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Three's Company
Sex in the Sub-City

This column is dedicated to the late,great John Ritter


Cheap Shot of the Month
(click here for more)

I am a lucky, lucky man. I say this for two reasons: the first is because I am fortunate to be dating a great girl, a fellow artist, freak and smarty-pants to boot; the second is because the two of us have an incredible amount of things in common, one in particular that truly sets her apart: she likes girls. She could be labeled as bi, although she prefers men, but, on occasion, desires to be with a woman. And while I've dated bi girls before, none of them have allowed me to do what every man who's found himself in a similar situation slyly suggests, outright asks and ultimately begs for: a threesome. I wanted to have one, have never been lucky enough before to partake in one, and - thank you God, Buddha, Allah and the rest - finally did.

It seemed important to do it with someone we didn't know, but not a random person off the street either. We ended up inviting over a friend of a friend of a friend, someone we knew through the vast grapevine of our relations, kind-of in a Friendster, Six Degrees of Separation way (okay, we met her on Friendster). The girl was attractive, sexy and eager to meet us, so we invited her over for some drinks. We hoped that there'd be sparks, but absolutely nothing was predetermined; we would meet and then take it from there. I picked her up at the train station and walked her to my girlfriend's apartment. Much like meeting a celebrity, or when the online world enters reality, she appeared much shorter in person. But she was still cute, friendly and extremely sweet.

When we got to the apartment, all three of us sat down in the living room and rather awkwardly exchanged small-talk, none of it even coming close to anything erotic: where did you go to school? How long have you lived in New York? Isn't it cool being Jewish? etc. It wasn't until I suggested we go into the bedroom, where we had a better music-selection via all the mp3's I had downloaded (a rather obvious but, happily successful move to speed things along) that the climate of the evening changed. All of us sat on the bed, still talking, but really just sizing each other up, mentally deciding who would make the first move. Because I was outnumbered (but not outgunned), I thought it best to let the women initiate things, so I tactfully excused myself and went to the bathroom.

When I returned, it was obvious that my plan had worked: the two women were passionately going at it, mouths meshing, clothes being removed, the works. At that point I honestly needed no more; I could have simply stood there and watched these two hotties go at it all night. And, in fact, I only stepped in when my girlfriend seemed to be having some trouble removing our new friend's bra, so I happily jumped in to help. Continuing my altruistic streak, I helped them remove the rest of their clothes, and then took off mine as well. Now, all three of us on the bed, naked, grinning and beyond excited, it was go time.

We rubbed, we kissed, we licked, we spanked, we…you get the idea. As to the rest, well, let's just say it was really, really cool. I can't do it justice by describing all the details, and I'm no erotica writer. I can't even think about a "throbbing cock," "hungry tongue" or "heaving bosom" without cracking up. I will say that there were some impressive gymnastic feats, some surprises (our new friend, a recent Vassar grad and good Jewish girl, had tattoos, a pierced tongue and breast implants), and that by the end of the night everyone was pretty well satisfied.

So what did my girlfriend and I do after this? We did it again. A few days later. With a different girl. Are we sluts? Maybe. Do we care? Not at all. This time was very similar to the first - meet at the apartment, small-talk, move to the bedroom, lights, camera, action! - but the overall experience was quite different. It wasn't so much sexual as sensual. It was almost like a love-making session, as opposed to just fucking. Maybe it was because we knew better what we were doing, or because this girl was older and more gentle. Whatever the reason, I had an equally amazing, if not better, experience.

One thing in particular made the second encounter stand out for me. At one point, both women were performing on me one of my favorite things, something that I never thought needed improving. I learned that night that you can have too much fun, that there is no such thing as too many cooks, that three is definitely not a crowd. Call me slutty, call me shallow (or just call me), but having two women, well, attend to me at once was something I'll never forget.

In fact, it's one week that I'll never forget. And while we may do it again someday, for the moment, we've hung up our threeway boots. Better not to go too far, lest we start attending swingers parties, orgie fests, erotic retreats, etc. With that comes the whole personality sea change - new clothes, new hairstyle, new furniture - and, frankly, it's all a bit much. To quote Jerry Seinfeld, I'm not an orgy guy. Just a lucky one.

 

--Russ Josephs

E-mail: [email protected]




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[email protected] | December 2003 | Issue 45
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