(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.)
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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.
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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.
