I’ve never really
fantasized about a threesome. I mean,
sometimes the idea of it would flit across my mind. But I would think, my god, the awkwardness
of it.
First off, there
is no way I want to be with two men at the same time. It’s hard enough taking care of one.
Two women seems
less intimidating – or three I guess, counting me. But, I’m not gay. Bi, maybe; heteroflexible more likely, or
bicurious. (I laugh self-consciously. These are new vocabulary words for me.) I’ve never been with a woman, and two seems like
a lot to start with.
So let’s say I’m
with a man and a woman. I’d be worried
the whole time about how the woman is feeling. But if I’m more interested in fucking her than
the man, will his fragile feelings be hurt?
(I plunge onward
with what I could not bring myself to write in emails.) Or, maybe . . . I’m nothing. (Oh, shit, I’m an idiot.) I mean, no offense to aces, they’re not
nothing, of course. (Ace is another new
vocabulary word for me.) They’re themselves.
But, I’m not that. I had a
libido, a big one, from the time I was very young until – what, a year
ago? Maybe two? (I trail off for a second.)
As my divorce
dragged on, and on, I couldn’t wait to get back out into the world, to finally
have good sex again after years, decades, practically a lifetime. And I did, sort of. I mean, I had some okay sex. (They already know that part – we’ve emailed
about STD’s and tests and all that. But
they don’t know the next part.) I didn’t
like the people, and it was exhausting.
If I made plans for someone to come over to my house I would spend so
much effort cleaning that by the time they arrived I would be hot and sweaty
and just kind of done; and they would want to have this whole BDSM scene, which
I had thought I wanted too, except I was just so tired . . . .
Gretchen
laughs. She reaches across the table and
takes my hand. “You don’t have to clean
for us, Amira,” she says. We are sitting
in the corner booth of the coffee shop. My
back is towards the counter, and Gretchen and Derek are facing me.
Derek fingers the thick
gold chain he wears around his neck. He
looks at Gretchen but doesn’t say anything.
Gretchen says, “If it would turn
you on, we could make Derek clean for you.”
“Really?” The thought does turn me on. Which is amazing, because how long has it
been since I felt that tingle? I take a
breath. “What about you?” I ask Derek bashfully. I am quite shy, despite the word vomit I just
spewed at them. “Would that turn you
on?”
He smiles. He is even more beautiful than his
pictures. His screen name, SilverFox8752, is completely fitting. He’s my age, mid-fifties. His skin is tan, and I’m not sure if he’s
mixed race, or middle eastern, or just actually tanned He has a great head of hair – wavy, salt and pepper, with the pepper part very
black, like Superman. His eyes are light
brown. He wears a white shirt with blue
stripes, the top button undone so that I can see a sprinkling of his chest
hair. “If it would make you happy, it
would turn me on,” he says. He leans
towards me and lowers his voice.
“Especially if you made me wear a butt plug.”
I blush. My pussy is no longer just tingling; it springs
to life. Derek leans back, giving me
space to think.
“You don’t have to
decide right now,” Gretchen says. She’s
younger than us, maybe forty, but she is very much in charge. She shifts, and I believe that she has put
her hand on Derek’s inner thigh, or maybe higher. He grunts very softly. “If you want, we can talk through what could
happen.”
“Okay.” I picture Derek in my kitchen, washing my
dishes, the buttplug making him squirm but also making him hard. I get a flash of me standing in front of him
at the sink as he grinds into my butt.
Just like Derek did a moment ago, I grunt softly.
Gretchen smiles at
me. I get the sense that she knows I am wet. I forbid myself from squirming. “It’s Friday night, so none of us have our
kids.” She looks at me for
confirmation. I nod. “I would send Derek over to your place right
after work.” She drums her fingers
together and tilts her head. “Have I
already put in his butt plug, or do you want to do it?”
“I don’t know
how,” I say.
“Okay. It’s easy enough, but I can show you another
time.”
“If it’s right
after work, I would have been wearing it all day,” Derek says. He’s not really complaining.
Gretchen touches
his gold chain. “It’s not up to you,” she
says. She’s small compared to him, at
least half a foot shorter. What I notice
most about her – what I first noticed when I saw her picture online, and as
soon as I saw her in the coffee shop – is her absolutely luscious lips. They form a perfect heart shape. Her complexion is peaches and cream, her
brunette hair short, her makeup flawless.
Her silk blouse shows the very top of the curves of her breasts. They are like porcelain works of art. I am definitely at least bicurious.
She
continues. “Derek comes over after
work. Your house is messy. You haven’t done the dishes from the night
before.” I don’t say anything, but I
shake my head very slightly. “Amira,”
she says patiently, “Derek and I have five kids between us. We both know what the house of a single
parent looks like. You will not do any extra cleaning for us, do you understand?” She won’t break eye contact with me until I
nod.
“Good,” she says. “So, you let Derek in. He’s uncomfortable. He’s had the buttplug in his ass all day, and
it’s bigger than the one he usually wears.”
She gives him a steely smile, and he lowers his eyes.
“Even though I’m
uncomfortable,” he says, “I can’t believe how privileged I am to be allowed to
serve you.” He looks up at me. “I didn’t know from your pictures how pretty
you would be.”
I blush. I think I’m okay looking for my age and my
lack of Botox. I try to exercise
regularly, but the demands on my time have shown up in my spreading
middle. I’ve let my hair grow out to
shoulder length. It’s light brown, and I
recently splurged on honey highlights. I
have hazel eyes and pale skin that burns easily. I’m taller than Gretchen but shorter than
Derek. Even though this is only a lunch
break from work, I dressed for the occasion in a cute, swirly miniskirt – not
too mini, of course, but it is a few inches above my knees. It’s paired with a low cut tank top that I
threw a sweater over while I was in the office.
This is my attempt to look like someone who would have sex, if offered
the right opportunity.
“What do you like
to do when you get home from work on nights when you don’t have the kids?” Gretchen
asks me.
I don’t want to
answer. Derek tilts his head and smiles
at me. God, he is cute. “I eat takeout and watch TV,” I say.
“Perfect,” Gretchen
says. “You’ll let Derek know what to
bring to you. You will relax while he
does your dishes. Or should he start
with giving you a massage? Or a foot rub? He’s very good at those.” I know this; it was in his profile. She pats his arm.
“No. I mean, not until you get there.”
Gretchen looks
pleased, but she says, “This night is about you.”
“I want you to be
there,” I blurt. “I want both of
you.” I will feel safer that way.
Gretchen
nods. “I’ll plan to arrive an hour after
Derek. What happens when I get there?”
When I don’t
answer, Gretchen says, “I can see your
head spinning. You’re worrying too much
about the two of us.” I nod. “You tell me what you want, and if it’s not
going to work for me or for Derek, I’ll tell you.”
I take a deep
breath. “There’s a recliner in my living
room,” I say. “You sit on it, and I sit
in front of you. You reach around and
fondle my breasts.” My breath hitches.
“I love that,”
Gretchen says. “Are we wearing clothes,
or naked?”
I think about
it. “Naked,” I say. “Derek has put a covering on the chair.”
“Very good,”
Gretchen says. “I’m behind you, and
you’re back is against my breasts. I bet
you have luscious skin.” We both smile. I wonder what her nipples will feel like on
my back. Gretchen continues, “What’s
Derek doing?”
“We’ve put up the
footstool. My feet are on it, and he’s
giving me a foot rub.”
“Thank you,” Derek
says.
“You kiss my ear,”
I say to Gretchen. “I turn my head and
we’re making out. Derek has to
watch.”
“I really want to
kiss you,” Gretchen says.
“And I really want
to watch,” Derek says.
“After a while,
Derek moves his hands up my legs. He
massages me all the way up to the top of my thighs but it’s a really slow
massage.”
“Certainly,”
Gretchen says. “When he gets there, does
he massage your pussy?”
“No. He uses his mouth.”
“Excellent, he’s
very good at that. Am I still rubbing
your breasts?”
“Yes. You squeeze my nipples.”
“And am I still kissing you?
“No, but I’m giving you a hand job.”
“You don’t have
to. You can focus on the sensations in
your own body. I can get my satisfaction
later.”
“Okay. You’re squeezing both my nipples, hard, and
Derek’s eating me. And then he uses his fingers, and . . .” I have to stop.
Derek says, “My
mouth is glued to your clit, sucking on it, and my tongue is circling around
it, and Gretchen is squeezing your nipples.
I slide my finger in and out of your pussy.”
“How does it
feel?” Gretchen asks.
“Like I’m going to
come,” I say. “Like I could come right
here, right now.”
“Do you want to?”
“Right now, you
mean?”
Derek reaches
across the table and takes my hand. Warmth
travels all the way through me. “If you
like.”
I look around the
coffee shop. No one is looking at us,
and the table behind me is empty. “It’s
all right,” Gretchen says. “As long as
you’re not too loud, no one will know.”
“Yes,” I say. “I want to.”
“Go sit next to
her,” Gretchen says to Derek.
Derek comes around
to my side of the table. I move over to
make room for him. He puts his arm
around me. I appreciate his warmth and his
strength. “Can we kiss?” Derek
asks. I’m not sure if he’s asking me or
Gretchen.
“No,” Gretchen
says. “Don’t draw attention.”
I am disappointed
but I know that Gretchen is right.
Derek’s body is blocking mine from view of anyone in the coffee shop,
and his arm around me won’t make anyone
look twice. He puts his foot on the
inside of mine and draws it toward him, spreading my legs.
“Now, where were
we?” he says. He speaks quietly, looking
across the table at Gretchen. “Gretchen
is behind you, her hands on your breasts, squeezing your nipples. My mouth is sucking your clit, and my finger
is inside your pussy. And you are very,
very close to coming.”
I feel something
between my legs. It’s not Derek; he has
one arm around me and he faces forward.
Gretchen smiles at me. I look
down and see her leg, her foot hidden under my skirt.
“I used to be a
ballet dancer,” she says conversationally.
“I’m very good at pointing my toes.”
I feel her pressing against my clit through my panties.
Derek’s arm
tightens around me. He says, “I wouldn’t
stop what I’m doing for the world. I
love the taste of your juices flowing out of you. I’m glad you made me put a blanket on the
chair, because you’re so wet that you would stain the fabric. I can’t keep up with it.”
Gretchen moves her
toe up and down. I give a small
squeak. “Of course you have made my cock
rock hard,” Derek says, “and I know that Gretchen is as turned on as you
are.” I hadn’t realized that I had
closed my eyes, but I open them.
“Hush,” Gretchen
says. “This isn’t about us.” Somehow, magically, her toe is circling
me. “You forget that we are here. You are only aware of sensation. My arms are around you. I squeeze your nipples rhythmically. Every time I do that you feel it in your
pussy.” She presses her toe harder
against me as she speaks.
“I add another finger to your pussy,” Derek
says. “Now I have two fingers inside
you.” He puts his hand on the table. I see that his fingers are big and
strong.
“Please,” I say.
Gretchen circles
her toe again, and I arch a little to feel more pressure. She moves just a little higher. “Oh, God,” I say.
“Let it go,” Gretchen says.
I do. My orgasm crashes over me. I can’t stay still. Derek’s arm is the only thing that holds me
steady. He is kissing me, and I realize
it’s to muffle the sounds that I’m making.
I come and come.
I finally calm
down. Gretchen’s toe still presses
against me, but she’s not moving it.
Derek stops kissing me. I miss
his lips. “Thank you,” I say, dizzy.
Gretchen smiles. “So, will next Friday work for you?”
