Four threesomes and a funeral
In many respects I am a poster child for clean living. At the age of 25, I have never tried illicit drugs. I have never smoked a cigarette. I have never been drunk. I don’t even drink coffee.
I have, however, fucked two women at the same time.
Yes, I was in a threesome. Sometimes, I wonder why it happened to little ol’ me. It’s not like I’m a super-great lover or anything.
Well, actually it is. I can’t lie to you. I am a great lover, and I promise to refrain from further false modesty in the future.
But I digress. My threesome occurred over four consecutive Saturday nights in February 1997. Allow me to set the stage.
I had been with my girlfriend, D, for over two years. It had been a good relationship once, but it was deteriorating rapidly. Lurking in the wings was L, who had openly desired me for ages.
It all started when L, who is bisexual, told me she thought D was pretty, and that she would love to “do” her. Of course, any idiot could see this was a ploy to get to me by fucking my girlfriend. But what the hell, it sounded good to me.
Almost as a joke, I passed L’s invitation along to D. She said she’d do it! I was stunned.
Why, you ask? Why would my girlfriend invite her rival into our bed? D claimed she did it because she was bi-curious, but I eventually learned the truth. D in fact did it because for some weird emotional reason, she wanted to fuck “the other woman” before I did.
Three fairly immature people, three fairly immature agendas. Let’s recap. L wanted to fuck my girlfriend to get to me. D wanted to fuck L before she got to me. As for me, I truly had no agenda. I just wanted to fuck two women at the same time.
The recipe for a successful threesome? You decide.
So there we were in my Louis Riel apartment. My mood lights were on, my mood music was playing, and I was doing my best to get D and L in the mood. Which wasn’t easy, because D really hated L, and they didn’t have much to talk about.
Finally, the mood started to take effect. D and L cuddled. Then they kissed. Then they disrobed and slowly, sensuously, licked each other all over.
Now, at this point I committed a slight faux pas. You see, the original idea was that the sex would be strictly between D and L. I was a facilitator, a “middle man” if you will, who was not to get involved without D’s explicit permission.
But wouldn’t you know it, watching this hot, naked woman going down on my girlfriend, I sort of... got involved. A few minutes later D surfaced from the haze of pleasure L’s face was generating, and became aware that my tongue was in L’s vagina. She sternly sent me back to the couch, and she and L got back to business.
A few hours later, when we were all cuddling together in bed, I made my first official request. The vagina tongue incident aside, I had been very well behaved. Could I please kiss L? Just for a minute?
D thought for a moment, and decided it would be okay. I turned to L, and we kissed.
D jumped up and ran to the bathroom. Loud sobs could be heard. The mood was beginning to corrode.
I went to retrieve D from the bathroom. She was slumped naked in the tub, face red and puffy from crying, clutching my cherished Ziggy mug. I found out later that she seriously considered smashing it on the floor, but had wisely restrained herself from committing this open act of war.
Eventually I got D to calm down and return to bed. All I had to do was promise not to touch L in an erotic manner for the rest of the night. Things went much better after that.
The next Saturday we reconvened for a second round. A few more faux pas were made, there were more tears, and Ziggy was once again imperiled.
But the breakthrough came when I asked D to fellate me and she declined. L offered to do it instead. D’s eyes lit up with delight—now she had a willing blow job surrogate! It was a miracle! A miracle!
D was so pleased by this turn of events that we were finally able to cut a deal we all could live with: so long as I didn’t kiss L, and D didn’t have to suck my cock, it was open season. Anyone could do anything with anybody.
Thanks to that historic agreement, our third and fourth sessions went pretty well. Everyone got off several times. I had a plethora of receptive orifices to choose from. D’s crying fits in the bathroom became shorter and less frequent.
Yes, it was a great time to be me. Lying there between two beautiful women I had just fucked, I felt like a Central American drug lord. But without the guilt. It was fantastic.
Then midterms hit, and our threesome was over.
Well, that was about the end of D and me. After a two-month “funeral phase,” we separated quite amicably. D ran off with a dashing young law student, who she is still happily together with today. I ran off with L and had a torrid affair, which predictably went to shit a few months later. Oh well.
Two and a half years later, we have very different memories of our little romp. D remembers our threesome as the most intensely miserable time of her entire life, something she regrets on every level. I remember it as being pretty fun, punctuated by moments of damage control. As for L, she hardly remembers it at all. Her mental health wasn’t too good that year.
So, all things considered, I think my threesome experience was a success.
I shall close with this piece of advice: if you and your lover are on the rocks, try having a threesome. It’s the best form of relationship euthanasia I’ve ever found. •
Originally published in The Peak, July 26 1999. At this point I have been drunk, used illicit drugs and sipped coffee on numerous occasions. I still shun cigarettes, though. And so should you.
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