I pressed the doorbell and waited at the entrance to the large house. I was admiring the beautiful jasmine creeping up the ornate marble pillar when my friend's girlfriend, Tiffany, answered the door.
"Hi Darren, come in," she said excitedly with a welcoming smile. She had an oven mitt on one hand and a pair of tongs in the other, and there was a mouthwatering aroma emanating from the kitchen.
"Something smells great!" I said as I stepped past Tiffany through the door.
"Me, or the food?" quipped Tiffany with a cheeky grin.
I leaned over to smell her hair before replying with the same cheekiness, "Both!"
Tiffany laughed. "Brad is in the lounge," she said, then turned around and made her way back to the kitchen. She was wearing ripped denim shorts that barely covered her ass, and a loose fitting singlet that didn't reach her midriff. I stared at her ass as she walked down the hall, watching her hips sway side to side. Suddenly she turned around again to ask me something and caught me staring at her.
"Oh, Darren, can you... were you staring at my ass?" she asked, leaving her mouth slightly ajar and putting one hand on her hip, as if she were scolding a child. But I could tell from her demeanor that she was only pretending to be annoyed and that this performance was just more flirting. The difference was our exchange at the door was just harmless banter, whereas now I sensed a deeper sentiment from Tiffany.
"No, I was... was just..." I stammered.
To my relief, Tiffany winked at me with a devious grin before turning her back and disappearing into the kitchen before I could invent an excuse. I made my way towards the lounge room where I found Tiffany's boyfriend, Brad. I wondered if he heard any of the conversation exchanged between me and Tiffany.
"Hey Brad," I said nonchalantly as I entered the lounge. Brad was sitting on a comfortable-looking sofa, watching TV.
"Oh, hey Darren," he greeted me casually, shifting his gaze towards me only for a moment before returning to the TV. He gestured for me to sit on the sofa next to him. If he had heard anything, he didn't let on.
I sat down on the sofa and we made small talk as we watched the program—some documentary about animals in the savannahs of sub-Saharan Africa.
I'd known both Brad and Tiffany since high school and we remained good friends. We'd arranged to visit tonight to catch up before they flew to the other side of the world in a few days. Brad had accepted a new job in Sweden, and they planned to live there indefinitely so I wasn't sure when I'd have the chance to see them again. They had already packed up all their belongings in boxes and had sold their house. The house we were currently sitting in belonged to other friends of theirs who were on holidays, and they'd been asked to house-sit for them. The timing worked out perfectly so they had gladly accepted the offer. The house was huge and very clean. Everything looked expensive. I was a little jealous of their free accommodation; a mansion they had all to themselves to explore and enjoy. I bet there was a Jacuzzi tub upstairs. I was starting to daydream about all the naughty things I'd get up to with a hot girlfriend like Tiffany if I was in Brad's position when my thoughts were interrupted by the narrator's voice.
"The Topi antelopes of the savannah engage in intense orgies," the narrator said calmly over the top of a scene of wild antelopes engaged in a mating frenzy. "The female antelopes," the narrator continued, "only remain fertile for about a day, so they need to make the most of it. They will have sex with multiple partners, sometimes more than ten, and will have sex multiple times with each one."
Brad chuckled quietly to himself like an immature schoolboy who'd just heard a sex joke. Then he surprised me by asking a very direct question.
"Ever tried that?" he said without taking his eyes off the screen, clearly referring to the erotic mating practice.
I pretended to not understand the question. "Tried what?" There was a chance I'd misunderstood his question.
"You know..." he trailed off, becoming more coy with the burden of having to rephrase the question more explicitly. "Have you ever shared a girl with another guy?"
"Heh, nah," I said trying to sound relaxed and modest. In fact, I had never been with a girl. I was in my mid-twenties and still a virgin. That didn't bother me—I knew I'd find the right girl and settle down with her eventually. But that didn't mean I didn't think about girls—or sex. I could feel my penis start to move around in response to our short dialogue of threesomes. Brad knew I was single, but he assumed I'd been with girls before. I didn't correct him.
Thankfully, Tiffany walked into the room, breaking the awkward silence that had ensued. However, the appearance of Tiffany in her tight denim shorts and revealing top didn't help calm my penis or libido.
"Dinner is ready," she said, smiling at us both.
"I'll give you a hand setting the table," said Brad, getting up off the sofa to join Tiffany in the kitchen.
I remained on the sofa looking at the TV. I was only pretending to watch the documentary. In reality, my mind was thinking about Tiffany. To be precise, I was imagining myself and Brad sharing Tiffany in a threesome.
Tiffany was a natural red head and looked every part as Irish as her surname would suggest. She had very fair skin and cute freckles all over her face and arms. Her breasts were ample and filled out her singlet top attractively. She was otherwise fairly unremarkable—just a good-humored, plain-looking Irish red head. I was pondering whether her breasts would be freckled too when she re-entered the adjoining dining room carrying a dish of something hot. Brad followed, carrying the plates and cutlery. I got up from the sofa and made my way towards the food on the table.
"Smells great," I complimented, admiring the roast chicken.
Tiffany winked at me again as she returned to the kitchen to get more food, making me think back to the same comment I'd made earlier. Brad finished laying the plates and cutlery around the table then went to fetch a bottle of red wine. I sat down at the corner of the table, nearest the food. Brad returned with the wine. He sat down to my left at the end of the table and began pouring the wine into the glasses.
When Tiffany returned, holding a salad and bowl of chips, I expected she would sit next to Brad. But to my surprise, she sat down on my right, placing myself between her and Brad. That was unusual, wasn't it? Or had my recent sexual fantasies about Tiffany clouded my ability to think rationally?
I tried to dismiss the unusual decision and focus my attention on the wonderful food Tiffany had prepared. The chicken was cooked to perfection, the potato chips were crisp and golden, and even the salad looked delicious. It truly did smell great.
While we dined, we talked about the upcoming trip and what they planned to do in Sweden other than work. They thought they'd probably do a bit of skiing since it would be peak ski season when they arrived, and they had a few other places they'd like to visit. I remarked how wonderful their adventure sounded and said I wished I could join them. This caused Brad and Tiffany to pass each other a quick glance that caused Tiffany to smile for no apparent reason. Brad managed to compose himself.
Before long, we'd finished the bottle of wine and Tiffany went to find another one. We finished dinner and continued to talk while working our way through the second bottle. Tiffany was becoming noticeably more casual and flirty as time passed, sometimes placing her hand on my knee under the table when she spoke to me, as if she needed to physically touch me to get my attention. I wondered if Brad knew what she was doing under the table.
Suddenly the topic of girls came up. I was asked if I was seeing anyone and what sort of girls I was interested in. Tiffany blurted out, "Do you like Irish girls?" The effect of the wine was definitely making her more cheeky than normal.
"Um, sure, I guess," I said, trying not to sound offensive. "I love your freckles," I added, surprising myself by how much courage I'd suddenly mustered thanks to the wine. And that wasn't a hollow compliment—I really did think her freckles made her look cute.
"Which ones?" she asked mischievously, sliding one foot over to stroke mine in an overtly flirtatious manner.