We’ll call her Babe.
If someone asked me to list my top 3 threesomes, I’d list this one thrice.
Babe saw him (at the supermarket). Beautiful-as-fuck man. Brought him back to the party with her (like the hero she is).
When I saw him, I had to stop and do a double-take. Man was that beautiful! The second I sat down with them, Babe whispered to me behind his back “Threesome?”
“Fuck yes!” I whispered back.
My favorite part was when they both stopped and watched me touch myself until climax.
My other favorite part was the easy chemistry between Babe & me (this is many many years after the sex dream situation described below).
My other, other favorite part was beautiful-as-fuck man’s body and rhythm and dedication to a good time… (more on threesomes later).
THE SEX DREAM
I first had sex with a girl (we’ll call her Girl). I was 18, we were drunk on tequila and vodka. We went up to the roof of our building. Girl asked me to fuck her. I used my fingers. The inside of her pussy felt really good. Her pleasure looked and felt even better.
I thought about our sexcapade a lot after it happened. I wanted to do it again. But it never came up, not in a let’s-have-sex-again context anyway. I was too afraid to bring it up. I never did.
Anyway, while processing that, I started to lust after Babe. The lust manifested in an unforgettable sex dream. Her house. Her couch. I sat her down. I took her panties off. I ate her TF out.
I can still hear ALL the sounds from the dream. I committed them to memory. I knew I was too afraid to say or do something about it. Why?
Because I thought I was straight.
Babe is a free spirit. A feminist anarchist. Wangari Maathai incarnate. Peng ting. Wears her inner child on her sleeve. Always ready to twerk to a good beat. Her playfulness is infectious.
My earliest and fondest memory of Babe is her pole dancing on a stop sign, right in the middle of town during Friday evening traffic. I was 17, she was 16. The freeness in her spirit brought me such insane joy at that moment.
Probably when I started to love her forever.
Babe loves books. And Twitter.
When I close my eyes, her house reminds me of those cute little cottages we read about in British storybooks. Surrounded by trees and shrubbery. Filled with grass and flowers. And a path that leads to the river.
I love it here.
Aged over time. Like fine wine. Accepting.
Freeing. Babe is my physical manifestation of a place where I’m free to be me.
We are aware of what’s real. Our lives are full and our dreams are big. We want everything good that is owed to us in this lifetime. My path is mine. Hers is hers.
Our politics align seamlessly.
Filled with 6-hour long phone calls where we laugh and laugh and trade life and sex stories. We take our individual sex lives very seriously. If she wrote about her lovers, the internet would break.
We labor for each other, and labor even harder for ourselves.
We love a good party. Live music. Coconut rum. Wiz Khalifa. Most recently, Fireboy.
Unknown. That’s how it works.
We choose to eat life in the present with several big spoons.