Just the Three of Us

Before you begin. This is an erotic escapade intended for mature adults.

I felt Matt shift in his sleep, and I put my hand out and rested it on Robbie’s hip. He snuggled closer and kissed my shoulder. I was about to do more when I heard his breathing become deep and regular. He was back asleep. It had been a great evening. Matt and I had worn him out, but that was our plan.

The three of us have been living in a closed triad for a couple of years now. It’s a nice arrangement. Matt and I work for the same company. Robbie does some free lance writing, but basically, he’s a domestic engineer to borrow a term. The house is always clean. Supper’s always ready. Our clothes are always washed and pressed. Don’t get me wrong. He works as hard as we do, and his efforts are well appreciated. And best of all, condoms are a thing of the past.

Some people watch television or read before bedtime. We have sex. It’s almost a nightly ritual, and it never gets dull. But to be honest, sometimes it needs a little spice. You know what I mean. There’s nothing wrong with a marinara sauce. Sometimes though you need the heat of a good puttanesca. Tonight’s play is something that Matt and I concocted over lunch earlier in the week. Dinner was complete. The dishwasher was loaded, and Matt began lightly kissing Robbie’s neck.

“Isn’t it a little early,” he asked giggling.

“Not really. I’m lucky I got through the meal without raping you on the table,” Matt answered.

“Like you can rape a willing victim,” I added. “If you all will go up and get the bedroom ready, I’ll make martinis for us.”

“Dirties,” Robbie asked.

“Dirty martinis for a dirty boy.” Did I just say that? At any rate, we all laughed as Matt led our favorite power bottom up the stairs, and I made quick work of my bar duties. Walking through the door with three fabulously chilled dirty martinis, I found my mates naked on the bed . Matt had Robbie laid back giving him some fantastic head.  It’s the kind of fellatio that looks great in porn and feels better on your dick. “Gin’s in the house,” I announced to get their attention.  I hated to break up their party, but I didn’t want Robbie to get off before we’d put our plan to action, and I wanted to be part of the scene – hell who wouldn’t?

I stripped. We drank out martinis – between bouts of mouth play. I pushed Matt back on the bed and took my surprise from the tray – silver cocktail stirrer. Appropriately named I think. While Robbie worked Matt’s nipples, I put the stirrer into his slit and began sucking. Matt’s never tried sounding before. Now it will be part of his repertoire. He nearly popped right there. I pulled the stirrer out and started my part of the plan.

I moved up and pushed Robbie’s ass in the air to give me full capability to eat him out. It’s one of his favorite things, but I’m sure it’s moved down the list after last night. When he was worked up and panting so hard that he could no longer service Matt, I reached for the lube. He was nice and relaxed from the tongue lashing I’d been giving him. I put my finger in and felt. There it was. His prostate. Firm, healthy, and fresh. I loved playing with it. Not so much for my own pleasure, but because it drove Robbie wilder than having his ass eaten.

I stopped. Robbie was panting – begging for more. “Matt’s been laying there with no attention. Why don’t you mount him? I’ll even lube him for you.” More lube from the bottle, and smeared over Matt’s dick. He’s nine inches long but thin as a bread stick. I, on the other hand, have one of those six inch long and fat cocks. Robbie climbed on and had Matt’s entire length up his as in a nano second. I moved up behind him. I rubbed his hips, kissed his neck, and even reached around to jack him as he found a rhythm for his fucking. More groans of pleasure – this time from both of them. “Let’s add some flavor,” I suggested. “Let me fuck you too.”

The moan escaping from his throat was the only answer I needed. I lubed my dick. It took some serious repositioning, but before long, my dick had joined Matt’s up Robbie hole. The noise that Robbie made was neither a yelp of pain or a squeal of pleasure. It didn’t take him long to find the rhythm again. He rode fast and furious. Matt came with an intensity that I swear shook the bed. He subsided just as my orgasm began. Two men putting spunk up his ass was enough for Robbie. His load shot out like a bullet from a pistol. It didn’t hit Matt’s stomach or chest. It was in his beard.

Robbie pulled off of us. We arranged ourselves to lie face to face with Robbie between us. The kisses began again. Robbie  was hard, and this time, I was the one with his uncut dick in my mouth. I don’t know much about music, but I do play a mean skinflute. Matt lay watching us as he jacked off. Robbie came, filling my mouth with his seed.

This time it was Robbie’s turn to play bartender. Another martini, and we were ready to put this Friday night in the record books. In violation of one of our house rules, we left the martini glasses on the dresser to wait for morning. Within ten minutes, we were asleep. Then Robbie rolled over and snuggled against me.

Red Without Blue

I watch the documentary Red Without Blue last night. It documents three years in the lives of Alex/Clair and Mark Oliver. They were born identical twins and best friends “as they come to terms not only with their homosexuality, but also with Alex’s decision to physically change his gender.” Alex is already in transition when the film opens, but says that she doesn’t believe she was born male or female. She was born in transition.

One of the things that’s spoken about a lot in the film is the labeling we do. The twins mother, for instance, lives with another woman, and they share a bed, but wouldn’t call themselves lesbian. We’re not told if their relationship is sexual or not. It really doesn’t matter.  What does matter is that these folks have come to terms with who they are. They don’t need society telling them who they are or what they’re about.

Wouldn’t we all do better to follow their example? The image I used at the top is to illustrate that labels are easily changed — washed away like grime in the shower. Many now deem Alexander the Great homosexual. By the standards of his own time, he had no such label. He followed the norm of his day, and all was well. Icon though he was and is, in fact, to gay men, Oscar Wilde had a wife, two children, and had asked Florence Balcombe for her hand in marriage. Yet a host of affairs with young men was his down fall. He termed his…attention to these young men as Socratic. We would probably say bi-sexual. Again, semantic argument over a label.

I have no problem calling myself a gay man, a fetish dom, a power top. But honestly, I was a little offended when I found out that a couple of hetero-chicks had discussed my power top stats. It wasn’t that I cared who knew. It’s that I been labeled — branded in a way I hadn’t chosen (at least with them). Sometimes power top and power bottom are used pejoratively in the gay community — though why I just don’t get. My labels are for the ease of making myself understood. “I want a guy who likes to be tied up and have his ankles at my ears,” is how I could call it were I ordering — kinda like “Tanqueray dirty, straight up.” I’d prefer it gay up, but that just confuses the barmasters. My point is that labels can serve a purpose, as long as they are chosen — expressly or not — by the labeled and aren’t used to keep someone in place or stereotype them.

I’ve said many times that everyone is welcome at my table, but the ones who get the salt first will be the ones who are true to what they are no matter what label someone else wants to impose. And I’ll close hoping that I’m not creating a new label in wanting a society without them.

Trefenepunk & Fabglitter

Trefnepunk stood idly toying with the bar mop as he watched the rain give way to mist and finally turn to a thick fog. Running his hand through his blond hair, he checked the clock for the fourth time in as many minutes. He was the only person in the pub. Even the kitchen staff had left, but as bar manager he had to keep the doors open until last call – ninety minutes away. He yawned. Not given to the ennui most people would feel when alone in a bar on a rainy Tuesday night, he was restless. The blues drifting down from the speakers amplified his longing for company. To help pass the time he kept watch outside for some bit of life on the deserted street. A customer in for a quick pint on his way home would be a welcome diversion.

Finally the fog seemed to swirl, and something that looked like a person was coming toward the doors of Black Lake Island. Tref first thought it was fog shadows but then realized it was indeed a person. He turned toward the entrance in time to see the visitor enter. “Trefnepunk,” he shouted. “They told me you’d be here, but I wasn’t sure.” 

“Fabglitter!” As boys they’d been the best of friends – almost inseparable. When Tref was exiled, he had to leave Fab behind. He’d mourned the loss of their friendship for months and daily expected that Fab would show up. He’d all but given up hope. “You come into my bar on a night like this and think I’m just going to drop all my regular customers for you,” Tref said looking hurt.

“What customers,” Fabglitter said looking around. “I thought Make Believe ended when you were exiled.” He’d always hated Make Believe and thought that he’d be free of it now. That coupled with the fact that Tref didn’t seem happy to see him killed his good mood and overshadowed the joy at finally being in the Grownup World.

“When did you get here.” Tref said trying to hide his glee.

“He kicked me out last night, and I’m got here this morning. I’ve been at the Office of Repatriation all day. I got some money, identification, and some clothes that actually fit,” he said turning ‘round to show them off. “And they were happy to tell me where to find you. I came immediately,” he said quite solemnly as he lifted off the floor and came to a stop directly in front of Tref.

“Fab be careful of doing that. People here won’t understand.”

“You can still fly can’t you?”

“Of course,” Tref said as he lifted into the air, spun ‘round in a circle, and settled back down into place. “Faery dust doesn’t wash off the way regular dust does.”

“What’s that you’re wearing,” Fab asked.

“It’s called a kilt.”

“I like it. How do you get a kilt,” Fab queried.

“You buy it. Didn’t they tell you anything at all about the World?” Tref had completely forgotten his own na vete upon arriving.

“They gave me a book about what to expect. I haven’t had a chance to look it. There aren’t any pictures.”

“Can you still read, Fab?”
 
“Not well. He took the two books away when you left, and Make Believe reading isn’t very good practice.”

“I’ll help you…”

“What about your ‘regular customers,’” Fab countered still hurt and confused.

“You can be one of them. We’ll start now. Have a seat. I’ll fix you a nice drink. A nice gin and tonic is what you need.” Fab watched amazed as Tref made his drink. “Taste it. It might take some getting used to.”

“I like this,” Fab said gulping his drink. “Can I have more?”

“Not right away Fab. I don’t want you getting so drunk you pass out your first night here,” he said. “Seriously slow down. Have you eaten?”

“Not in a while. The last three meals were Make Believe. That ruddy bastard was probably off filling his stomach with real food while we dined on Make Believe Porridge and What Not Stew.”

“He always has been a fuck,” Tref agreed. “What’d you do to get tossed out?”

“Same as you,” he said sheepishly. Trefnepunk raised his eyebrows and laughed. “Well, it feels good.”

“There are things that feel a lot better,” Tref answered. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Not Make Believe?”

“As real as gin and tonic,” Tref said walking toward the kitchen. The staff had left him a plate of food in the oven to keep warm. “Fish and chips to keep the growls from your belly Fab. Here’s some vinegar for the chips, and I’ll get you another drink.” He would make this one barely stronger than a Make Believe one. He was serious about getting Fab home conscious. “Did you get a place to live?”

“No. Can I stay here?”

“This isn’t a place to live Fab. It’s a pub. You can stay with me if you’d like.”

“Just like before?”

“It will probably be better. He’s not there,” Tref said flatly. “Are there many others left?”

“Only three. Not many babies fall out of their prams anymore.”

“Gotten smarter I expect. I wonder what he’ll do when they…”

“I don’t want to think about it. It was bloody awful after you left. I swear I wanted to follow you but I couldn’t.”

“I know, and it took you four years to get out.”

“Is that a long time here,” Fab asked. “I still don’t really understand time. Nothing ever really changes there.” Tref picked up the empty plate and glass and took them to the kitchen. He grabbed his coat from the hook on his way back.

“It’s time to close down here and go home. Wait by the door, and I’ll turn off the lights.” Seconds later the doors were locked, and they were on their way home.

“Where do you live,” Fab asked.

“Second on the right and on til morning,” Tref said laughing. “I’ll race you.” They lifted off the ground and flew up above the city. “We can’t do this all the time, but tonight, I want to fly.” For what seemed like hours they played tag above the city. Finally, Tref was exhausted and suggested they go home. “Follow me, it’s close to the pub.” In fact it was across the street and two doors down on the right, so Tref had told an interesting variation on a simple truth.

Inside the flat, Tref kicked off his boots and peeled the sox from his feet. “It’s been a long day for me Fab,” he announced. “I’m going to take a shower…”

“What’s a shower,” Fab asked looking puzzled.

“It’s to get clean. It’s kind of like playing under the waterfalls, but it’s got hot water.”

“I want to take a shower,” Fab said with an excitement in his voice that made Tref smile.

“As soon as I’m done. Then I’ll fix us another gin drink before bed.”

“Like the ones at the pub?”

“I’ll do something different now. I’ve got better ingredients – the stuff to make things,” he clarified for Fab.

Tref stood on the mat and looked up from drying his beard to find an equally naked Fab looking at him with an air of awe. They’d seen each other naked hundreds of time, but now their bodies were adult. With the layer of muscle over his wiry frame, Tref could have posed as a discus thrower for a Greek sculptor. Fab by contrast was the kurios  – younger, sleeker, shaven, in need of experience. As if reading his friend’s thoughts, Tref brought his hands up behind Fab’s neck and pulled him down until their lips met. Their bodies moved closer, and Tref felt Fab’s response against his thigh as their lips parted and their tongue’s vied for dominance. Fab pulled away from the embrace. “You’ve done this before, Tref?”

“Yes.”

“A lot?”

“Enough. Fab, does it bother you that there were others?”

“No. I like that.”

“Really,” Tref said with astonishment in his voice.

“One of us should know what to do.”

“I assure you, I’m nearly an expert in ‘what to do.’” He helped Fab step into the shower, showed him how to regulate the water, how to lather the soap. “Did you see me dry off,” Tref queried.

“Yes.”

“Do you think you can do that for yourself?” Fab nodded. “When you’re done, come into the kitchen. I’ll have your drink ready.”

“Is gin necessary,” Fab wondered aloud.

“No, but it’s nice to have.”

“I like gin,” Fab said with glee.

“I thought you would.”

Half an hour later Fab entered the kitchen. “I used a comb I found in the shower room. Is that alright.”

“Yes. It’s fine. Here’s your gin drink. I made it with honey and lime.”

“Lime…”

“You’ll like it I promise,” Tref answered. He watched as Fab tasted the drink.

“It’s better than the last,” he exclaimed. “I want…” Tref quieted him by placing his mouth over his friend’s. “That’s a thimble isn’t it?”

“He called it a thimble. It’s called a kiss here.”

“I don’t care what it’s called; I like it Tref,” he said looking at Tref with confusion on his face. “What are those?”

“On my arms, are tattoos,” Tref explained. “These are piercings,” he said pointing to his nipples. “You can touch them if you like.” Fab ran his hands across Tref’s shoulders and upper arms, then moved down to his pecs to feel the barbells through his nipples.

“Do they hurt?”

“To get, but not now,” I told him.

“I want some,” Fab declared taking a long drink of his gin drink.

“Maybe this weekend…”

“Not bloody Make Believe either,” Fab complained. “I’m tired of Make Believe.”

“Alright,” Tref said. “What’s all this about Make Believe?”

“Your bloody ‘regular customers.’”

“I do have regular customers. They just weren’t there tonight.”

“No one was.”

“Fab, I know that. I was there. Be nice. I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“You didn’t come back for me.”

“Because you can’t Fab. Once you live here you can’t go back there. You can fly as long as you keep in practice, but you can’t go back there. I tried it one time and was lost for three days. You didn’t come to me either Fab. I waited.”
     
“You waited for me?”

“Yes. Then tonight you show up, and…” his words were cut off my Fab grabbing him and giving him a thimble. It was full of hunger and passion that had been pent up in Fab for months. Tref had been able to express his lust and learn from masters of the concupiscent arts, but Fab trapped between boy and man had only known what he could discover on his own. Now the fruition of his desire came shooting out like a stream of champagne from a shaken bottle. Fab broke away filled with a satisfied guilt showing plainly on his face. Tref took a moment to regain his composure and his breath. “I guess you’re ready,” he said picking Fab up and carrying him to the bedroom. “I’ll teach you things you never even dreamed existed.”

The Sun came through the window and Fab untangled himself from Tref’s embrace. He’d learned many things last night, but he knew there was more Tref could teach him. “Wake up Tref,” he commanded petulantly.

“Fab,” Tref groaned with a smile and sat up to kiss Fab. “I’ll fix us breakfast in a minute,” he said placing a thimble on Fab’s lips. “Then we can go out and explore.”

All this happened ages ago, but Tref and Fab still explore everyday, and that’s what keeps us young.

What a Lady What a Night

It’s no secret that I’m one of those people who is living for the weekend. As I often do, I commenced my two days away from work by hitting my favorite third place after my cardio this afternoon. I sat on the stool, paired up a Tanq and tonic with a fish and chips and settled down. Soon, I was making headway with my meal; then a woman came up to the guys sitting down from me. They were there when I came in and talking, laughing, and buying beer — too hetero for my tastes, but I digress. I hadn’t noticed her in the place at all, but then why would I?

“ Can I have a sip of your beer,” she asked. The guy, apparently, gave it to her. She commenced telling that she wasn’t allowed to be in the bar. She’d left her dog tied up outside — after no being allowed to bring it inside. This was not a service animal, so the manager was making her leave. One of the bartenders came to ask if she’d been served. “I’m having a drink on the house,” she informed. “Make it a Harp.” She looked decent enough, and while I like the darker beers personally, Harp isn’t bad. She then told the guys that she’d called the police. They conversed with her in polite, but guarded, tones. “Isn’t she loose,” one of the guys asked. The woman went running outside — just in time to find the police pulling up. The bartender showed up Harp in hand, and looked totally befuzzled by the scene. He finally wandered off with the Harp — looking completely confused. Louisville’s finest, on the other hand, didn’t look too happy about standing in the cold for this woman’s nonsense. In fact the one in short sleeves looked almost angry. Who could blame him in twenty-six degree weather? 

“Do you think her line about a drink on the house would work for the rest of us,” I aksed. We laughed and talked whilst the drama played outside. Finally, she left with the dog. A few chuckles later, I was eating again. I heard them still talking about it. “I mean if it was race, or gender, or sexual orientation that they used to keep her out, I’d agree to calling the cops, but not because they wouldn’t let her in with a dog.” The “sexual orientation” grabbed my ears. This man had very casually defended me and mine without thinking about what he said. His buddies seemed in full agreement. Maybe the world has come far further than I think.