And Brent Makes Three

I tilted my axis toward Brent, pressing my chest against his, my abdomen against his slightly protuberant belly, my left arm over his shoulder and across his back. My right hand was nestled in his left palm as we danced the first of three fast-paced milongas. I not only found comfort in this embrace, but the hint of arousal, his working class frame being substantially larger than my white collar one.

We were both Tango dancers, Tangueros, was the term. Both of us were men, typically leaders, but as there was a shortage of followers that night for our dance, he had invited me to be his partner for the three song trio called a tanda. I felt I was the better dancer, having more experience and more of a sense of musicality than he, but I let him lead. He had a strength and power in his movement, which, in a man, I'd always been attracted to--and felt a certain weakness for.

We ended up trading roles for the second of the three songs, which I led with more grace and variety, but then he led again for the third song. And once more, I had welcomed the physical closeness of this man, and I felt myself give in to that sensual attraction, which was now even more intensified.

Since that time, Brent and I had encountered each other every week for our three hour practice session, but we didn't dance again together because there were always enough followers for each of us. Tonight, though, I would be seeing him for a different reason. And one that I was more than a little anxious about.

The doorbell rang at precisely 8 o'clock, just as my wife Missy had promised me that it would.

I peered through the windows framing our front door. There was no doubt it was Brent. He was a bit taller than I at 6-2, with short dark brown hair, balding in front, and a short beard. His stature was imposing as he stood with a bouquet of peonies in his left hand, right arm at his side.

I opened the door, and was greeted cordially,

"Well, hello Mack."

As dancers, we usually acknowledged each other with hugs, and he did so with me, wrapping his strong arms around my more lithe frame in a genuinely warm hug. But the embrace persisted as his free hand drifted down my back and onto my right butt cheek. It lingered there, then he gave me a little squeeze. As we pulled away, he looked into my eyes with a wry smile and handed me the bouquet to give to "Our Missy."

Coming through the kitchen door, "Our Missy" looked dazzling. Stunning in fact. Complimenting his tan plaid shirt and dark brown pants were her powder blue button-down crop top and pleated navy skirt, with an alluring margin of skin in between.

"Hello Brent. We appreciate you coming tonight."

"Happy to be here, Missy"

I let her take the lead this evening. Missy glanced over at me and smiled, then began a little nervously, before her voice gained strength.

"I told you that Mack and I have been fantasizing about something for a while, which we would love to experience for real. In our brief conversations, I didn't tell you everything, but from your interest and what Mack has told me about you, I thought you might be the one to help make his and my fantasy come to life."

Missy is a Tango dancer too. She is my second wife, and I am her second husband, only recently married. Each of our spouses died a couple years back. Neither of them were dancers, so we hadn't really done any dancing in our first marriages. But we both liked moving to music, so we began tango lessons a couple years ago, not knowing each other, but finding we were totally compatible dancing together. We learned that each of us had wanted a dance partner all our lives, and we had finally found one now in our mid sixties. We discovered other interests which we both shared a love for, and began spending time together outside of dance, by writing, cooking, gardening, and of course, making love.

And in our honesty about all subjects sexual, we shared some of our fantasies, learning what we each secretly desired in a free expression of ourselves--curiosities we had never revealed in our first marriages for fear of rejection, shame, and even threat of divorce.

But in our second marriages, overcoming the embarrassment and talking more openly, we seemed to have found a deeper love.

So tonight Missy would be offering me a chance to live out one, maybe two, of my fantasies and I, one of hers.

I shifted uneasily, not knowing what was going to happen and who was going to be in charge. I had speculated about the kind of synergy required for a successful ménage-a-trois. Obviously making sure everyone felt they were involved was essential, especially for our present fantasies to become realized.

I didn't have to wait long. Missy suggested that we all share a bottle of wine as we talked about what might unfold this evening.

I had told Missy three of my fantasies, and she had shared a couple of hers. Although not completely interlocking, there was some overlap between them, involving a third person. So we had to decide how we might go about choosing that one individual, which, in both of our cases, was a man.

Missy and I had each had about a dozen partners in our fifty-year sex life, and so far we hadn't contracted any sexually-transmitted diseases. Naturally we wanted things to stay that way. So we had to be able to trust that man, which argued for picking someone we knew. On the other hand, we didn't want this necessarily to go beyond our one-time experience, which made selecting a stranger a safer bet.

Interestingly, individuals who dance seemed to be a likely pool to draw from because they were comfortable with touching and changing partners--at least in dancing. Our only problem was that we usually just danced with each other and didn't really spend a lot of time getting to know them.

But sometimes we did. And sometimes we talked among ourselves about a dancer, especially when the gossip about them intrigued us.

Brent was one of those dancers. I had confessed to Missy my attraction to him from that time we had danced together. She had danced with him a number of times and thought he was a good leader. Not as good as I was, she agreed, but she thought his lead was clear and that she could follow him.

She denied any attraction to him, although when I saw them dancing together, I wasn't so sure. My Missy has this very sexy look when she is first asked by a man to dance and enters into the tango embrace. And on occasion, when I happened to see the two of them begin to dance, their flirty interaction had conjured up a bit of jealousy, I had to admit.

But I think what both intrigued us--and worried us, though--was that we had heard that he had recently broken up with his girlfriend after a year or more together. Apparently it was a pattern, as he had also broken up with another girlfriend or two in the past several years for reasons that were speculated about, maybe having to do with a dominating personality. We weren't really sure, as when he danced, he seemed so kind and gentle. But we couldn't just ask him if he had a kinky side. It was hard enough to ask someone if they were willing to join a married couple for a threesome.

But somehow, my loving wife, my devoted wife, my wife who wanted to make me happy, and herself fantasy-fulfilled, had talked with him. I'm not sure exactly what she had found out, but apparently, using our prior requirements for such a man, she must have deemed him appropriately safe and willing, because he had agreed to come this evening at 8 PM.

Keeping me nervously curious, though, My Missy had told me nothing more.

Missy selected one of my favorite bottles of Pinot Noir, opened it in the kitchen, grabbed it by the neck along with three wine glasses by their stems, and joined Brent and I, chatting in the living room.

She handed each of us a glass and poured it three quarters full. I get tipsy pretty easily, but tonight I was welcoming that first buzz from my first big swallow.

Missy then suggested that we dance Tango to one of my playlists. She, being the only follower, meant Brent and I would trade off at the end of every song--unless he and I wished to dance together, again. Somehow I doubted that, though, from the way Missy articulated the prompt.

Our house had a rather large den off the living room, which we never used as such, so we had converted it with its shiny oak floor to a nice dance space, perfect for up to five couples. Even more suitable to a fast-moving pair of tangueros and an impatient observer in the corner.

I tangoed first with Missy, and we danced extraordinarily well. I have to say, even given my level of anxiety, I was able to put any thoughts of what was about to happen out of mind and just relax into the music and my dance-partner wife.

At the end of that song, I led a turn which elegantly put Missy's right hand into Brent's left. At the start of the next song, he began with what looked like his usual style of methodically repeating one figure or fraction of a figure after another. But something else began happening.

It initially annoyed me. His right free hand, which should have been around Missy's shoulder blade, kept repeatedly drifting down to her waist, to caress her bare lower back. On more than one occasion his hand continued its journey, penetrating the elastic waistband of her skirt and probably of her panties. And he sojourned it there, running his large calloused palms, I imagined, across what I knew were her smooth buttocks.

My reaction changed when I saw Missy, in tango close embrace with Brent, turn from being cheek to chest to what seemed like lips to neck. My brain fretted over this. I wondered by her kissing him on the neck, was she getting really tipsy by drinking in this man's advances. And would she lose sight of our being in this together?

Despite my uncertainty, my cock twitched. Paradoxically, I sensed an arousal from tonight's feeling of jealousy.

When my turn came again to dance with Missy, I whispered,

"How was that for you?"

She responded with the same question back at me.

I think I answered her nonverbally. When she pressed against me in our characteristic close embrace, she no doubt appreciated the bulge beginning to manifest in my groin. Her deep-throated affirmatory sigh vibrated through my chest.

When we've danced before in the privacy of our home, and would let what happens happen, I could tell when her arousal distracted her from following my lead. She made missteps. She failed to coordinate our movements with the music. Our dance would become a playful decision whether to continue tango or move into foreplay. Usually it would be the latter.

I noticed some of that fumbling in our second dance. Not the same intensity of miscues, as when she's really hot for me, but it was different from our first tango of the evening. Clearly, her temperature was on the rise.

Maybe for her it was the wine. Or maybe the feeling of dancing with a more powerful and stronger man than I. Or perhaps she was letting things go where they might go in the service of fulfilling my fantasy. But a large part of her drive must have been my gift to her-- allowing her to act out one of her fantasies, which, coming to fruition, would naturally be a turn-on for her. So how could it not be a turn-on for me.

I never danced under the influence of alcohol, marijuana, or really any drug. I wanted to be fully alert to the music that I was hearing, to my frame, to my partner, and to the floor, walls, and corners of the dance space. But I was noticing that I, too, was off a bit in my interpretation of the music and in my lead. Maybe it was the nearly full glass of wine, but more likely it was the inescapable likelihood of what would be coming.

Missy and I danced to our song with passion, but when I turned her hand over to Brent, I saw his leering smile and the desire in his eyes as he connected with Missy's. I knew something more provocative was about to happen.

I didn't have to wait. Seconds into the fourth song, which they began in an open embrace, came an obscene display of affection: Brent and Missy were kissing each other deeply, enveloping the other in their arms, running their hands over backs and buttocks, stroking their fingers through their partner's hair.

But they didn't pause. They kept moving to the music as if they were still dancing, coming closer to me, standing in the corner.

This time it was Brent who spoke.

"Join us, Mack," he invited, and they each released one of their arms and circled me in a group hug of three. We began kissing each other's lips in those odd angles that make a full-on kiss impossible, except for moments when we could linger and fully implant one on each other's mouth. It took a little getting used to, but we were able to trade seconds of smooching with each other. In fact, Brent and I shared a brief kiss, too.

Vaguely, I remember their song ending and another beginning, but we were not paying strict attention to the ends and beginnings of songs right now.

Missy whispered, "Let's go to the guest room."

And like a clumsy giant amoeba, we made our way down the hall, trading off sucking lips and groping garmented genitalia, as we spilled into that bedroom.

"Let's undress our lady," Brent commanded in an earnest voice, as he stood behind Missy and gave her breasts a rough squeeze through the fabric of her blouse. That elicited an enthusiastic "Mmmm!"

Then he began to unbutton her top.

She wore no bra tonight. I usually noted that when we were dancing. It was her message to me that she wanted more than just tango. But tonight, maybe in my pre-game angst, I hadn't noticed. Now, as I watched her large breasts spill out as the tension of her blouse was released, my slowly growing arousal became amped. There was a clarity of intention by what she chose not to wear: My Missy was all in.

I knelt down in front of her and unfastened her dance shoes, removing them one at a time. Missy kept her balance as I did so. Then I slid my fingers beneath the waistband and eased her skirt over her generous hips and buttocks. To my surprise--and delight--she was wearing no panties, either. With my nose inches from her groin, I could detect the fruity fragrance of My Missy's arousal.

Knowing that she was embracing her fantasy with abandon gave me confidence that she would be helping me to live out mine, as well. Though a shred of doubt remained. In her "interview" with him, Missy may have sussed out his motivation for her, but I still wasn't completely trusting with how he saw me in this three-way. In other words, I was not looking to simply be a cuck.

Missy stood naked in between us, and did a little provocative series of poses, eyeing each of us seductively. I loved that aspect of her. Formerly I felt safe with her flirting with others. She had reassured me numerous times that I was enough for her. And yet her fantasies suggested there might be other facets of her sexuality. As did mine to her, I'm sure. And would this "one-time experience" change things between us? And if so, how so?

I didn't have time to dwell. It seemed that seeing Missy's come on, got Brent fired up. He followed with another command,

"Let's show Our Missy what we have for her, Mack!"

As he began unbuttoning his shirt, I did likewise. My gaze swung back and forth from Missy's face, full of anticipation, to Brent's hairy chest, large pecs, and bulky deltoids as he undid the last button and slipped it off his brawny arms.

Missy beamed at the sight, but then turned my way to witness my undressing, her smile broadening, perhaps at the familiar physique she had come to know so intimately. Or maybe imagining how I might be feeling, about to provocatively show my evolving nakedness to a man. Something she knew I had never done before.

I didn't have Brent's build. In fact, although I was muscularly toned, I was lanky, with somewhat prominent hips. I lacked that typical v-shaped sculpted masculine form. So in some ways, I had elements of a feminine physique. But after removing my shirt, I wanted him to see the definition in my chest. So I unbuttoned it, and dropped it to the floor, then raised up my arms, put my hands on top of my head to accentuate my biceps and pecs, then torqued my torso alternately to each of them.

Missy approved. Her nod showed me that. I swiveled my head. One corner of Brent's mouth turned up into a lascivious smile. He too liked what he saw. I thought. Unless it was the feeling of knowing that he had a superior, more masculine body.

Brent walked the few steps to the bed and sat to remove his shoes and socks. Then, with nonchalance, he arose and turned to face us.

He ran his right hand over his groin bulge evocatively, anticipating our reaction to his wrapped package. Then he undid his belt, clasp, and zipper. Not wearing underwear, his hardened cock sprung free. Angled sharply up, cut, and ruddy, it looked formidable. Thick curls of dark brown hair swirled around it.

Slowly, obviously milking the moment, our rapt gazes impatiently waiting, he lowered his slacks and stepped out of them. He was here for his masculinity, for his meat. And he certainly had delivered.

He was rather massive. He wouldn't have turned every head at a nude beach, but most of them, I was sure. And his chest and abdominal hair accentuating his muscular build and his working man's burgeoning belly, drew our eyes to his imposing erection. Missy again smiled broadly. When he caught her eye, he responded by running his hand first over his big ball sack, and then up and down his hardness.

I think my mouth gaped. Again, his size was larger than mine, and dominatingly so. But what really mesmerized me was seeing a man with a hard-on in the flesh. I had seen plenty of pictures, some X-rated movies, but tonight, I was seeing an actual, real, and formidable cock. It was immediate. My stiffening manhood jerked for release. And It was my turn to put on a show.

I bent my right knee and lifted my foot up so I could remove its shoe and sock. I maintained perfect balance in an attempt to impress Missy with something she could marvel at to compete with this man before me. I repeated the action with my left.

But something else was stirring in my mind. I'm not sure why, but in the presence of a more quintessential manly man, my feminine side began to beckon. So in the removal of my pants, I felt drawn to accentuating my more prominent hips and nicely shaped buttocks. I undid my trousers and did a little striptease act, sliding them down in an alternating motion to my ankles, and then stepped out.

I eyed each of them in turn, standing in my black bikini briefs, with a prominent bulge filling them, the head of my cock poking up and out. But this time I looked Brent straight in the eye, gave him a taunting smile, turned my back, bent over, and lowered my briefs giving him a full view of my behind.

Why I did that I'm not sure. I know when I first greeted him at the door, and after we had hugged, he had grabbed my ass. So maybe unconsciously I was offering him permission to grab it again. Or maybe to do more.

I stood up and saw My Missy vigorously nodding, looking back-and-forth between me and Brent. And I watched Brent enlarge his grin.

"Another group hug," he declared. He was obviously now assuming the cockpit controls.

We had free access to all of our erogenous parts. Missy's hand beat me to Brent's big cock. But she also grabbed mine. Another man. That's what she said she had wanted.

Brent reached out to grab Missy's nipples, and gave them a little pinch and twist. I knew what she liked--or what she had told me she liked with me touching her breasts. I was going to see what she let Brent do. Would she give him the same instruction? Or would his becoming obviously dominant overwhelm any of her resolve?

My two hands were free so I began rubbing each of their butt cheeks, reaching around to get the farther globe and | eased my fingers up and down the crease between the two.