threesome

*found a disk. at work. still no time to type extensively. miss you all*

So, in light of recent cervix adventures (still have not received my results), as well as the humongous amounts of stress I’m carrying between work and school, I haven’t been feeling my sexiest. So when an invitation to a threesome (actually, foursome if you want to be technical) was extended, I shrugged it off. I hear some folks screaming and clawing at their eyes at the thought of voluntarily passing up such an opportunity (an acquaintance once lamented that he would miss his own father’s funeral for a chance of a threesome), it’s honestly nothing special.

In fact, I have quite a history of threesomes. Granted, when giving dual handjobs behind the dj stand at modern rock café when I was thirteen, I did not classify my actions as a threesome, but in retrospect I think it would more than qualify.

My first formal invitation into a threesome occurred during my sophomore year of highschool . At this time I was in a phase of born-again abstinence. I had recently had the epiphany that I was using my serial monogamy as an emotional crutch during my intense depression. Part of my quest for independence was declaring a moratorium upon dating. The result being that I dated three or four guys a year (a great reduction from my two or three a month I had previously average).

So, in this time of celibacy, I met a girl in the locker room. She was scrawny and blond and a little white trash for our preppy public school. She wore autographed NASCAR shirts and bike shorts with high tops and streaks of color in her waist length hair. She was also far from a virgin. Madly in love with her sometimes twenty eight sometimes thirty two year old boyfriend and furious with her mother, her life represented the drama I’d left behind. At one point in the semester, a preppy bitch called her a dyke while we were changing after jogging. “Bitch, I’m bi” she snapped back. There was a gasp and a few snide remarks and everyone subtly moved away from her. I gave her a smile, and said, “That’s cool.” And that was that.

A month or two later her boyfriend’s birthday rolled around. As the bell rang for the next class and the locker room cleared out, she pulled me aside. “Hey, my boyfriend and I were thinking you might want to join us on a date.” I felt my ears burn. I didn’t know how to react. Historically, I had rarely turned down a sexual invitation. To be desired was a compliment requiring the polite response of acceptance (I was a regular Heloise). But I knew this was a step I wasn’t prepared to take. So I said, “thanks, but I don’t swing that way” (an expression I’d overheard my grandmother enquiring of my mother, “does Janie swing both ways?”). “that’s cool” she echoed my earlier sentiment. And that was that, Or so I thought.

Then, prom night, I was approached by a very good friend from the class above mine. He had been somewhat of a mentor and support for me. We had participated in several theatre productions together, and I was friends with his younger brothers. He and his girlfriend, who was in my class, had been together (in an on again off again kind of way) as long as I had known him. Towards the end of the year, she and I had begun to hang out more often and it became apparent she needed a social escape outside of him. So, at prom, this guy approaches me (in my black vinyl floor length gown and grandmother’s pearls, cause I was classy like that). “So, S__ and I are trying some new things, spicing it up, you know. We have thought about this and talked about this a lot. We both like you as a friend and both have a bit of a crush on you. We were wondering if you would be interested in getting together with us sometime this summer, before we lose you to new york. We thought it might be something you could be into, or at least not judge us for the invitation.” I was flustered, but told him I’d think about it. I hadn’t slipped away with my sailor yet, plus, I liked them (I knew I didn’t want to lose my virginity to anyone I had affection for, a risk of becoming emotionally dependent and compromising the progress I had made). The result of the invitation was me making out with his girlfriend on several occasions, never with him present (I was beginning to “question my sexuality”).

So, when did I finally do it?!? Freshman year, a bottle of tequila, a carton of orange juice, a smaller bottle of gin, two male friends, and radiohead’s kid a on repeat. There were all sorts of mutual groping and spanking and drinking. I fucked them both at different points in the evening. Although they were found of each other, and would stroke one another, or kiss a shoulder or back, there wasn’t much boy on boy.

Two summers later, I picked up a lovely woman at the Sunshine theatre during a late Sunday evening show of Y Tu Mama Tambien. A week later, she met another woman at a queer ivy league mixer. The three of us hung out for pride. Then the first lady went out of town on business. The second and I went to fire island for the fourth of july, where I sucked her tits until she came on the beach at two in the afternoon. Later she returned the favor in the sunken forest, until three gay boys stumbled upon us (“oh, snap!”). So, one evening the three of us, and a friend, got dressed up in fetish gear (my first time in a corset) and strolled to a queer fetish part at remote lounge. Afterwards we stumbled into the big bed of the loft I was subletting from a professor. We were too exhausted for any fun that night, but with the morning sun came snuggling, which lead to cuddling, which lead to stroking, which lead to making out, which lead to no holds bar three way lesbian action (oh, yeah, baby). Actually, it was more like a rotating two on one (You got her tits, I’ll cover her cunt. Okay, now, switch!).

Since that point, I have been a birthday surprise (on multiple occasions), the initiator of endeavors between individuals I was dating/fucking, the guide to swinging parties and clubs, the hostess of orgies, the fairy godmother of the threesome wish your “heart” makes, and an all around group sex pro. So how can I turn down an opportunity for hot group sex? Nyah, I’d rather make chicken and dumplings and read Tom Robbins.