(Author's notes: This is a work of fiction. In this fantasy, nobody is worried about STDs. In real life, all non-monogamous sex should be practiced using accepted safe-sex precautions.
Special thanks to Jashet Hon and Candace. Their observations and suggestions made this a better story.
All persons involved in sexual activity are at least 18 years old.)
: : : : :
It was time. I knew that.
The only thing was, I couldn't decide.
Chad. Jeremy. Me.
Chad and Mandy -- sounded good. Jeremy and Mandy -- also sounded good.
I'm Amanda, Mandy for short. I'm medium: medium height (5' 7), medium build (size 8 -- my friends tell me that's slender, not medium, but it feels medium to me), medium blonde hair (some call it honey blonde), and medium breasts (34C -- again, my friends say that's more than medium).
There are two ways I'm not medium: lifestyle -- I do things my own way when it suits me; and social -- I'm outgoing, friendly, and confident. I meet new people easily -- they're never strangers for long, and although I'm not a "party girl" when what that really means is "slut," I do like to have fun.
I'm an accountant. Yes, that means I'm good at math. When I graduated, everyone told me I should work for a large firm for a few years to "learn the ropes," but I chose to go straight into business for myself. At first I worked out of my apartment, doing taxes and investments for friends and family. I must have done okay, because they referred others, including a couple of businesses which were too small to have an accountant on staff. Before long, I had the cash flow to rent a small storefront office near downtown. Two years later, I'm still an office of one, but at the rate I'm growing, I'll hire an assistant soon.
I'd been seeing Chad for almost two years. I'd been seeing Jeremy for over a year. I'm not a serial dater, or a user/abuser of man-toys, I just happened to be dating Chad, regularly but not exclusively -- by mutual agreement by the way. Then I met Jeremy, who I also ended up dating regularly but not exclusively, also a joint decision. I hadn't told either one of them about the other, but I never lied -- I never claimed I wasn't seeing anyone else.
Recently, I began facing the fact that I was nearer age 30 than 20. I wasn't exactly feeling the need to "settle down," but juggling two guys was getting old. It was time to commit to one of them. The problem was, I didn't have a clue which one.
Chad was my bohemian. Art museums, jazz fests, bed and breakfasts with turn-of-the-last-century rippled glass. He was tall and slender, sandy hair, clean shaven, and drove a two-seater from the 1950s. He dabbled in slam poetry, which is not my favorite expressive medium, but I found what he wrote very compelling. When he presented, whether it was his writing or interpreting someone else's, he had an undeniable charisma.
Jeremy was my nature boy. Hiking at sunset, bungalows on the beach, cabins in the mountains. He wasn't quite as tall as Chad, and a little "sturdier," but very fit. He had dark brown hair and a full beard. He drove a recent but paid-for SUV, which he had modified for camping. It comfortably slept two, and could conquer steep, rocky trails, but was also smooth on the highway. He owned a nice acoustic guitar, which he was shy about playing, but he was actually quite good.
Chad. Jeremy. They each satisfied deep needs. I loved them both.
: : : : :
The weekend had been a good one, so far. Monday was Labor Day, so we had an extra day off. Neither couple, Jeremy and I nor Chad and I, went out of town.
Friday night, Chad and I went to a play, which I'm pretty sure was supposed to be a comedy. We laughed non-stop, unfortunately AT the production as much as with it. Afterwards we met some of his friends at a wine bar.
Chad and I define sexual compatibility. We love to kiss. There is something organically electric about how his mouth feels against mine. I have no idea what he does that makes me feel so wonderful, but the way his lips melt onto mine is always a fantastic way to get things started.
We also love oral. Most guys I've been with, they might start with a little oral, but it's clearly a chore -- they show no enthusiasm for it. I guess there's some sort of Guy Manual they all read as teenagers, "you have to lick her yucky pussy, or she won't blow you."
Chad is different. He loves oral. He loves to receive -- what guy doesn't? -- but he also loves to give. LOVES to give. He was the first guy who ever took me all the way to orgasm on his face. He has an intuitive way with my pussy -- I think he knows my anatomy down there better than I do.
Most of all, though, we love to fuck. He's my Marathon Man. With Chad, I can take my time, relish every nuance, and never have to worry that he'll run out of gas before I'm done. Usually we settle into missionary, cowgirl, or doggie, and simply pound each other into submission. No need to change position, or do much in the way of speeding up. Before I met him, that would have sounded tedious, but we fit together so deliciously, our coupling doesn't need any embellishment. I just relax and indulge in the sensuality of that age-old rhythm.
After the wine bar, we retired to his place. From the moment we entered his apartment, he began peeling our clothes off, one item at a time. He dropped them on the floor, leaving them in a trail from the door to the bedroom. As he stripped me, he kissed wherever he had just uncovered: my shoulders, my legs, my back, my tummy, then an extra-long time on my breasts. When we reached the bed, he shoved me onto my back, pulling my panties off as I fell, and dived into my pussy.
He ate me right up to the threshold of orgasm, then flipped me over, pulled my hips up so I was on my knees, and plugged into me from behind. He had me in a heavenly zone, every stroke an electric delight, and I could have cruised at that blissful plateau all night. Eventually, I exploded into a shattering orgasm, and he came with me.
It was a typical evening with him. I loved it. I loved him.
Saturday night, Jeremy and I went to a party at his friends' lake house, ninety minutes from town. They grilled chicken and veggies, and ten or twelve of us ended up around a campfire at the water's edge, telling scary, sexy stories. Jeremy told a particularly hot one about earth being invaded by aliens. The invaders took the physical form of Swedish bikini models, and mastered two earth arts: stripping and giving blow jobs -- it seemed the only substance on our planet they could use to recharge their weapons was semen. Earth didn't stand a chance...
Jeremy and I embody sexual compatibility. We love to kiss. With us, it's as much about tongues as it is lips. The way he massages my tongue with his is just magic, making me tingle all the way down to my toes. By the time we move on from kissing to other things, I'm already well on my way to heaven.
We also love oral. Although he has a different way with my pussy than Chad does, it's equally effective -- he can curl my toes and launch me into orbit at will. His tongue and my clit have become the closest of friends.
Most of all, though, we love to fuck. He is Mr. Variety. With Jeremy, I never have to worry that sex will become routine -- he always has something unexpected, but satisfying, up his sleeve. Or, up my pussy, I'm just sayin'.
When the storytelling ended and the campfire burned out, we retired to his truck. It was late, and a comfortable cool breeze blew off the lake, so we decided not to drive home until morning. He rearranged a few things in the truck to configure it for sleeping, and we sat on the tailgate, admiring an incredibly clear view of the Milky Way. We fell into a lengthy kiss, and somewhere in the middle of it our clothes melted away. He kissed down my body -- my neck, my nipples, my belly button, my upper thighs, then his tongue found my pussy. His touch was so delicate, and he was so attuned to my tiniest response, before long I was ready to cum. I wanted him inside me, so I pulled him up and over.
We started with a variation of missionary he calls "Victory," where I hold my legs straight up in the air, spread at a 45 degree angle. Then he led us through an unusual number of positions, even for him: a version of doggie he calls "the turtle," cowgirl, on our sides face-to-face straddling each other's thighs, standing with me bent over the tailgate, pile driver, and reverse cowgirl. With each successive position, my pussy radiated more and more warm bliss through my body. We ended with me on my back, my ankles crossed on his shoulder, his knees pulled up like a frog, his thighs cradling my ass. His cock filled my pussy so deliciously, so perfectly, I just soared on the sweet sensation. When he came, the pulsing of his cock launched me into a ferocious orgasm.
It was a typical evening with him. I loved it. I loved him.
: : : : :
Then came Sunday afternoon. In a few hours, everything would change. I don't usually get nervous socially, but I had a huge case of jitters -- I had no idea how things were going to turn out.
I invited both Chad and Jeremy over for dinner at 7:00. I didn't really want them to arrive together, but Chad always ran about fifteen minutes late, and Jeremy was usually only around five minutes late, so I felt safe that they'd arrive separately.
My plan was, I'd ply them with liquor, then lay it out: I've been seeing you both, I love you both, but I need to simplify. At that point, I figured one of them would get mad and storm out, and the other one and I would live happily ever after. Their actions would make my decision for me, and I'd be rid of whichever guy was quicker to lose his temper at my imperfections. "The winner" and I could then spend our Monday day off together.
That plan seemed brilliant just a few days ago. Now, when they were due to arrive in less than an hour, I realized it was the lamest, shallowest thing I'd ever thought of. It was terrible and I knew it, but it was all I had. Besides, it was too late to come up with anything else.
: : : : :
My house is a 1920's craftsman, single story, with a deep covered porch across the front. I rent it, but next year I'll have an option to buy. It has solid oak trim and floors, originally stained a mid-tone honey gold, but over the years it has acquired a rich, dark patina. It's pretty solid, I probably will buy it. It has three bedrooms, which I have configured as my bedroom, a home office, and a combination storage and guest room.
My first clue that things weren't going to go as planned was when Chad arrived promptly at 7:00. I hadn't even gotten him seated when the doorbell chimed again -- Jeremy was also early. He entered and stood face to face with Chad. In my mind, I had introduced them to each other hundreds of times, but now that it was actually time to say the words, I got flustered and froze -- talk about the worst possible moment! Obviously I should have said something, but I was tongue-tied.
Chad broke the awkward silence by saying, "I'm Chad, nice to meet you." The words may have been outwardly friendly, but they were spoken without any warmth, and a cold, steely facial expression.
They stiffly shook hands and Jeremy said, equally stand-off-ish, "Jeremy. Likewise."
The silence was deafening. They took a step back from each other, and looked to me to break the strained quiet. My mouth flexed open and shut uncontrollably. If I could have engaged my voice, it probably would have sounded something like, "b-buh, b-buh, b-buh." Most two-year-olds are more articulate -- good job, Mandy.
Jeremy, usually a man of few words, finally said, "So, you're the other guy."
Chad's grim facial expression softened slightly. He said, "Well, I'm thinking YOU'RE 'the other guy,'" as a tiny, amused grin turned up the corners of his mouth, "but, yeah, I guess I am."
I began to panic. They weren't supposed to realize they were adversaries until later. My plan was disintegrating by the second, and I still couldn't form a coherent sentence.
Jeremy said, "Is that your TR-3 out front?"
"Yeah."
