My wife Mika and I were going through a fairly adventurous phase. Or, more accurately, Mika had decided that we should go through a fairly adventurous phase. Opening up our relationship had been her idea.
Her proposition took a little getting used to, mostly because Mika was simply bound to have a much easier time meeting people than I was.
She was spectacularly good-looking. Half German, half Japanese, with a gorgeous, friendly face and a million-dollar smile. She had jet-black hair, golden skin, visible abs, and an ass you could bounce a quarter off. Years earlier, she’d been a Grizzly Girl, a dancer for the NBA’s Vancouver Grizzlies. This was shortly before the short-lived franchise relocated to Memphis.
When we got married, she was 28 and was reinventing herself as a fledgling entrepreneur. She was all about startup life. I admired her drive, even if I didn’t share her burning desire to disrupt entire industries.
I had, however, become increasingly enthusiastic about her plan to disrupt monogamy. Not least because, against all odds, I was getting way more action than she was. Exactly why that was is hard to explain. I guess it mostly came down to me being hornier and not having a lot to fill my day with. Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop and all that.
Aside from one particularly memorable weekend-long threesome with a hypersexual hottie who flew in from Toronto, we’d mostly done extramarital sex solo. But at some point, probably at my urging, we decided to reach into the internet and pull out another couple to hook up with.
I put up a profile somewhere. It could have been Craigslist, FetLife, maybe this rinky-dink Vancouver swingers platform called Club Eden. I really can’t remember. All I know is that this was in 2010 and the smorgasbord of apps that catered to sexual adventuring had yet to be invented. In any event, I found a couple who seemed promising: Christian and Jen.
We agreed to meet for drinks at a weird little pop-up bar near our apartment in downtown Vancouver.
They were both around our age, 31 or 32, and extremely attractive. Christian was muscular, tattooed, and ridiculously good-looking, like a beefier Ryan Gosling. Jen was Chinese-Canadian, tattooed, with large fake tits. A quintessential suburban Asian MILF.
The four of us sat there making slightly awkward conversation, as you do when everyone knows the ostensible purpose of the meeting is to decide whether you all want to have sex with each other.
I could tell Mika thought they were hot but also that she was having trouble getting interested in them beyond that. She required more from potential fuck friends than I did. She needed a compelling story.
When she asked what they did for a living, Jen said she worked at Costco. Christian stayed home and looked after their three kids.
From my perspective, there was absolutely nothing wrong with any of that. However, I do remember thinking that certain things didn’t quite add up. They’d arrived from the suburbs in a conspicuously flashy car with neon underlighting and generally seemed to have considerably more money than you’d expect from a household supported by one Costco salary.
Jen went into detail about their kids’ personalities. I gamely smiled and nodded. When Mika told me on the short walk home that she found them boring, I wasn’t surprised.
Apparently I made a persuasive case for proceeding despite their lack of entrepreneurial zeal, because a week or so later they came over and the four of us hooked up.
Jen had a couple of simple ground rules, mostly concerning where cum was not supposed to end up. We used condoms. Everyone was very polite and responsible about the whole thing.
Mika was clearly getting the better end of the bargain than Jen. Christian was ripped and absurdly handsome. I was a regular, slightly nerdy guy who, standing next to her husband, looked as though I’d never set foot in a gym. This is pretty standard when couples get together. Someone ends up taking one for the team.
Regardless, I had sex with Jen, Christian had sex with Mika, and maybe the girls fooled around a little too. We even took some pictures. It was all sufficiently sexy in a seedy, suburban, seventies kind of way.
Mika’s taut midriff was still glistening with Christian’s semen when she reiterated that she found them boring and put the kibosh on seeing them again. We moved on with our lives, having concluded that group play probably wasn’t for us. We decided that, from now on, we’d be choosing our own sexual adventures.
About four and a half years and dozens of adventures later, I was watching TV when a news report came on. I was looking into Christian’s face. His ice-blue eyes. His mugshot.
Apparently he’d been on the run from police, who had finally tracked him to a house in East Vancouver. The Vancouver Police Fugitive Unit showed up with a warrant and searched the place. No Christian.
Then, a police dog named Lupo became very interested in a sofa in the living room. The cops lifted it, noticed it was unusually heavy and removed the fabric from the bottom.
There was Christian. Inside the fucking sofa. Even the police were impressed. One inspector told reporters that in 24 years on the job, he’d never seen a suspect use furniture to evade arrest.
I had some questions. Starting with: Why was the guy we’d had a foursome with hiding inside a piece of furniture from the police? It turned out our boring stay-at-home dad had been keeping a fairly significant piece of conversational material in reserve.
The report revealed that Christian was on the lam from a three-and-a-half-year prison sentence for drug offences. When I looked into how he’d gotten himself into that predicament, things got considerably more interesting.
The story went all the way back to February 2009. The year before Mika and I had met them.
Christian had been arrested in Calgary, Alberta after what police described as a targeted traffic stop. Cops found cash and ketamine in the vehicle, which led them to search three homes in northwest Calgary. There they found drugs, guns, cash and cars. And then things got weirder.
Police also seized police shirts, body armour emblazoned with the word POLICE, four sets of handcuffs, and a police siren.
Five people were arrested. Including Christian and Jen. I did the math.
When Mika and I had been sitting across from Christian and Jen, listening to them talk about Costco and their three kids, both of them had already been arrested in connection with a drug investigation involving ketamine, guns, cash and enough police paraphernalia to stage a fairly convincing fake raid.
Understandably, they hadn’t brought it up. And then we’d gone home and fucked them. Suddenly, the neon underlighting made a little more sense.
Christian was eventually convicted of drug offences and ordered to serve three and a half years in prison. Rather than serve it, he went on the lam, which was how, years later, he was found curled up inside a sofa in East Vancouver while a police dog sniffed around outside.
The short segment concluded with the news that Christian was promptly arrested and sent back to Alberta to begin his sentence.
Naturally, I called Mika immediately.
“Remember that couple you thought were so boring?”
I told her about the drug bust. The ketamine. The guns. The fake police gear. The prison sentence. The manhunt. The sofa.
Turns out Christian and Jen hadn’t been boring at all. They’d just buried the lede. Had they told Mika their actual story over drinks, I’m pretty sure she’d have invited them back herself.
