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True Stories: My Awkward Threesome

It took an aggressive bisexual and a very awkward threesome to bring us together.

by Emma Doull

There's a moment when we're all sitting at my dining room table, a bottle of wine between us, that I know what's going to happen. It's the way she holds my gaze for just a second too long, so that I dip my head, hiding bashfully behind the curtain of my bangs. It's how she takes my hand, gently, tenderly, so soft, and strokes up and down with just the tip of her fingertips. It's almost like the touch of a friend or a mother or a sister, but a little too slow, a little too deliberate. She lingers.

"That looks nice," he says, and that's when I know for sure, because she reaches out to him, and then he grabs on to me. Our hands are entwined in a circle now, all around the table, him to me, me to her, her to him.

I've been dying to touch him all night, but I've focused on her instead, avoiding the nervous giggle and rush of words that comes out when I look straight on at his brown eyes and the slight gap between his canine and incisor. Back at the bar, I looked at her while I talked to them both. I pretended I didn't hear the comment he made about liking my writing. I didn't want to read too much into anything. But now I run my fingers along the hair on his arms, so casually.

Then we're sitting on the couch, and she turns toward me and looks straight into my eyes. I feel shy and passive, foggy and drunk. This is the moment. I giggle nervously, but meet her stare. Then she descends on me, lips to lips, her hands running through my hair. He hovers behind her, eyes wide, head jutting over her shoulder, not wanting to miss a moment. Then she turns and pulls him in.

 

I never thought I'd be the type of person to have a threesome. Sure, I've had plenty of sex, and plenty of good sex, but it's always been a two-person affair. In my opinion, there's already too much ground to cover on only one other body with only two hands and one mouth. Besides, I'd never quite understood the logistics of three horny bodies. If you have two girls and one guy, won't someone always get kinda stuck on the outside? I didn't care to find out.

But last month, after a debauched company holiday party, I did find out. (The answer is yes, one person does get kinda stuck on the outside.) There was this photographer guy from work who I thought was really cute and sweet and talented, but he was shy and I was shy and we'd both just gotten out of serious relationships. It took an aggressive bisexual and a very awkward threesome to bring us together.

 

Somehow, we've made our way up to my bedroom. The lights go out, and then a candle is lit. Without a moment's hesitation, she reaches her arms up above her head, pulling off her shirt and revealing a too-tight camisole beneath. Then she's ripping off her tights and grappling for our clothing. Here's the thing: I'm not attracted to her, not at all. But I'm drunk and she's drunk and he's drunk and I really want to kiss him. And kissing him, at least in the immediate future, seems like it's going to be part of a package deal.

There's some awkward groping and making out before I realize I don't really know how to touch a girl. They're so soft and fleshy. And down there? Yikes. It's not at all like doing it to myself. The angles are all wrong, so I feel myself hesitating, losing confidence. Then I remember in a flash how she asked to borrow a tampon at work earlier that day. Call me a prude, but that makes me nervous. It quickly becomes apparent — to me at least — that he's too whiskey-dicked to take things very far.

But she seems oblivious to our anxieties. She's moaning like a porn star and grabbing at the both of us. He and I kiss each other, and that's my favorite part. Except we're not alone, and every time he and I start to kiss, she somehow gets in the middle. This is so weird, I think. I can't tell if he's into it or not. She definitely is — or is pretending to be. She grabs at my breast with one hand and his flaccid dick with the other. Then she throws herself across the mattress, moaning even louder than before. (No one is touching her.) I pause. What happens now? She extends an arm towards him and sighs his name breathily. "Come here. I want you inside me," she says.

Oh god. I have to struggle to suppress a giggle. He looks drunkenly aghast. "I don't think he can do that right now," I say quietly, but she doesn't hear me, or chooses not to. He hasn't moved, so she pulls him on top of her. He's trying so hard to get it up, but it's clearly not working. I can't remember the last time I was this uncomfortable. I duck out to the bathroom and linger for a few minutes. When I come back, they've made little progress. In the dim flicker of candlelight, I spot a bloodstain on my sheet.

The next morning is unbearable, but how else would it be? She and I have both migrated downstairs in the middle of the night, me to escape his snoring and her to escape his cuddling, or so she says. Cuddling sounds nice, especially with him, but I keep my mouth shut. He comes downstairs, hair mussed, and grabs his backpack. He's off to a photo gig. "See you both at work," he says, and I wince. She lingers for a bit. We talk about future plans, bars she wants to take me to before I leave this city. I nod and smile and say that sounds great. I know that outside of work, I'll never see her again.

A group of us gets together that evening for drinks, and he's among them. Our eyes meet for a second while we're standing at the bar. There's a hesitation — a moment where we survey each other — then we both start laughing and all tension is gone. "Last night …" I begin. 

"Oh God, I know," he replies.

I grin at him, grateful for our mutual understanding. We spend the night drinking beer and talking about our lives and plans for the future. This time, I look straight on in his brown eyes and the slight gap between his canine and incisor.

Now that it's Just the two of us, it's different. It's tender and hot. Any awkwardness is behind us, shed in the drunken haze of three fumbling bodies.

"I like your company," he says, kissing me. "Likewise," I say, and I pull him on top of me. This time, he's already hard.

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