasn’t wearing underwear. Gasp. I might have been feeling a little naughty. Would I wear that in public? Hell no. I’m not sure I would even if it were unaltered.

I could’ve kept it at the traditional length, but where’s the fun in that? I wasn’t doing anything extreme, just a little daring. Of course, before the event, my brain ran through scenarios. What if someone got grabby? What if someone checked to see if I was going commando? I even toyed with the idea of some dramatic “curtain action” where a yanking on a drawstring would reveal my butt. That design never made it out of beta testing, though I did come up with a few playful warning tags to attach to the drawstring, just in case 😉 Gasp. Gasp.

Sadly, none of that happened. I’ve had my ass grabbed more times working retail in high school than at that hotel takeover, which honestly makes me a sad panda. But if it had happened, it would’ve been on my terms. Unlike back then, when some mystery person would grab my butt in a crowded store aisle. It happened a few times, but I only ever caught one guy. I vaguely remember his face, but I clearly remember him saying, “Oh my… it’s a bit cozy in here, isn’t it?” Gasp. Gasp. Gasp. I turned bright red, ducked into the stockroom, and said nothing. I felt powerless afterward.

That was 30 years ago and a bit trivial, but I still remember it.

Maybe that’s why planning and mentally preparing gives me a sense of control or at least the ability to respond while staying present, instead of stalling out like a rusted shitbox of a car on a frozen Michigan morning.

Up until now in this blog post, I’ve mostly been thinking about how I handle things in the moment. But when you have a partner in the “lifestyle” (sometimes I really hate that term). that preparation expands. It becomes shared planning, scripting, and communication. Sometimes it even involves baseball-style hand signals, verbal cues, and subtle non-verbal check-ins. Ways to say yes, maybe, or more often, nope… Good Lord not that.

I also have to anticipate or check-in with Elise in any given situation. Other people may be part of the evening, but I’m going home with her, and she comes before anyone else (cliché pun fully intended). Is she comfortable? Is she having fun? Does she want to stay… or is she ready to leave? Is she about to surprise me by saying something completely out of the ordinary? Is she hungry? Does she want pizza rolls? 

How do I react when she casually drops a verbal truth-desire bomb… or when I hear the unmistakable sound of a zipper being unzipped? Do I duck and cover? Run and hide? Or do I stand up, turn around like a cliché action hero, and willingly step into the blast, fully aware that whatever happens next is probably going to leave me hot and with quite an impression? Hopefully with no lasting PTSD or rug burns.

Another form of planning Elise and I share is trading short what-if fantasy stories, little mental previews meant to predict, tease, or at least emotionally prepare us for an upcoming event. Like this one I wrote before a meet-and-greet we attended over the summer:

The club was dimly lit, with pulsing beats reverberating through the crowded room. Your red-headed wife looked stunning in her short, tight skirt that barely covered her ass, and a sheer top that left little to the imagination. Her long legs were encased in thigh-high stockings, making her look like a vision of seduction. She was feeling a bit awkward bopping along to music on the very edge of the dance floor waiting for you to return back from the bar.

As you watched from across the room, nursing your drink while waiting for the bartender to finish pouring Elise’s, you saw her lock eyes with a tall, tone man making his way towards her on the dance floor. He had that classic tall, dark and handsome look with a smile that gave off a vibe that she knew she could trust him. He was just the type she always found irresistible. They moved towards each other like magnets, and quickly their bodies were intertwined, grinding sensually to the erotic rhythm…

The fantasy goes on, detailing acts, emotions, and new experiences. Eventually I’d message it to her and wait for her reaction. None of my stories have ever come remotely true, usually because they’re wildly unrealistic. That may be because some of them involve magic genies or well-endowed space aliens (mostly kidding). Maybe I need to lower the bar and keep things a bit more realistic. Still, the exercise helps me process my own feelings, excitement, and insecurities before we even walk out the door.

Then there’s the other kind of story, the one that looks boring or too normal when typed out on a screen.

The Mexican restaurant was nearly empty when we walked in, making it easy to spot our dinner date already waiting in a booth. We exchanged warm hellos, cheek kisses, and grabbed menus from the waiter. Elise ordered a small margarita. I ordered a Coke. What? No Coke? Okay, a Pepsi. The other couple ordered spicy margaritas.

We laughed. We talked. We caught up. Somehow two hours disappeared in that booth without any of us noticing. We didn’t care when the music was turned off. We barely noticed when some of the lights were turned off. We did notice when chairs were flipped upside down and someone started vacuuming near our feet. That was our cue.

Since we all had kids at home, we went our separate ways. Elise and I didn’t head straight home, though we stopped at… Kroger. Because apparently nothing kills a potentially scandalous evening faster than realizing you’re out of cat food and coffee.

And honestly? It was perfect.

As you probably guessed, that wasn’t a fantasy at all. It was real life. Earlier that day, the other couple simply texted, “Hey, are you busy? Want to grab dinner?” No buildup. No elaborate plan. No dramatic reveal of a secret second location. Just dinner. Conversation. Being present. I’ll admit, part of me had anticipated a surprise destination. Maybe a little more adventure once the bill was paid. I was mentally ready and willing to be nudged. But family life at home was calling, and that matters too.

It’s not like we keep a fully stocked sex trailer/mobile home in town just for the purpose of spontaneous sexy-time. Although… now that I say it out loud, that might be worth researching.

Sex Trailer.
No kids. No pets. Just adults making questionable choices on clean sheets.

And maybe that’s the lesson hiding in all this anticipation and planning. No, the lesson isn’t about the sex trailer, patent pending. Sometimes fantasy prepares you for fireworks. Sometimes it prepares you to appreciate a booth in a quiet restaurant, a long conversation, and the fact that you showed up exactly as you are and that was more than enough.