Laura Meets Jeffrey

by Jeffrey Michelson

  14

  Our first threesome

  Summer 1980

  Laura asks me if we can do something sexy like a threesome with another guy and I think of Freddy, my whoring buddy. He’d be great and he’d be grateful.

  Freddy and I have often watched each other fuck the same hooker so I am comfortable with him. We work well together naturally, like a good doubles tennis team. Our egos never bump. Our cocks are about the same size. We both worship slutty women and he always smells clean.

  Freddy is about 5'9" with a full head of prematurely grey curly hair. He’s chunky, an ex-high school linebacker, once mostly muscle, who now shares his body with the excess calories from too much cheesecake. He drives a new Mercedes and dresses, even though he’s Jewish, like a Mafia don’s kid—lots of Italian knits in tasteful designs and muted tones, high-end shoes, bespoke suits and pants and when he’s dressed up, a Ferragamo tie and a diamond-encrusted, solid gold Rolex President, so heavy he lists to his left.

  I don’t follow fashion but I can listen to him go on about his beloved wardrobe for forty-five minutes before I get bored and move him to another subject.

  When I call him up, I don’t tell him my plans for the evening. He thinks he’s coming over just to meet Laura. He knocks and I tell Laura to open the door for him. She’s wearing a black thong and a black lace teddy, and in high heels, towers over Freddy. He stares and lets out a soft involuntary “Wow!”

  They trade greetings and as he follows her into the living room he’s looking at her legs and ass and keeps repeating soft, “wows.”

  He brings coke and grass and we all dig in. Freddy is as particular about his recreational drugs as he is about his car and clothing. The three of us share a joint of hybrid Indica from Hawaii crossed with a feminized Afghani seed and do two hits each of Peruvian flake from the northern side of Machu Picchu. Then I tell Freddy I want him to fuck Laura right there on the big cushy couch.

  He looks into her face. She grins her approval.

  “Freddy was just always ready,” Laura laughs, “He was like, “Yeah, I’ll do that! Sure, let’s do that!!” Freddy was always willing—and grateful—and very kind when the fucking became, uh, very delicate, like in my ass, ha, ha, ha!”

  He wastes no time and kisses her. He gets up and stands in front of her. He slips off his mocha and tan fully-leather-lined Bally slip-ons and takes off his long-sleeve ecru silk shirt already open at the neck two full buttons revealing the oversize gold rope chain that held the dangling matching detachable coke spoon recently in use. Before he can do it himself, she unbuckles his Gucci analine leather belt with 14k gold horse bit buckle, pulls down his tan Italian wool lightweight gabardine flat-front trousers and his Parisian silk bikini briefs better suited to his former figure. She catches his tool in her mouth as it springs out. I move in like a camera for the close-up.

  Laura puts her hands on his ass and with his hard penis in her mouth gargles that Freddy has the smoothest skin she ever felt on a man. I feel his back as he is grooving in and out of her mouth. I had never thought about it before but she is right—he has baby skin.

  “His skin was softer,” Laura explains, “than you would ever think a man’s skin could be.”

  He pushes her back and she lies on the couch. He crouches between her legs and returns the oral favor. She purrs and groans and looks straight into my eyes.

  He is vein-bulging hard. He kneels and enters her. He moves in and out, slow, metered, each penetration deeper. Laura acknowledges each push.

  I get down near the fuck and stare at the copulation point. It is an erotic organic sculpture, half oil rig-mechanical and half porn. I touch it where it meets, not enough to startle, just enough to feel his contact with her. My her. The woman I love. The woman I need. The woman who heats my blood. She who is to die for.

  I suggest we all go in the bedroom so I can join in. On the bed I put my cock in her mouth while Freddy re-establishes his fucking. When we switch positions I watch close up his cock go in and out of her mouth. Her eyes are glued to mine.

  We are eye to eye and she is sucking another man’s cock, what in some cultures is the world upside down and grounds for justifiable homicide, but to us it’s just what Swingers call “The Lifestyle.” Laura is lost on the path to orgasms. She has one, then a second runs in behind it and pushes out.

  I am fucking her and she comes again. She takes Freddy’s cock out of her mouth and kisses me. The sex fire burns so hot the usual rules of heterosexual engagement are suspended. It doesn’t make me cringe. In unison Laura and I say we love each other.

  “Right at this moment I love you both,” says Freddy.

  Freddy fucks her until he comes. I stick two fingers up her ass and feel him throb as he pumps his juice in her and I feel her convulsions as she comes again. I tap Freddy to slide out pronto and before her writhing subsides I go into her wet just-fucked pussy. Laura and I have an entire wordless conversation of wonder, surprise and pleasure as her face muscles go slack and her tongue falls out of her mouth.

  I come and she joins again.

  Laura Bradley is as high as it goes. She is being here now, breathing, alive, at the leading edge of experience. Her primitive eyes smile large and stretch her face with love. She is complete with everything good the universe has to offer. She is right now and she is 20,000 years old. Only Laura goes to where it all began.

  We lay there, Freddy on one side and me on the other. Laura is the Nookie Queen. Freddy looks at me with an admiring grin and says, “Don’t lose this one.”

  I don’t feel an ounce of self-conscious depravity.

  Outlaws? Yes.

  Morally corrupt? No.

  I feel like the Eskimo who shares his wife on a cold night. It is ur-holy and animal good.

  We share another joint, this time deep rich brown Jamaican Lambs Bread. We do two more spoons of coke each. I do little spoons; they do large. Laura plays with my penis and in ten minutes I get hard again. We fuck and Freddy puts his soft cock in her mouth, and it doesn’t stay soft for long.

  I lie on my back and she sits down on me facing away, reverse cowgirl, and slow and easy works my cock up into her ass. Her long back and narrow waist and waving hair go up and down on me. She crouches on the soles of her feet and on each up stroke her only connection to me is her asshole.

  I lean her back and invite Freddy to use her pussy.

  He pushes into her. Laura goes wild. We’ve hit the Big Top: This is “DP,” Double Penetration, The Flying Wallendas of Porn.

  “I remember Freddy’s cock in me,” Laura recalls, “as Jeffrey was lying on his back taking my ass. Freddy and Jeffrey were really tuned in to each other and both of them adored me. And the rhythm worked when they both fucked me at the same time. They both switched holes a couple of times.”

  I’d been on the high wire a few times before. It’s usually performed with a guy lying on his back, penis in vagina of the girl on her knees straddling him and her rear entered by another guy behind her who does something between straddling and crouching. It takes balance, two very hard cocks and one sex-crazed limber adventurous female.

  It’s weird for guys because no matter what entrance you take, you feel the other guy’s cock in the other tunnel. But it’s so horny and women go so crazy that once again the normal rules of heterosexual engagement are suspended. You need penises that are at least slightly bigger than average and they must be bones. Anything squishy pops out.

  Finding the right rhythm is necessary for the dance to move smoothly with everybody getting what they came for and nothing popping out or bending at an unfortunate angle.

  You’ve got to move the way a watch works. As horologists say, it’s a “complication,” this one flesh and blood, with each part dancing with the others.

  “The trick to keeping two dicks in you at the same time is very complex,” Laura explains, “because of the rhythm. You have to be really tuned in together. It’s best done on acid, ha, ha, ha! It depends on how sensitiv
e the guys are to the woman—and to each other.

  “It’s very important that the men are tuned in to each other,” Laura continues, “so that the rhythm can work. If there is any kind of an ego fight between the two men, it doesn’t work at all. I’ve had cocks popping out of me because the guys weren’t in 100 percent harmony with each other—but that didn’t happen with Jeffrey and Freddy!”

  Laura starts to scream so loud I get scared the police might come. Freddy must have the same worry and gently cups his hand over her mouth. The machine speeds up as we all come. Me first, then Laura, then Freddy, followed by another little one of hers, all within maybe half a minute; the moans, groans, grunts, orgasmic sighs and callings to “God” melding into music.

  Our three-part crescendo fades until all I hear is breathing. Once again she is between us.

  “I never did that.” Laura says flatly. “I want it again. Right away.”

  “Easy for you to say,” says I.

  I am spent. So is Freddy. I get on my knees on the floor and beg, “No More! Please No More!” Freddy seconds the motion and we all laugh.

  (This is about one month before Roberto Duran in his second fight with Sugar Ray Leonard cries, “No Mas! No Mas!”—No More! No More!—and quits at the beginning of the eighth round and makes the plea for surrender, in Spanish, famous in the headlines. He was getting beat up. I was getting fucked out. We both knew the meaning of no more.)

  Laura says, “I guess I need four guys.”

  Maybe she does.

  An hour after Freddy leaves I get renewal and make love with Laura again while she talks and replays the scenes, taking a long time when she gets to the double penetration.

  15

  What lives in the slime on a porn booth floor?

  Late summer 1980

  My relationship with Laura is now several months old. We get along well, the sex still steams and the S&M part is still frosting and not the cake. I find myself wanting her to stop working at the whorehouse. Health concerns are not a giant part of my reasons why. This is the era before AIDS. This is the era before the herpes scare. I just had enough.

  Periodically she has to work double shifts, some weeks she works nights and occasionally she works weekends including Saturday or Sunday night. Whorehouses are easy marks for robbers, especially at night and on weekends. Sometimes they get held up, sometimes the girls are raped, and sometimes girls and their clients get shot and killed. It happens. Plus, Laura doesn’t have any control over whom she fucks. If she doesn’t want a particular dude she has to fuck and suck him anyway. She doesn’t mind it too much but I don’t like that.

  She occasionally does tricks on the outside. She likes these better because she can choose her johns and she makes more money per fuck than at the whorehouse. When she does them in our apartment I go for a walk with Necort or I go to the movies. I’m sure she’d be able to make enough money on her own with her regulars.

  Another thing I want changed is her turning over the bulk of her money to her husband. She keeps some, but she is supporting Sandy and his girlfriend. My inner pimp asks what Silky and Iceberg Slim would think of a pathetic white boy Jew living with a whore who turns over most of her money to another man.

  I decide Laura and I need to talk. One Saturday afternoon of an early autumn weekend at my cabin I tell her that I want her to quit the whorehouse and to stop paying Sandy so much of her hard-earned money. Splitting the cost of a house she doesn’t live in is way more than enough. I tell her I make enough money to support both of us and she can keep all her “trick” money. She says she doesn’t want to quit Eureka because it isn’t just the money. She loves being a whore; she loves having sex with one strange man after another and then coming home to make love to me. And what about the money for Sandy and her house, she asks. Could I handle all that too?

  “No, I can’t. I don’t want to. Why should either one of us pay the entire mortgage and taxes and insurance and half the bills on a house you don’t live in?”

  “But I told Sandy I’d pay all the mortgage and taxes and insurance.”

  “I don’t care. You’ll renegotiate”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes you can.”

  Our voices rise to shouting. We are having our First Fight.

  We argue. My rationality exhausted, I play my trump card and threaten to split up. I hold my breath. She cries and begs me not to leave. Through my bravado I know I am full of shit and would crumble the first moment my bluff is called. I know, if not in words, that even if she fancies herself my slave and gets off on me owning her and using her that I am the real slave. I can’t be without her.

  We talk more and strike a deal. Laura will leave the whorehouse. She’ll tell Sandy she’ll pay half the mortgage, taxes, and insurance and only the bills that she runs up. She’ll turn occasional tricks from her black book. She’ll resume making silver rings and pendants and hustle her art as well as her body. We’ll go to orgies together so she can have her fill of men. It’ll be my job to take her on sexual adventures.

  I entice her with promises of promiscuity. We’ll pick up guys in bars for threesomes; go to S&M clubs, orgies, adult bookstores, on-premise swing clubs. The works.

  She says, “I’ve got years of not having enough sex to make up for. I love the days when four or five customers come and they all use me hard. I love doing that and coming home and you fucking me for hours. I just can’t get enough sex. But I want to try.”

  She is dying to turn a trick in front of me. I am dying to watch. It’s a fair deal. We have our first make-up sex. There is no S&M. It’s just, as Henry Miller calls it, “a good old-fashioned fuck.”

  She is a hippie-whore after my own heart. She is the flip side of me. I understand her. She’s a very yangish yin. If I were a woman I would be her. (And God willing, if this transmogrification happened, I’d pray to be blessed with her stunning good looks.)

  That night after a dinner out to celebrate our new deal we are driving back to the cabin when Laura, tipsy and stoned says, “Let’s go find adventure now! I’m feeling really horny!”

  “I would fuck anyone Jeffrey told me to,” Laura explains, “oh, absolutely! He would tell me who to fuck and who not to fuck. I would have sex with anybody he wanted me to have sex with. I trusted him. I knew he always was taking my fantasies and painting them with sex.”

  I suggest the adult bookstore.

  Located in a dull building on a drab, downtown street, the adult bookstore is a magnet for swinger couples, gays, and regular horny guys. This is before VCRs and videotape; if you want to see porn films you have to go to a bookstore booth with a roll of quarters. The films are on 8mm loops and what they lack in production values they make up for by existing.

  I’d gone to adult bookstores for years, alone and with a few different girls and we’d fuck while watching a porn flick. Sometimes we’d pick up another couple or a single guy and go back to their place. Most often I went to a bookstore by myself.

  The front of the store sells books and movies and is well lit. The back of the store is dark, with about a dozen small cubicles for watching films. Some booths have no holes though the shared wall, some have small holes just big enough for a dick, some have two small holes, one on each side for, I guess, the real gay party boys, and some have bigger holes, maybe four inches in diameter that a cock and balls could fit through or an ass could press up against.

  Most times I’d choose a booth with no hole and just jerk off, preferably to a large-breasted blonde being gangbanged by several black men or a skinny hot young girl sucking off an older man.

  Sometimes, I must admit, I’d go into a cubicle with a hole in the wall and wait for the sign: fingers sticking through the hole beckoning my pecker to have a good time. I’d stick my cock, or if the hole was big enough, my cock and balls, through the “glory hole” and enjoy. If I were in a booth next to a couple, I’d hope it was the woman giving me head, but I never really had a prohibition against letting a guy suck my d
ick. Gay guys give great head. They are obsessive about it and are technically proficient in a way that few women can match. And they love to swallow and continue sucking once you’ve shot your load.

  When I was in second grade, Susie, a girl my age asked if I wanted to play naked games with her. We danced naked. We touched each other’s bodies everywhere. We spent a lot of time spreading each other’s asscheeks and looking at each other’s assholes and laughing. Assholes were funny. We’d kiss (without tongues) and watch each other pee. I would touch her slit and she would touch my miniature boner. I don’t remember it ever being soft around her. One time she started kissing my penis and soon she was sucking it. I liked it immediately. Since I had no reference, I thought she invented it. She was toothy and I had to keep reminding her not to hurt me but it was definitely a great thing. I also knew it was a bad thing and that we shouldn’t be doing it, but I didn’t care so I knew I would go to hell.

  A few years later, when I was nine or ten, but still before I knew what sex was, an older boy, David—maybe thirteen or fourteen—seduced me into letting him play with my little penis. It felt terrific. I loved his warm mouth and gentle hands playing with my favorite places to touch. He made me swear not to tell and I never did. Until now. He never asked me to touch him and I wasn’t curious about it, so it never came up. So to speak. All I knew was that he sucked my penis better than Susie and maybe it was something other people did and Susie hadn’t invented it. And since I was already going to hell, what could it matter.

  Laura and I get to the bookstore just before midnight. There’s another couple and about a dozen lone men roaming around, eying each other, cruising. Most appear gay, some I suppose are bisexual, and some like me consider themselves heterosexual—but are so horny they let anyone suck their cocks.

  Laura and I are casually dressed for warm weather. I am wearing shorts and a T-shirt; she is wearing a short skirt and a tube top that lets her big nipples speak directly to the public. Her beauty and skimpy clothes catch every eye in the store. The straight guys want to fuck her and the gay guys want to be her. We cause a murmuring stir, but walk around unhassled.