The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes

by Linda Alvarez

  DeVille reached between them and laid his warm hand over her mound. His thumb nudged between her folds. “You want a little extra?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “And—” Harcourt’s hands went to her breasts before she could ask.

  Her ride laster longer than she’d hoped. They were all weary, and even with DeVille’s skilled touch, her pleasure this time took longer to build, but it was worth it. Her crisis wracked her with spasms from feet to scalp. She cried out and, soon after, Harcourt followed, holding her tightly in his arms. When it was over, he pressed his mouth to her temple and held it there for a long moment. His fingers feathered down her back, and she blinked back tears, though she surely had nothing to cry about. She kissed his mouth softly and rested her forehead against his.

  All three of them lay spent for some time, until DeVille said, “That was some pumpkins.”

  Austin laughed. She didn’t want the night to end. She hesitated then decided to ask for what she wanted. When else would she have the chance? “I want you two to kiss. Because I ain’t seen it before, and I want to see it now.”

  Harcourt opened his mouth then closed it again. He didn’t look so dangerous with his eyes so wide and shocked.

  DeVille grinned. “Come on, Harcourt. Where’s your grit?”

  Austin touched his face. “You don’t mind so much, do you? I’ve just got a powerful curiosity.”

  “I noticed,” he said, dryly. “All right.” He gave DeVille a quick, sliding glance.

  DeVille said, “I never thought I’d see the day. They must be sledding in hell right now.”

  “Maybe I should change my mind,” Harcourt growled.

  “Don’t,” DeVille said. He slid a little closer on the blanket, eyes downcast. “Listen to me.”

  Harcourt’s brow wrinkled. “What’s all this solemnity?”

  “I don’t want to joke about this.” He looked up, and Austin’s breath caught at his steady gaze, though he wasn’t looking at her. “You know if you asked me, I’d do just about anything for you, don’t you?”

  “You don’t have to do anything for me. If you think that—”

  Austin put her hand on his arm. “Let him talk.”

  DeVille went on as if she hadn’t interrupted. “I didn’t say anything about having to. I only—Will you let me do this my way?”

  “You’re serious about this. You really want—Why?”

  “There’s a difference between us, Aaron. Not colour, or money, or bravery. You had a family, at least you did once. All I ever had was you. I’ve always wanted you to know that.” DeVille caught Harcourt’s face between his hands, dragged him close, and kissed him, open-mouthed.

  Even weary as she was, it was downright exciting, seeing others engaged in intimacy at such close range, and so emphatically. DeVille’s hand snarled in Harcourt’s hair almost immediately, as if afraid he would escape; but after Harcourt’s first instinctive flinch, she could see his shoulders relax as he let DeVille taste him. Then Harcourt’s hand lifted, and she’d never seen anything so tender in her life as when his big square hand fitted itself to DeVille’s cheek, his thumb stroking. A moment later, he leaned forwards, moving into the kiss, and DeVille made a tiny sound in his throat.

  Austin slid her hand down between her legs. Harcourt reached back, blindly, and grabbed her arm, pulling her towards them. He dragged his mouth away from DeVille’s, looking dazed, and kissed her hungrily. Then he turned back and kissed DeVille, who made a sound like a whimper, then Harcourt was tugging them both down to the blankets.

  The night wasn’t quite over yet.

  When morning came, Austin found herself rolling her few extra clothes into a saddlebag, not quite sure how DeVille had talked her into going with them, to make their fortunes in San Francisco.

  Blackberries

  Nalo Hopkinson

  “You want some blackberries?” I asked Tad. “They grow wild all along here.”

  In fact, blackberry bushes lined the narrow winding road as far as the eye could see. I walked over to the nearest one, where there was a clump of fat, ripe fruit hanging just about level with my mouth.

  “You crazy, Shuck?” asked Jamal. “Those things are growing by the roadside with all this pollution! You gonna make him eat those?”

  As if to prove Jamal’s point, a semi came hurtling down the road, careening around the curves, belching blue smoke. It was huge and it stank, but there were still three cyclists riding in its wake. They had serious gear on, and straddled serious racing bikes. One of them looked sure to overtake the truck at the next bend. I shook my head. Vancouver. Gotta love this city. I’d only been living in her three years, but already she had my heart, with her tree-hugging, latte-sipping, bike-riding ways. Some girls are just like that. I waved a wasp away from the bunch of blackberries I was eyeing and pulled the ripest ones off. They just fell into my hand, staining it a little with juice.

  “Here,” said Tad. “Lemme try ’em.”

  Jamal sighed and rolled his eyes at his boyfriend. “Your funeral, sweetie.”

  Tad smiled and made a kissy face at him. “And I know you’ll look hot at the wake, so cute in your tux.”

  I put one of the blackberries into Tad’s mouth, enjoying the warmth and slight dampness of his mouth against my fingers. Tad had the kind of plump, ripe brown lips I liked. I imagined crushing the berries against them, and licking the juice off. Shit, the things I was thinking about my oldest friend.

  Tad bit into the berry. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. I grinned. “The blacker the berry,” I told him. He responded with that flirty grin I remembered so well. Oh, gay boys could make me so randy. Gay boys and mouthy femmes.

  “Come on, Jamal,” Tad said. “You really need to taste one of these. Here.” He took a berry from me and waved it in front of Jamal’s face. Jamal looked sceptical.

  “Just smell it.” Tad put the berry under Jamal’s nose and winked at me. “You know how they say the way to man’s heart is through his belly?”

  “That’s no belly,” I pointed out.

  “You know it,” Jamal said. “I don’t spend all that time in the gym for nothing.”

  Jamal was wearing denim shorts that looked like they’d been sewn right on to him, and a sinfully tight white tank top. Like many black men, he didn’t have much body hair to obscure the view. The white cotton made his skin gleam. His chest was a map of every workout he’d ever done. He was long and lean to Tad’s short, rotund muscularity. Ah, so what? I bet my arms were bigger than his. I bet I could take him. I felt the warm pulse come and go in my clit and smiled. That was the thing with me and some guys: this balled-up heat, this combination of competitiveness and good, hard wanting. A lot would satisfy it. Wrestling, maybe. Or … no. Shut it, girl. I didn’t know if I could flip these boys. Even if I could make them, just for a little while, hard for someone with girl bits, would it be someone like me? Every fag I knew was fascinated with breasts, and I was a little deficient in that department.

  Jamal got a good whiff of the blackberry, and his face changed. He practically sucked it out of Tad’s fingers. Tad laughed.

  Two lanky white guys in surfer shorts and skateboarding T-shirts scrambled around us on the narrow verge, trying not to stare at the tableau of three black folks together in the same space. Not a sight you saw a lot in Vancouver. They headed on towards the entrance to Wreck Beach, the smell of weed tailing them.

  I slurped down the rest of the berries. “C’mon,” I said. “Let’s go.” We continued along the roadside.

  Jamal and Tad were up visiting me from Seattle. Tad and I had been buddies when I lived there. We’d known each other since school days. Sometime near the end of high school, Tad had come out to me, like I hadn’t guessed! With his example to follow, I’d come out to myself – a good obedient black girl from a fine Christian family, engaged to a minister in training – and fled into the arms of outcast women like myself with no plan of ever looking back. Tad and I had stayed fast friends, but we�
�d stopped the outrageous flirting with each other that we used to do. No need, right? Now that we’d each shown our true colours and didn’t need the other as a shield any more. Except, when Tad contacted me a few weeks ago, we’d fallen right back into the sexual innuendo, the teasing. It felt familiar. Tad was my home. I’d invited him and Jamal to visit me and Sula, and I was thrilled when they accepted. The guys had landed at Vancouver airport a scant two hours ago. I’d whisked them off immediately to show them Wreck Beach.

  We were at Trail Number Six, the path that led to the beach. “Nearly there,” I told them. I took the first few steps down. Tad and Jamal followed me, then stopped to look around. We were in a forest, dark, damp and cool. Lean old maples stretched forever to reach the sky. The footpath angled sharply down in steps hewn out of the earth and shored up with planks. A deep ravine dipped down beside the footpath. It was overgrown with saplings, tangled blackberries and undergrowth. Here and there, a few giant rotted tree trunks jutted up out of it, looking like a giants’ caber toss.

  “This leads to a beach?” said Jamal.

  “Yup,” I replied. “It’s about twenty minutes straight down; ten if you’re fit.”

  “Lawd ’a mercy,” muttered Tad. “The child still has a taste for hard labour.”

  I smirked at him. “Ready to hike?” I said to them.

  Shot through with bars of precious sunlight from above, a yellowed maple leaf drifted slowly down into the ravine. The leaf was the size of a turkey platter.

  Jamal looked at me, a gleam in his eye. “Ten minutes?”

  “For me, anyway,” I said. The gauntlet had been laid down. Would he pick it up?

  “Betcha I can do it in seven.”

  “You’re on!” I burst past him. He yelled and ran to catch up. I knew this path well; could do it in the dark. I had, one night, with my girlfriend Sula. And when we’d made it to the beach; well, mosquitoes bit me that night in places no mosquito had any right being.

  I grabbed a sapling for purchase, slid around that little dogleg you get to about a third of the way down. I shouted for the joy of it.

  “Please be careful, both of you!” yelled Tad.

  I stopped, looked up at Tad a few yards above me. He was skating and slipping on the pebbles. He skidded to one knee, grimaced as he skinned it. He’d stopped about an inch from the edge. Jamal looked down. It was a steep drop over the side.

  “He’s right,” I said. “I’ll race you, but let’s not do anything stupid, OK?”

  Jamal measured me with his eyes. I let him look. My sawn-off jeans showed the bulges in my thighs, and my arms strained at the sleeves of my T-shirt. I was a fair match for him and we both knew it.

  “All right,” he replied. “Nothing stupid. We take it easy. But I bet you I’ll be the one to make it down there without breaking a sweat.”

  “In your dreams.” I turned and kept climbing down, Jamal neck and neck beside me.

  “Tad, you OK up there?” called Jamal.

  “You bitches better slow down!” he shouted back.

  “Yeah?” I said to him. “You gonna come down here and make us?”

  Tad chuckled. “I bet you’d like that.”

  I could hear him puffing, his feet landing heavily on the steep stairs, but Tad didn’t ruffle easily. Like when he’d come and pulled me out of my parents’ house, where my dad had me under house arrest for the crime of being a bulldagger. Dad had reached for the baseball bat he kept behind the couch, but Tad had just grabbed it away from him and calmly told me to pack a bag, he’d wait for me. Been too long since Tad and I hung out.

  “I can smell the sea,” Jamal said.

  “Yeah,” I told him. “I love this part. The forest belongs to the land, but as you come further and further down, the sea starts to peek through. You smell it first, then you begin to see it. A few more steps, and … ah. There she is.”

  We were at the landing, just a few yards above the beach. The sand stretched out on either side, with the water just beyond it, its gentle waves licking at the beach. The sea smelled like sex. Off in the distance, the Coast Mountains marched away from us, range upon range, disappearing into the mist.

  Jamal stood tall, but he was breathing hard, and I could see the beads of sweat on his face. I bet they tasted like the sea. “Little winded, there, Jamal?” I teased him.

  He sucked his teeth. “Don’t give me that, girl child. Look at you.”

  He was right. I was puffing a bit myself, and my T-shirt was soaked. I pulled it over my head. I never wore a bra. Jamal literally jumped. I calmly tucked the end of the T-shirt into my belt. “What?” I asked him. “I told you it was a nude beach.” You weren’t supposed to get naked until you were actually on the beach, but I was feeling the devil rising in me. Wanted to see how Jamal and Tad would deal.

  Tad had caught up with us. He burst out laughing when he saw me. “Susanna Paulette Avery, you’re still flat as an ironing board!”

  “Don’t talk shit, Tad. This a thirty-eight inch chest. I work out hard to get this chest.”

  “Chest, yes. But where are the titties, girl?”

  “On your momma.”

  Now Jamal was laughing too. He looked relieved. Probably cause he didn’t have to look at bouncing boobies on me. Even with my shirt off, lots of people still mistake me for a man. Nipples a little thicker than on most guys, is all.

  I pointed to the Johnny-on-the-spot off to one side on the landing. “You guys want to use the facilities before we go down?”

  “Nah,” said Jamal. “We can piss in the bushes if we have to … oh. Excuse me, Susanna. Unless you want to?” He gestured towards the toilet. Damn. Show a little bit of girl parts, and he goes all gentleman on me.

  “No.” I moved past him and headed for the stairs. “And shut it with the ‘Susanna’ crap. Everybody calls me Shuck.”

  “Except your daddy!” Tad sung out. Giggling, he brushed past me on the stairs and raced down to the beach. “He calls you …”

  “Don’t start, Tad!” I ran, caught up with him, tackled him to the sand.

  “Ow! Big meanie.” Laughing, Tad got me in a chokehold, pinned my back to the sand, one arm behind me. The buttons of his shirt were plucking at my nipples. They swelled. I got my legs around Tad’s body. Men have the upper body advantage; women have the lower. I twisted, flipping Tad like a turtle. I sat astride him. Jamal ran up and stood there, watching us both with a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Now,” I said to Tad, “what does my dad call me? Tell me.” And I started tickling.

  Tad wriggled helplessly under me. “Bitch! Stop it! No!” He giggled, tried to slap my hands away, but I kept moving them, kept digging my fingers into his tummy, his sides, the bit along the bottom of his belly.

  “Here, let me help,” said Jamal. He knelt at Tad’s head, grabbed his arms. Laughing, Tad struggled, but Jamal held him fast. I kept tickling. Tad started to squeal.

  “I think you men need to go to the other part of the beach,” said a firm woman’s voice.

  I looked up. She was pointing to where the gay men usually hung out. She looked part Asian, part something I couldn’t identify. She was completely naked, all soft curves, about fifteen years older than me, with a relaxed, amused grin. Just the way I like ’em. I stood up off Tad. “Yes, ma’am!”

  “Oh,” she said, hearing my voice. “Maybe not.” She’d pegged me for a woman.

  “Where is it?” Jamal asked her.

  She pointed, but I said, “I can show you.” I took Tad’s hand, pulled him up off the sand. The woman raised an eyebrow at me, but only said, “I’m sure you can,” and sauntered off.

  I watched her departing behind: chubby and round, like two oranges. I bet that ass felt good in the hands. It was bouncy, too. “Gotta be jelly,” I muttered.

  “Cause jam don’t shake like that!” Jamal finished. We laughed, punched each other’s shoulders.

  I led the boys further out on to the beach, to a nice patch of sunlight. Sunlight, like bl
ack people, was a rare and precious occurrence in Vancouver. Tad and Jamal stared around them. Even in early fall, some people still came down to the water. There was a mound of sand, human height, with a sand sculpture of a naked woman carved into its side. Over to our right, someone had stuck bleached fallen logs into the sand, angling them together into the shape of a teepee. Over to our left an elderly Asian woman and man, nude, sat on towels with their chess game on the sand between them. Three ruddy children and their dog played with a bright green ball. The children’s laughter and shouting and the barking of the dog ascended into the cool autumn air and were thrown back from the forest behind us.

  “Water? Pop? Smokes?” The vendor strolling the beach was male, stocky, white. He swung a bright red cooler from either hand. He wore sturdy rubber sandals, a money pouch around his waist, a sun visor on his head and a bow tie around his neck, all in the same red as the coolers. Nothing else. Tad’s face as he spied him was a picture.

  “We don’t have anything like this in Seattle,” he murmured.

  “Hey, Philip,” I called out.

  The vendor smiled when he saw me, and came over. “Hey, Shuck,” he said. “Nice day, eh?”

  “Beauty,” I agreed.

  Tad quirked an eyebrow at me. “Beauty?”

  I shrugged. “Been here three years. Starting to talk like the locals.” Philip snickered.

  “You guys thirsty?” I asked them. They nodded. So I bought some pop from Philip.

  “Smokes?” Philip asked again. “I got tobacco and, um, herbal.”

  “Reefer?” asked Tad. “You selling reefer out in the open like this?”

  Philip just grinned.

  “Shuck,” said Tad, “we’re the only black people as far as the eye can see. You know that if some shit goes down with the cops, we’ll be the ones doing jail time, not him.”

  “Just chill, man,” Philip told him. The borrowed black phrase sounded odd in a white Vancouverite’s mouth. But hell, probably no odder than me saying, “beauty”.

  “This is Vancouver,” I told Tad. “And it’s Wreck Beach. If the cops start picking people up here for smoking weed, the jail’ll be overflowing in an hour.”