There’s no I in threesome

by Red Velvet

A fantasy in everyone’s naughty goody drawer, no mentally active lesbian can honestly deny having at least one masturbatory session revolving around two girls positioned at either ends of their writhing frame, poking and prodding every orifice with the tenacity of a Cheshire cat. Of course, a threesome can be pre-meditated or one of those random late night developments that can give you the best fucking orgasm of your life, or leave you out in the cold looking at your toes curl against the underfloor heating of a disenfranchised en suite. Alas, I was subject to the latter form of self-deprecating, podiatric torture in an evening which had started out rather well.

The background to the tale, a simple case of a girl I was sweet on both emotionally and physically, let’s call her Virginia. Take another girl; let’s call her Dominique, a close friend who became an acquaintance through professional networks and a shared appreciation of Virginia’s rather obvious and demonstrative allures. After a brief series of meetings between Virginia and me, it was decided by Dominique and I to initially arrange a foursome with Virginia’s best friend although a last minute illness provoked an untimely cancellation. Nonetheless, Dominique and I had confirmed the reservation of a penthouse suite at a boutique hotel in a licentious part of town that befitted a night of such erotic misdemeanour.

Dinner was delectable, a casual sweep of a fringe here and a covert smile there knowingly shared, with thoughts of exactly what was lurking in Virginia’s snakeskin handbag peppering the steak fillets. Après dessert and it was up to the boudoir, where champagne glasses were re-filled and two cohorts (a couple who had joined us for drinks) sneaked out as Dominique and I began devouring the main attraction.

Now I’m going to ask you the reader, to pause this steamy romp in your mind for one iota as I lament to inform you that at this precise moment some bastard God of Fate decided that it would be a great twist for my time of the month to descend as Christ to Limbo, lumping me with a myriad of bodily issues I’d rather have left at the chemist. So with life’s destiny dagger carving an unruly jagged edge, I was left bound to take a predominantly voyeuristic role in future proceedings as the screams, thrusts and moans corroded my prickling eardrums. That’s not to say it was a bad experience, far from it…it was incredibly hot but the position of being a spectator would have been better suited to a day at Ascot! I wanted to be involved, but as my toes curled against the underfloor heating I knew the passion had all but faded between Virginia and I.

Several days later I received an awkward and rather curt message from her explaining that she was sorry, but she’d acquired strong feelings for Dominique. I, of course, knew this already, and was reminded that my powers of acute observation were unfailingly accurate once again. There’s no I in threesome, but in this case the we was definitely a bittersweet tryst.