Fears couples have when starting swinging

Written by Alicia Deroussen, founder of Adopt1Toy — honest, caring advice without taboos.

"Alicia, we'd like to try swinging, but we're too afraid of ruining everything."

A customer told me this a few years ago, one hand resting on the counter, her voice almost a whisper, as if she were confessing something shameful. She wasn't the first. She wasn't the last. Since I opened Adopt1Toy, that phrase - or something very close to it - comes up at least once a week. And every time, I react the same way: I stop what I'm doing, sit down with them, and we have a real conversation.

Because being afraid to start swinging as a couple, in this context, isn't a warning sign. It's often a sign that you're taking this seriously. And that's already very good news.

Luna — Fear is often a sign that you're taking this seriously. And that's already very good news. 💛

Are fears about swinging normal?

Swinging as a couple means explicitly agreeing to explore sexual experiences with other people, together or separately, within boundaries set by both partners. It's neither couples therapy nor a solution to a crisis - it's a practice that requires a solid foundation and clear rules established before any encounter.

No, being afraid doesn't mean you're not cut out for it. I've known couples who seemed made for swinging - extroverted, uninhibited, already very open about their sexuality - who stopped after two parties because they'd never taken the time to put what they were feeling into words. And I've known others, much more hesitant at first, who built something solid and joyful because they'd had that difficult conversation beforehand.

The fears people have before starting swinging are almost universal. A 2017 Concordia University study of couples in consensually non-monogamous relationships found that initial anxiety affected more than 80% of participants - and did not predict lower long-term satisfaction. It's not a reason to rule it out; it's a starting point. The real question is: does this fear come from a genuine desire that isn't being properly supported, or is it telling you that the timing or the desire simply isn't right? Those two situations feel completely different from the inside.

Jealousy — what do you actually do about it?

This is the number one fear, and I understand why. Seeing your partner with someone else, even in a consensual setting, can trigger visceral reactions you didn’t anticipate. People who thought they were "above it" find themselves overwhelmed. People who expected jealousy to eat away at them discover they feel a strange pride, almost compersion — the pleasure you get from your partner’s pleasure.

There’s no one-size-fits-all answer. But there’s one rule I always give: never test your jealousy in the moment without having explored it together, calmly, well in advance. Not that same evening. Not in a club hallway. Over a drink, at home, with plenty of time. "If you kissed someone else tonight, what would I really feel?" That’s a question to ask yourself before putting the answer to the test.

Jealousy also has a useful side. It points to what you need — reassurance, closeness, a reunion ritual. Some swinger couples have come up with their own ways of showing each other they’re still connected: a knowing glance from across the room that says "I’m here," a message the next morning before anything else, a tradition of having breakfast together after every night out. These little rituals aren’t trivial. They show genuine care for each other’s emotional state.

"What if my partner prefers someone else?" — the fear of losing them

This one goes deeper than simple jealousy. It’s a fear of not being enough. The fear that, after discovering other bodies, other personalities, other ways of being, your partner will realize something was missing with you. That they’ll leave. That by opening this door, you signed your own demotion.

I’m not going to tell you it never happens. It does. But almost never for the reasons people think. Couples who split up after a swinging experience generally have a pre-existing crack — dissatisfaction, broken communication, a lack of desire — that swinging revealed, not created. It’s painful to hear, but it’s useful information: if your relationship is solid and honest, swinging won’t destroy it. If your relationship is struggling, swinging won’t save it either.

Relationship psychology researchers, including Amy Moors (Chapman University), have documented that non-monogamous couples who communicate explicitly about their emotions report levels of satisfaction and trust comparable to — and sometimes higher than — those of monogamous couples. It's not the relationship structure that offers protection; it's the quality of the dialogue.

"We almost never tried it because we were so afraid of losing ourselves. As it turned out, we found each other again." — a customer, after her first night at a swingers' club

Fear of other people's judgment — shame, judgment, and what comes next?

There are two "looks" that are scary in this situation. The looks of other swingers — and honestly, you can relax, the community is much kinder and more discreet than you imagine. And the looks of your loved ones, your family, your coworkers. Those are harder to bear.

Lola — Yes! Sometimes, daring to have an honest conversation helps you rediscover why you're together. 🖤

The social stigma around unconventional sexuality is real. I'm not going to pretend we live in a judgment-free world. But here's what I've observed over the years: couples who enjoy swinging keep things in separate compartments. They have their intimate life and their public life. They don't try to convince their parents. They choose who to tell. And they're often surprised to discover that some people around them are far less shocked than they thought.

Pre-experience shame is almost always stronger than the post-experience reality. It's not an absolute rule, but that's what I see. And there's something quite liberating about realizing that your intimate life belongs only to the two of you.

What if one of us really wants to, and the other doesn't really want to?

This is a situation I see often and that deserves a direct answer: don't do it. Not like that.

Swinging under pressure — even gentle, well-meaning pressure — creates trust issues that are difficult to repair. If one of you says “yes” to please the other, avoid disappointing them, or out of fear of losing them by saying no, that isn’t consent. It’s an imitation of consent. And the difference will show, that very evening or months later.

My advice is always the same: give “not sure” time to feel free to say no for good. If you can’t bear that no, that may be the real conversation to have — not about swinging, but about what each of you expects from your relationship.

It can be helpful to distinguish between the different forms this imbalance in desire can take:

How can we talk about this together without it turning into an argument?

This is the practical question I wish someone had asked me earlier in life. Because yes, this conversation can go badly. Especially if it comes out of nowhere, at the wrong time, with words that sound like criticism.

A few things that really work. First, choose a neutral moment — not after a disagreement, not in bed, not in a crowded restaurant. At home, in a quiet moment. Then speak from your own perspective, not the other person’s: “I’ve been curious about this for a while, and I’m not sure what to do with it” works much better than “Don’t you think we need to spice things up?” Finally, let the conversation end without needing to reach a conclusion. This isn’t a business negotiation. It’s something to explore together.

And if you’d like a concrete way to take that first step — something that opens up the conversation without throwing you in at the deep end — there are question card games for couples, books to read together, podcasts to listen to together. I sometimes talk about them in the shop when a customer is looking for a gentle way in. A couples’ sex toy like the LELO Tiani Harmony can be a first shared experience to explore together — not as a prerequisite for swinging, but as a way to reconnect through shared pleasure before considering broader horizons.

First times — how to protect yourself emotionally?

We talk a lot about physical protection (and it's essential, no debate). But emotional protection is just as important, and almost never discussed in guides.

The three rules I always recommend

Before meeting anyone, there are three rules I see couples who do well following again and again:

1. Agree on a safe word together that either of you can say at any time, without having to explain why.
2. Keep an eye on each other during the evening — not anxiously monitoring, but staying genuinely attentive.
3. Plan a debrief for the next day, with a clear head, to tell each other what you really experienced — not what you think the other person wants to hear.

How to handle a first experience that doesn't go as planned

A bad surprise isn't a failure. It's information. It tells you something important about who you are, both of you, at this point in your lives. Some couples recalibrate and try again differently — by changing the setting, the kind of event, or the pace. Others decide it's not for them, and that's just as valid a decision as the opposite.

What distinguishes couples who get through this unharmed from those who come out hurt is almost always the same thing: the ability to talk about what they really felt, not what they think they should have felt according to their own expectations. The shame of "reacting the wrong way" is the main enemy here. There's no right way to feel.

The next-day debrief — an underrated tool

I repeat this because I often see it overlooked: the post-evening debrief is one of the most protective tools there is in the swinging lifestyle. Not an interrogation. Not a complaint session. An open conversation, started with something as simple as "How are you doing?" — not "What did you think of it?"

The distinction seems minor. It changes everything about the dynamic. The first invites you to talk about yourself. The second invites you to evaluate the experience. They're not the same thing.

What I know for certain, after all these years and all these conversations across the counter: fears never disappear completely before you take the plunge. They change, you learn to live with them, they coexist with desire. Maybe the real question isn't "Are we afraid?" but "Are we afraid of the same thing, together, and do we trust each other enough to go through with it anyway?"