Confessions of a Threesome

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

Author's Note: All sexual activity involves legal adults only. This story is a bit long, and it's focused more on sex and emotions than a narrative plot. If you decide to dive in, you've been warned.

***

I don't have any recollection as to how the topic of discussion turned to threesomes. Listen, it's COVID time, and my husband and I more often than not found ourselves having idle conversations where either of us were only paying half attention. Thanks to our meandering linguistics, we could start by talking about the price of bananas and end with camel spit.

So I don't remember, not so long ago, how we got to the subject of the art of the ménage. Honestly, we are very sexual and open people and had discussed the possibility of having one much earlier in our relationship. My husband was agreeable to the idea, but I was vehemently against it. "Baby," I had said, "you know I'm an anything goes (with consent) kind of person, and I totally respect the poly lifestyle and all its forms, but when I married you, it meant you were the only person I ever wanted to have sex with ever again."

"One dick for the rest of your life?" he asked with pretend horror. We both laughed and moved on. He wasn't invested in the idea either way, so he ceded to my strong feelings on the matter.

But somehow, the topic came up while we were both watching television one night and distracted by everyday minutiae. I remember absentmindedly saying something like, "When they're good, they're un-fucking-believable, but when they're bad, it's just the worst. And the odds are always much higher that it'll be bad, so it's just not worth it most of the time."

"Sure," he scoffed. "And exactly how many threesomes have you had to reach this equation?"

"Oh, gosh, I couldn't even begin to count," I replied. It took another several moments before my awareness fully joined the conversation, and I realized my husband had gone silent and still next to me on the couch. I turned to him, and his gaping mouth almost made me laugh, but I restrained myself.

"Seriously, Cameron?" he asked incredulously. I was confused by his reaction. Hadn't I told him about my past threesomes before? Wow, I guess maybe I hadn't. He never asked, and it just never really came up.

"Well, yeah," I answered hesitantly. "I mean, it was only with three couples, but it was several times with each of them. Does that bother you?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "You were just so strongly against it when we considered it that one time that I thought you were opposed to the whole idea in general."

I chuffed in relief. "Babe, that's because I'm monogamous in my relationships. If I'm single, it's a different story."

"So, you were always the third then?" he asked curiously. I nodded and knew what was coming by the look of interest in his face and that mischievous glint in his eye. One of his big turn-ons was visceral imagery. Basically, he loved when I told him things in exquisite detail. I accommodated him by learning to put intricate descriptions in my stories to get him off, and he would pepper me with questions until he had wrung every last drop of carnal information from me.

"Tell me about the first one," he cajoled me after he put the T.V. on mute, and I did over the course of several evenings. After we lied panting on the couch, our sweaty limbs entangled about each other's satiated bodies, he urged me to write it down just like I told him and "post it on one of those erotic sites, so I can read it whenever I want and know other people have read it too".

So that's what I've done.

***

How old was I at the time? I remember I was still in my senior year in high school. I turned eighteen in October, and things started around that winter. They were my neighbors down the street from where I lived. I used to walk their dog for some pocket money.

They loved bringing a third into their bedroom, and they did it all the time. I know for a fact they often had two or three women on rotation so they could indulge whenever they wanted. Isn't it the best when your spouse shares your same kinks? Mmm, I know. Their absolutely favorite scenario, they told me, was to find a bicurious female with little to no experience with other women. They didn't even mind if she was shy or nervous, the Husband said. In fact they preferred it. I asked them why, and he said something like, "Because their reticence means they think they're doing something dirty or taboo. I love to coax them to explore their hidden desires, and the moment all doubts leave and her face is showing ecstasy from what we're doing to her body is better than any drug." Well, they used to find partners most of the time in bars or at parties, things like that. Back then, dating sites and personal ads still had the stigma of being only for losers or predators. No, they weren't predators! I don't know, they were probably late 20's or early 30's. Ugh, stop. Listen, even with the hindsight of all those years since, I can tell you they weren't predators. Respect and comfort was their utmost concern with me.

Anyway, my situation with them was unique in that I was much younger than what they gravitated to -- yes, I believe them! -- and that they're weren't picking me up with my awareness about what was going to go down. They decided to seduce me, slowly and carefully. And if at any time I expressed denial or discomfort, they'd back off and abandon the idea.

Lucky for them, they picked the right girl. I told you before I knew early on how sexual I was. I wanted to experiment with so many things, but I lacked experience. I mainly had fantasies to sustain me. At that point in my life, I had only slept with my boyfriend. We had broken up a few months previously when he went off to college. We were both virgins, and it was awkward at best, but it made me aware how much I wanted to explore and learn about my sexuality.

I guess I can pinpoint the first time they made any kind of move. I brought their dog back, and the Husband told me to hang out while he went upstairs to get his wallet. The Wife was watching television or listening to the stereo or something and was enjoying a glass of wine. She poured one for me and pressed it into my hands with a smile. At that age, I accepted alcohol any time I could get it, so I sipped the wine, and she gave my shoulder a feather-light touch that lingered for several seconds. It was the first time she had actually touched me, to my knowledge, but before I could question it, she whirled away, laughing merrily. The Husband came back with my money and gently touched my elbow as he handed me the bills. I moved to leave, but they urged me to hang out for a little while so I could finish my glass, and I did. They frequently gave me these brief, breezy touches while we watched a movie. They were always organically done, but each touch was to gauge, gauge, measure, see what my reaction was. I honestly didn't notice. I think I was more focused on the free booze than what they were doing. Regardless, I didn't pull away.

It became a regular thing for me to drink wine with them and watch television or old movies after I walked their dog. They were the ones who introduced me to so many classic films I didn't know about at the time and ended up loving. Those evenings came complete with the light touches and subtle bumping into my side on the couch. This was the basis of their seduction, an ascending climb with spacious plateaus on each step. They'd push forward a bit and then patiently spend time there, letting me get accustomed to the new stage, checking to make sure I was completely comfortable. So I can say this went on for a few weeks before they escalated to the first time I became aware of what might be happening.

I remember noticing a difference in our sitting arrangement one evening. I was usually sandwiched on the couch between them, but this time, the Wife was to my left and the Husband to the left of her. I did no more than make an observation before I focused on the T.V., the heavy warmth from the wine spreading through my body.

At one point, her hand rested on my knee, and I glanced over. To my shock, they were kissing right next to me. After my initial surprise, I realized it wasn't gratuitous or all that inappropriate. It was really as though a married couple was doing something that came naturally to them and, other than the hand on my knee, forgot they had an audience. I tried to afford them what privacy I could and turned my focus back to the show we were watching. After several moments, I felt the Wife shift her weight. With a sigh, she leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. "I think I drank too much wine this time," she giggled softly. Her other arm was wrapped around mine, her breasts pressing against me.

Outwardly, I made no move toward or away from her. Inside, I was frozen with the thoughts any eighteen-year-old would have. "Is she into me? Are they BOTH into me? Do they want sex? What would sex with them be like? No, stop it, you're dumb. She's just tipsy. Knock. It. Off." As an adult with experience now, I realize I didn't have the wherewithal to realize these were the wrong questions to ask myself. What I should have asked was, "Am I attracted to these people? How do I feel about them? How will things change if anything happens?" Alas, wisdom is rarely granted in youth.

As this tickertape of thoughts scrolled through my mind, she pushed back to the Husband, and I saw through the corner of my eye that they were softly kissing again. She alternated like this several times before my muscles slowly relaxed, and I eventually tilted my head toward hers the next time she rested against me. She made a small sound of contentment and said, "You're really beautiful, Cameron. I feel like you don't get told that enough." Before my stunned brain could process her words, the show ended, which was always my cue to head back home. I upended the rest of my wine into my mouth in a daze and said I'd see them next time. They both gave me a friendly goodbye, the Husband's arm around her as they turned back to the T.V.

I guess you're wondering why there was such an elaborate scheme to get me where they wanted when I was curious and eager to explore. The fact is, even though I thought I was ready for something like that, I wasn't in actuality and would likely have run off if they had proposed their idea to me directly. I'm sure a lot of people who want to jump out a plane have approached those open doors, looked out upon the endless expanse so far below and chickened out. So even though my hamster wheel of a brain was going over each moment from the evening and excited and turned on by the prospect of doing something, I didn't really, really believe it was real. I figured I was imagining things and resolved to let it go. And if I masturbated that night while fantasizing about being with a faceless couple, well, I'm sure it was just coincidence.

So, I had more evenings like that. Drinking wine, sometimes smoking weed, giggling and talking with my neighbors while we watched reruns or movies. The Wife had graduated to snuggling against me regularly during these hangouts. I grew comfortable with it and would reciprocate. She was petite with dark shoulder-length hair, and even though I was taller, I remember the feeling of warmth and comfort when we were watching "Psycho", and I would bury my face in her shoulder during the scary scenes, the relaxing, deep chuckle of the Husband spreading through me. Sometimes he would sit on the other side of me, his arm flung across the back of the sofa and just barely brushing against my shoulders. It was all so innocent that I totally believed they were just friendly people without agenda, even if I still touched myself at night to imaginings of three people joined together in all different ways.

I don't remember how long things went on like this, building a friendship with these two in a bubble of lingering touches and soft hugs. But I know exactly when it turned, when it crossed a line, and I could no longer deny what was occurring.

This had to have happened at the beginning of the year or thereabouts. There was an ugly gray slush coating the ground and piling up in the gutters. I was freezing under my puffy parka as I walked neighbors' dog that day. He gave a baleful glance back at me several times.

"D-do I l-l-look like I'm en-enjoying this either?" I demanded grumpily. "J-j-just do your business so we can g-get out of here." He turned away with a disdainful sniff and lifted his leg at a nearby sapling. Relieved that was all he needed to do, I led him back to his owners as briskly as I could without slipping on the sidewalk. The dog trotted next to me, pressed up against my legs for warmth. All I could think about was getting back to the neighbors, wrapping myself in one of their super-soft throws and feeling the heat of their wine unspooling through my frozen body.

We made it back to their house, and I entered the unlocked door. I made sure to wipe both my feet and the dog's with the towel left hanging on a hook near the door for us. I hung up my coat, unclipped his leash and scratched behind his ears. "Go, buddy! Have fun!" I watched him scamper off, the click of his claws on the kitchen tile alerting me that he was ready for the lunch that was waiting for him. I went into the living room, kicked off my shoes, lined them up neatly by the couch and wrapped myself like a burrito in that throw I had been thinking about so longingly. My neighbors weren't already there, which was unusual, but I shrugged and reached for the remote. We were so informal at that point that I knew they'd join me shortly. My hormone-addled brain briefly wondered if they were upstairs having sex and what they would look like, but I shrugged it off and started channel surfing.

After a while, I noticed there was some muffled chatter and laughing outside. I turned off the T.V. and shuffled my way to their back patio glass doors. Blinds covered them from the glaring winter sun, but I peeked through and saw them both having a ball in the freaking pool!

Incredulous, I opened the glass door and stepped halfway onto the frigid concrete outside. "Have you both lost your minds?!" I screeched. "You're going to get pneumonia! Get inside!"

The Husband dunked himself in the water, swam toward me and crested the surface with a splash and a mighty laugh. "Polar bear plunge!" he shouted, his arms raised triumphantly in the air. With him I could believe it. The Husband was a tree trunk of a man, his straight blonde hair and Nordic features pegging him as the perfect candidate to leap into frosty waters during the heart of winter.

The Wife swam up to him leisurely and rested her chin on her arms, which braced the lip of the pool. She laughed freely and said to me, "He's just messing with you, Cameron. The pool is heated." My cheeks flushed in embarrassment as I noticed the steam rising from the water for the first time. I had never actually been in their pool before. I always wanted to but didn't want to overstep by asking. Not many households had pools in our neighborhood, and those that did were bombarded all summer by local kids begging to use them. I guessed by the eight-foot-high security fence around their backyard that they didn't want to be one of those households. "Come on in!" the Wife said now, her husband softly kissing the top of her head before starting laps.

I bit my lip and looked down. "I don't have a bathing suit on. I guess that's my fault. I should have anticipated I'd be swimming when it's eight degrees outside," I said sarcastically.

She threw back her head and laughed again. "You can borrow one of mine, or just run home and get yours."

I was uncomfortable at the idea of wearing one of the Wife's swimsuits; plus, she was about six inches shorter than me, and I doubted anything she had fit. So instead, I turned around and hurried off, throwing a, "Be right back!" over my shoulder at her.

Once home, I tore through the back of my dresser drawer to find my bathing suits. I only had three: two one-pieces and one floral print bikini. My hand hovered over the bikini. I hadn't worn it yet and wasn't sure if I had the confidence to. I was at an age where all I did was criticize my body and was certain everyone else would only see the flaws if I didn't cover up. You've seen pictures of me back then. You know I could weep now for not being aware of how cute I was. Aw, thanks, baby. You're still pretty hot too. Anyway, I had that long chestnut-colored hair with a bit of a wave that almost reached my ass, which was my crowning glory, if I do say so myself. My boobs were they same as they are now, just so much perkier. My stomach was flat. I can't believe I was so obsessed with thinking I was fat back then! But there I was, totally indecisive over which suit would make me look the least bad.

"Fuck it," I told myself and grabbed the bikini. It was only two friends who would see me. They shouldn't care if my body wasn't great, and if they did, I'd know not to wear it again. Besides, it wasn't even a string bikini; it had a halter top and wide straps to keep everything in. I put in on, scrutinized myself in my floor-length mirror and layered the rest of my winter gear over it.

I tore out of the house, excited at the prospect of swimming in January, and called out to my parents, "Be back later! Going to hang out with friends!" By eighteen, my parents were much more lenient with me, but they still wanted to know where I was. It wasn't technically a lie.

I made it back to the neighbors in record time. I went back inside and heard them still splashing in the pool out back. I contemplated the least frigid way to get to the water and ended up taking off my clothes and folding them on the kitchen floor by the glass doors and wrapping a large fluffy towel from the bathroom around my torso.

The instant I made contact with the outdoors, the cold leeched its way into my bones. I shut the glass door hard and scrambled to the edge of the pool, the steam working its way under my towel and taking off some of the chill. The Husband and Wife were treading water closer to the deep end and turned to me as one.

"Come on in, Cam," the Husband beckoned to me. "It feels almost like a hot tub, I promise."

"Yeah, come on, sweetie," the Wife said. "You'll freeze in another minute!"

They were both observing me now, which made me more self-conscious. I looked down at my toes hanging over the edge and dropped the towel. My skin instantly pebbled in the cold air, my nipples like two points of stone. I saw from the corner of my eyes that they both went still and were watching me at full attention. I didn't want to meet their gazes head-on to see their expressions, so I reached for the handrail and quickly descended into the warm, waiting depths. I didn't know then that they were entranced by my bikini-clad body, that they were staring at my nipples thrusting against the fabric of my suit and imagining me naked under their bodies and tongues. They told me later.

The heat felt so good that I loudly moaned in pleasure as I sank in further and swam to the center of the pool. They both chuckled at my reaction and waded to meet me.

"You see?" the Wife asked after briefly touching my shoulder. "The hard part now will be forcing yourself to get out later."

"I'm not," I murmured, floating on my back and spreading out my arms. "I'm moving into this pool. I'll take all calls and meetings here, thanks." The Husband laughed and trailed his fingers along my palm before swimming away.

I fully relaxed into the pool, letting the heat work all the tension from my muscles as my stress floated away. Once they felt I had zoned out enough, the Husband and Wife splashed me, and we took turns dunking each other and laughing, hands gripping ankles, shoulders and thighs as we played. We tried Marco Polo for a while and eventually just kind of floated and talked while taking occasional hits from the joint that rested in an ashtray near the edge of the pool. They asked me about my plans after high school and what I wanted to do after college. I confessed I had no idea and was starting to panic, but unlike my parents, they were supportive and suggested I just spend freshman year taking classes that interested me. "The plans and goals will come later," the Husband assured me. I had applied to a few schools but had yet to hear back. "You'll get in," the Wife said with total confidence. "You're so smart and responsible. They'll be fighting themselves to get you, mark my words." I basked in the warmth of their praise as surely as the hot water surrounding my body.