Threes Company

So friends it’s come to this, after three months of dating Matt (formerly known as “the boyfriend”) we have hit our sexual ceiling. All the kinks have been revealed, the fantasies played through, the baseball uniforms tossed to the back of the closet like so many used dick flicks. In one cock sucking moment of clarity we both asked ourselves “is this it?”

I can hear the sad and judgmental laughter now, “three months, jesus what are you a couple of monks?” No my dear homos we are much worse then monks; we are, brace you’re selves now, sexually unadventurous! Vanilla for you hipster types. Matt and I are basically two dull fucks, more likely to do it with the lights off then a fat chick at a man brothel. From what I have been hearing from my far too nosey friends this is a recipe for monogamous disaster; akin to the unholy coupling of two power tops. Apparently, and this is first hand advice from my harem of daytime talk show “experts”; in a relationship you need to have two people whose sexual interests balance each other out. That is to say for every top there must be a bottom, every queen needs a butch, and cute little vanilla boys have to be coupled with a big leather daddy, kind of like Newton’s gay laws of motion. I’m not ready to go out and buy my very own riding crop; however I’ll put one on my Christmas list to shut them up.

Until this point we have been satiating our more primal of needs with relatively ordinary yet wholly satisfying sex. I’m not saying we would win any pole jumping marathons, but it has been nice; almost comfortable sex. That is until about three days ago. Matt and I had just returned from the clubs privately celebrating our three month mark and were primed for some between the sheets (lights off) action when it hit me; the rhythmic slurping sound of his tongue on my balls is the same noise I’ve heard for the last three months. I’ve even started putting words to the sloppy rhythm. It’s kind of like “cock sucking the musical”. Like clockwork my (apparently dysfunctional) mind began to wander to the what if’s. What if Matt isn’t the one? What if we aren’t meant for each other? What if I am wasting my life on this relationship? I don’t need to describe the rate of deflation that followed, but let’s just say that even Bob Dole couldn’t help me now.

“What’s wrong baby?”
“Umm nothing, I think I just drank too much.”
“You had two cosmos.”
“I know, but the bartender was trying to kill me, they were all booze.”
“Right…”
Shit, why doesn’t anyone every fall for that?
“Ok, here’s the thing, when you were on you’re second verse it kind of hit me that this is the exact same thing we always do.”
“Second verse?”
“Not important, I’m just saying that we used to try and impress each other, now we just race to get off and fall asleep.”
“You’re telling me this now, it couldn’t wait till morning?”
“Sorry, come on let’s do this.”
“Yea that’s sexy”

Followed by the inevitable roll over and fake snoring. I couldn’t wait for morning.

The next day I was the recipient of some startling news. Matt’s answer to my sexual retardation is to invite some outside counseling. Or as he put it,

“Make sure your drawers are clean tonight we’re having company over.”
“Why will they see my underwear?”
“He’s going to be fucking you.”
Ask me if orange juice hurts coming out your nose.
“When did this happen?”
“Just now, he left me a voicemail.”
“Who?”
“Some guy I know.”

And as easy as that I was about to have my first threesome with “some guy”. By nature I’m not a nervous person (not true), but to be honest the prospect of a threesome was terrifying to me. There is after all a reason I’ve gone my whole life so far without ever having one, it’s just not something I ever pictured happening to me. At least not in real life, no one is accountable for their jack off fantasies.

Taking Matt’s advice I packed some extra boxers to change in to after the gym, no freeballin tonight. After a quick stop at the porn store I was set with a new bottle of lube to christen the occasion and a variety pack of condoms (who knows what “some guy” is packing). I gave a passing thought to picking up some wine, but wasn’t sure if the occasion called for red or white; I settled on tequila.

I got home to find out “some guy” is running late and won’t be gracing us with his sexual pleasures for another hour. The next half hour was spent answering what turned out to be a very difficult question, one that I knew wouldn’t go away until I was at ease with the answer; what music do you play while simultaneously fucking two people? Seriously though, I settled on some mix cd’s I had made a while ago, little Green Day, some club remixes, even a little Dolly for good measure; I’m not married to the decision though, so if anyone has any suggestions give me a holler.

Anyway, I won’t go in to details here, but “some guy” was actually Scott the nice guy. I think we won the threesome lottery with Scott. He was a great team player didn’t ignore anyone, and pretty lucky in the pants department. Y’all know I like wrapping these up with a “what did we learn today” sort of thing, so here goes.

A little variety is fun, as long as you and your partner keep the lines of communication open you can recover from anything, even boring sex. I’m not saying we call up Scott every time we have sex, but just knowing that if need be we could has really spiced it up. In the end it’s not about needing someone else to save your love life, it’s about going the distance for the person you care about, taking that extra initiative to keep every one happy in the sack. Plus as a bonus you get a great story to tell your gossip mongering friends.

Till next time.
R.