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?”
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