This is an excerpt from an erotic novel, working title Deep into the Noughties, charting a 40-something woman's sexual escapades.
*
After about a year and a half I started to get a bit weary of constantly scouting for and meeting new men from Internet. So to those who had hung around and got to know me a little, I put forward the following proposition: let's assist each other to find like-minded people to have mind-blowing sex? This required a commitment of sorts -- enough interest in me as a person to want to see me happy, on a sexual level at least.
Given the hardship I had endured over the past few years I was the first to admit I was not emotionally available, but nonetheless I desired some kind of happiness, even if it was to be achieved via purely hedonistic pursuits, rather than via a deep soul connection that we as woman are mentored is the holy grail of self-fulfilment. But like the good little girl I was brought up as, there was always a lingering guilt that I wasn't actively looking for love, but some kind of "zipless fuck" of the Eric Jong kind.
You'd think most men would rise to the challenge. But let's face it, many like to talk up their sexual plans without any tangible follow through. I guess it took a certain kind of personality to pursue what I was asking. And as for me, I was finding life could be so much more fun outside the little boxes that we are squeezed into by society.
Two chose to rise to the task.
These two guys knew of each other, but had never met. Once was black, a vestige from the period when I was somewhat obsessed with black men. He was a busy guy umbilically attached to his palm pilot in pursuit of an all-consuming corporate career.
The other was of Mediterranean origin, and spent a good deal of his spare time at the gym, rather than in any career or intellectual pursuits. The common denominator being that both were good physical specimens, were excellent lovers, were well endowed and, mostly importantly, were open to some experimentation. So I was glad they had self-selected. However, each of course had their own idea of what they'd get out of their carnal association with me.
I felt it was time they should meet each other.
I remember that weekend vividly. It was following a very busy week at work, which I churned through productively like a dog in anticipation a juicy reward -- or maybe a bitch on heat is a more apt description. My daughter was invited for a sleepover, which was organised well in advance. So I had invited Alex and Vince to my place, and had only told Alex that he would not be the only one there that evening.
I already knew that Alex was fine with a threesome that involved another man, or another women for that matter. Vince, however, in previous discussions had baulked at the suggestion of a two male one female threesome as a first group foray: "It's gotta be two girls and me or nothing", was his mantra.
I had heard that mantra before, and was out to challenge it.
"It will be fine. What are you worried about?"
"Yeah, but what about if the guy is gay", he said. Ho hum. How predictable.
"Well, if there are three of us, and he is sticking it to me, at best he's bi", I quipped. "It wouldn't be about him focussing on you. I'd make sure the focus was on me."
"What about if he touches me?" he was sounding increasingly worried.
"Well, in what I'd have planned I am sure that you will be brushing up against each other. But that would be a consequence of coordinating yourselves around me". I sighed. Vince just didn't get it.
I ventured on: "It's not like a two female one male threesome, where it's expected that the two chicks get it off. But even so, if the guys did want to explore each other a bit, I'd be open to that. What's good for the goose is good for the gander. I'm democratic on that one". As soon as that last bit dropped out of my mouth I knew I'd made a mistake.
"See. You'd be open to it."
"Yes. I would be. But the guys would have to know from word go what the parameters are. He -- I mean Alex -- is not gay. He just gets off on seeing a woman with another guy. And then of interest to me is how much fun it would be to try a double penetration, if you are at all happy to assist." There. My agenda was out there. "You need two dicks for that. And I bet you've seen that before and been turned on by it zillions of times in porn movies." I knew there was no arguing against that.
So anyway, Saturday evening came along. It had been raining all day and I was feeling a huge sense of anticipation. My nerves were jumpy and I found it hard to focus on the domestic tasks I had to complete, and felt guilty for being a bit short with my daughter when she asked me to help with a school project. And I felt guiltily dropping her off for the evening. But despite this, by now I was project driven.
At around 6pm I showered, tidied my pubic hairs, and put on some fancy underwear. I don't usually wear g-strings, but for these sorts of occasions -- as the feeling of a small piece of material wedged tightly in between my legs always gets me fired up -- a little reminder that it is this part of me that is going to get a lot of attention.
I put on just enough makeup to flatter my features, as I wanted my natural colour to shine through. I loved the look of a face flushed with sex. And I chose a rather demure outfit, just because I like to keep the boys guessing a bit -- a floral knee length skirt and a indigo halter top, under which I wore a black strapless bra to match my undies.
