PREAMBLE.
STOP!!
If you're looking for a BTB story this is not it. There are heaps out there written just for you, so let this one pass.
If you hate stories concerning alternative relationships, the ones involving sex outside of a monogamous marriage, then please find another story.
If you detest anything cuckold or hot wife related, simply proceed directly to the end of this fictional piece and do not pass 'GO'. Do not collect 200; just score the obligatory one star and tell me how much you hate me and therefore the first amendment of the United States of America's constitution and we'll all move on.
If you need to feel warm and cuddly, are desiring of lovable characters and romantic relationships, go find a Mills and Boon book. This one is perhaps not for you either.
If you like conventional real life stories this one might challenge. Better give it a miss. I stupidly thought 'Blackout' was more conventional than 'What the hell' and I was savaged over that comment so now I'm attempting to be clearer in the disclaimer.
If there's anyone left still reading, I hope you like your tales out of the box. All my stuff is over the top and hopefully thought provoking. As you may have already realised, I like to write about alternative relationships and try to push the boundaries supposedly contained therein. I had some anonymous dropkick tell me I was on drugs when I wrote 'What the hell...' and that was the best comment I've ever received, because, if you knew just how conservative I actually am, then you'd know how wrong they were. I just laughed and accepted the rant as a compliment to my story telling.
I wrote this piece some time ago and I hope that since then my writing style has slowly improved. My editing skills sadly have not. It's amazing how you can read a passage five times over and still fail to pick up on the bleeding obvious.
I've actually written more non-erotic pieces than erotic. Okay, I hear the obvious protests... that my stories fail to deliver the erotic... but in my defence I'm still learning the craft. As they say, Rome wasn't built in a day. Sometime soon I might try out the 'action adventure' stuff I've penned, but perhaps we'll do that on a different platform.
So, without further ado, and for the two of you still reading, I hope you enjoy the madness of Triple Treats.
P.S.
If anyone would like to help me with editing and story structure, or anything in general relating to my stories, please let me know... just hold the death wishes. Obviously a second opinion would help me see the many faults in my storylines and point out the lack of character development my critics so readily flag as a major flaw to my struggling endeavours.
One of my main difficulties, not being American, is to keep my prose relevant to all who read it. My word processor is 'mother' English Word and as you likely already know, I miss a lot of the alternate spelling. Color in my world is spelt colour... and so on it goes.
Anyway, happy reading.
Cheers...
Arch.
...And I give special acknowledgement to all of the multiples out there, and credit to the wonderful Dahm triplets who inspired this story.
*****
TRIPLE TREATS.
Intro.
Monitors beeped their slow and constant dread. The smell of ammonia and bleach filtered my nasal passages and the slow approach of inevitability hung heavily about us.
I clung to my two sisters and wept... we three wept for our loss, the loss of 'our' man, 'our' beautiful husband.
He lay there hooked up to sucking tubes and multi-coloured wires and he seemed lost to us. It was a loss not wholly attributable to his physical wellbeing.
I collapsed back into a cold vinyl chair and cried for him. What had we done! The distraught anguish etched into my sibling's faces surely reflected my own. I buried my head in my hands, and sobbed as my mind regressed.
***
There is an old proverbial saying that 'two's company, three's a crowd'.
We tend to disagree, you see; because three is in fact the perfect number.
Hi, let me introduce myself. My name is May and I have two sisters; April and June.
Yeah, yeah, our parents were real original naming us after those three months of the year. We do often refer to ourselves as number one through three in chronological order of our age. We have to do that sometimes, as a kind of secret code, so that other people don't recognise us. Being May, I'm obviously number two. April is number one and June is three. We have corresponding ink dots tattooed on our tailbones... just above the cleft of our bums.
Why all this kafuffle with dots and order?
My sisters and I were all born within a half minute of each other... fifteen seconds apart to be precise. (Can you get closer than that?). Yep, we're triplets, identical red haired, freckle brushed, 5'8" green eyed triplets born of the one original egg, but which had split into three.
I guess most people would consider us beautiful.
I have to say, it's a little weird knowing that when I'm looking at either of my sisters I'm in fact looking at an exact reflection of myself, like some weird hologram. People can't tell us apart, shit even we have trouble!
It's difficult to self-appraise, but I'm in the fortunate position that in appraising either sister I am in fact evaluating myself. What I see in either of them is a tall beautifully poised woman with vivid green eyes, a 36D bust sculptured into an hourglass figure and topped off with a nice bum, if I might boast. Think tall, leggy, full busted redheads with a pinch of Charlize Theron's lovely facial features. I must admit we've been blessed in both looks and intelligence, although you may dispute the later once you've read my story.
I have no intention of boring you with semantics but some investigation into what led us three to this point, sitting here in this squeaky bleached hospital room... holding our precious man's hand as he fights for life, may be worthy of exploration.
