I was glad it was my night off at the bar. I was able to go home and do research, expand my horizons. I checked out web sites that Liz had recommended when she gave me the assignment. I combed through the recent online issues of Envy again. As much as I laughed over the true stories from the emergency room about sexual mishaps and the real-life profile of college girls who’d survived melanoma after using tanning beds, I wanted to write about something less salacious. Yet, if I really wanted to write hard news instead of human interest and celebrity stuff, I wouldn’t have been so eager to work for my favorite magazine. I knew what kind of articles they featured. I just thought I could remain above the fray somehow, write about discrimination or even the new wave of romantic comedies, without having to face my squeamishness about having my name on an article about sex. Where my dad could see it and find out that I knew about sex at the age of twenty-two, and that I had maybe even had some.
I wanted his approval. He was the only family I had, and he’d worked hard all his life to support me and make sure I had new shoes for school and got to go on the field trips. He worked on cars, fixing automobiles he could never afford. As long as I could remember he’d driven an old Dodge pickup that he kept fixing when it quit on him. I didn’t have student loans, because he sent me to college. I worked to pay my room and board, but my dad paid for every class, every book. It was a matter of pride to him that I had a degree, a chance to have a better job and a better life. Journalism was what I’d always wanted—to tell stories that were true. But I wanted my dad to be proud of me as well. I knew that my prestigious internship would cease to be something he bragged about once he knew what I’d be writing. That my first published article might be about dildos instead of women in higher education. That I wouldn’t exactly be interviewing Nobel winners. He’d be disgusted, humiliated that he’d squandered all that overtime on a degree for a daughter who reviewed nipple clamps.
I had to decide what I wanted more—success at Envy or to realize my own true dreams that I saw for myself and my future. I wasn’t just about my dad’s pride, it was about mine as well. Did I really want to be the girl reviewing nipple clamps?. For the most part I looked on Pinterest and felt sorry for myself. Then I opened a bottle of chardonnay and got serious. The guys were working which meant I had the loft all to myself. I could kick back in my pajamas with a glass of wine (my second) and search the Internet for something that was more like a fresh perspective and less like some shy teenage girl’s idea of a titillating topic.
I read some of the competitor’s articles and started clicking through the ads. The next thing I knew I was reading about a foam wedge that makes it easier for overweight people to have sex comfortably. I downed another glass of chardonnay and looked at the diagrams. I took some notes and looked up a few references—stuff about the average BMI of Americans in their twenties and figured what percentage of readers might benefit from such an accessory in the bedroom. I checked out some silly looking sex toys and one or two that seemed enticing. When I clicked over to Envy’s archive, I saw tons of reviews of that kind of thing and a few articles (mostly serious, a few humorous) about bringing toys into your relationship and some of the wildest ones on the market. There was a feature from a year ago about the best sex toys for disabled readers, the best positions for overweight readers. So my crazy ideas were already a ‘been there-done that’ for readers.
Not to be discouraged, I started checking out some of the latest stats on open relationships, couples that loved each other and lived together on their own terms, inviting another partner into the bedroom with them or seeing other people of any gender separately and keeping to a set of agreed-upon standards. I made notes frantically—some common rules were safe sex only, oral only, strangers only, same-sex only--it was baffling and fascinating. I guess I’d always imagined polyamorous couples to be the kind who threw their keys in a bowl at swinger parties in the sixties like I’d seen in the movies. To read how many people there were, people my own age, who made their own rules like that was really eye-opening. It made me think of a really good article topic, and I had just the built-in research team I needed right there in the loft.
19
Brett and Derek came into the loft quietly, so careful like they wouldn’t want to wake me at two in the morning. I was awake though. I had dozed in one of the recliners for a while, but I got up around midnight and looked up more information on the polyamorous lifestyle. I wanted to have a reasonable amount of facts to present to Liz, and a basis for my choice.
“Hey!” I said brightly. I hopped up from the table where I’d been taking notes. I picked up my glass to take a drink, but it was empty again. I glared at it, confused for a minute, before I bounded over to the guys, “Wanna help me with something? I have an idea.”
Brett looked at me quizzically, then cut his eyes to the wine bottle that was about two-thirds empty, “Did you drink all that alone?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Nothing. You’re just terrifyingly perky,” he said.
“I’ll help. Is it naked help?” Derek teased.
“Actually it probably will be,” I said matter-of-factly, “I found a new topic and the last two years of Envy have barely touched on it. But it’s kind of a big deal, especially with people our age. Polyamory, loving more than one person at a time, having an open relationship. Or a committed couple who share another lover. There are all these combinations I never dreamed of being part of the spectrum of normal. I mean—I thought, there’s straight people and gay people and maybe some bisexual people. I never knew there were all these options, you know?”
They stared at me but they didn’t ask questions. I thought they’d both be brimming with questions and opinions and that Derek would crack some dirty joke. I didn’t expect radio silence from the guys.
“Well?” I prompted, waiting for them to tell me what a super idea I had. “I want to write about polyamory. Specifically, threesomes. How it works, how that can be positive and healthy in a relationship. It’s not sordid and demeaning. I want to throw open the curtains on a lifestyle I never thought I’d be a part of.”
“Polyamory?” Brett said, “That’s new. I suppose I hadn’t looked to put a label on this.”
“Have a seat, boys,” I said, pouring myself another glass of wine. “I know you’re tired after work, and I’m a little bit tipsy, but things need to be said. I’m not just playing around, hooking up with both of you. There’s this part of polyamory, the word, that stuck with me. It’s about love. And I love both of you. You’re the best friends I’ve ever had, and I’m so lucky to have you. And to have found the two of you, who accept me and like me the way I am and don’t judge me for wanting to be with you both, drunk or sober. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I said, sniffling.
“You’re a sloppy drunk, Lyn,” Derek said, tackling me in a bear hug, “And you know I love you too.”
“I love you too. And your frittatas, which I might add you have not made again despite being on the receiving end of some world class sexual favors,” Brett said.
“Fine, make a joke. I’m serious. I care about you both. I think that polyamory is a topic that is worth learning about and writing about. It’ll interest the readers and hopefully Liz Markham will approve.”
“ “You know she’s not the be all and end all of publishing right?”
“I know. But she’s awesome and she was disappointed in me and I—"
“Got shitfaced and declared your love for your roommates? Yeah, I noticed that part,” Brett said.
“I am not shitfaced,” I said, enunciating carefully so I didn’t slur, “I’m po-ly-am-or-ous. And you are, too.”
“I’m not sure I qualify, since I’m only amorous with you, not Derek.”
“Yeah,” Derek said, “Me and Brett, we’re just comfortable together because we’re friends and we work together. I don’t go around checking out his ass in the locker room or anything.”
“You know what I mean. It’s not a three
-way to be wild and try it once or twice. It’s not something to check off my wild oats bucket list. It’s a relationship. It’s a lifestyle. There’s been loads of articles about trying something racy, picking up an extra girl or guy at a club and taking them home to spice up your tired relationship. This is so different from that. I want to write about it, explore it. But I want to make sure you’re okay with that. I’m not going to use names or identifying details or anything, but I want your blessing.”
“You don’t need our blessing to tell your own story,” Derek said.
“That is such a Brett thing to say,” I said, smiling.
“He beat me to it,” Brett said, “But he’s right. I just don’t want my name attached to it because one of these days I may take the detective’s exam and I don’t want to have to answer questions about my sex life being in the news, and how police are in a position of trust.”
“I’d never risk your professional reputations. I just wanted to know if you’d be up for some anonymous research? Try a few new tricks? Cause I’ve been looking online and—"
“What exactly have you been looking at online?” Derek asked, reaching for my laptop and spinning it toward him. I wished I’d thought to clear my browser history. I tried to get it away from him, but my hand eye coordination was a little loopy from too much wine on an empty stomach.
“Look, don’t browser shame me. It’s research.”
“Filthy Menagé? Fired Up Four-way? These are what you’ve been reading?”
“Reading isn’t the word I’d use. It’s mostly pictures. And, you know, video,” I said, starting to blush. I ducked into the bathroom. When I emerged, Derek was still at my laptop, Brett peering avidly over his shoulder at the screen.
“Why do you have the sound turned off?” Derek said, “The sound is like the best part.” He adjusted the volume and soon the loft was filled with theatrical moans and grunts over a soundtrack of eighties-style slow grind music.
“Ugh, it’s embarrassing. If the sound’s on, someone might hear it—"
“And know you were watching three-way porn?” Brett said.
“Wait, there’s another leg. I think it’s four way. Or else that one chick has three legs,” Derek said.
“Freaky. I think that’s a guy back there. Is he drinking a Gatorade?”
“It makes sense they’d need to hydrate. It’s like a workout. Just—messier,” Derek said with a grimace, closing the laptop.
“So, are you guys in? Do you need to hydrate first?” I teased.
“I think you’re hydrated enough for all of us,” Brett said, “Have a glass of water and eat something.”
“Fine,” I said, “If y’all don’t want to get naked and nasty with me, I’ll just heat up this frozen diet chicken meal,” I giggled.
“Give me that,” Derek said, “You’re not eating frozen chemical crap.”
“But drive thru burgers are nutritious?” I said.
“No, but at least they taste good,” he said, “Here.” He started getting stuff out of the refrigerator. Within minutes, he had made thick sandwiches, meat and cheese, dill pickles on the side. I took one happily and bit into it.
“Oh, my God. Derek. This is incredible. You could totally work at Subway!” I said enthusiastically.
“You’re such a funny drunk,” Brett said, “Subway would never hire him. He’d eat all the meat and then stop work to do pushups all the time.”
I laughed, and part of a pickle fell out of my mouth, which made me laugh even more. Derek choked on his beer, laughing, and I had to thump him on the back.
“Yeah, I’m a sex goddess,” I giggled, “Totally ready to teach the readers of Envy a thing…or three.”
“If you didn’t have mustard on your chin that would sound so much sexier,” Brett said. Derek was still blowing his nose on a paper towel after choking on the beer.
“Maybe you’re buying in to the glam porno image of the threesome,” I said, “when what I’m going to research and write about it the reality, the affection and playfulness and occasional messiness of the relationship.”
“If you saw that video we saw, glamour was not part of it. They were doing it on one of those vinyl picnic tablecloths like you get at the dollar store,” he shuddered.
“That makes sense though. You could hose it off when you were done. Or just, like, throw it away and get a fresh one for next time,” I said.
“Wouldn’t it be better for the environment to have your three-ways on something you could throw in the washer afterward? Reduce the amount of trash you produce, be kind to the earth?” Derek asked.
“Environmentally Friendly Threesomes, written and researched by Lynette Weaver,” Brett announced.
I giggled while I washed my hands at the sink, “Are you guys ready to stop kidding around and do some serious research?”
“I’m game if you are,” Brett said.
“Anything in the name of informing the public,” Derek quipped.
I squealed and clapped my hands, feeling all sorts of deliciously naughty. Taking each of them by the hand, I led Derek and Brett into Derek’s bedroom so we could put that king bed of his to good use.
The three of us flipped through the options for a minute.
“I’m a man of action. I don’t need a diagram,” Brett said.
The three of us walked into Derek’s room and stood looking at one another for a moment. “Thank you for being willing to try this with me,” I said to them.
Derek nodded, and Brett shrugged his big shoulders. “Of course. Don’t you know by now that we would do anything for you?” Brett asked.
I smiled and nodded, looking from one man to the other. “I do know that,” I said.
I stepped toward Brett and reached for the hem of his shirt. He stood still as I lifted the fabric and pushed it up his body. He helped me tug it over his head and then dropped his arms back down to his sides as I pressed kisses to his chest and stomach. His head dropped back, and a low groan emanated from him.
“God, I love your mouth,” he said.
I smiled up at him before continuing to pepper his torso with kisses. I felt Derek move behind me and run his hands up the back of my shirt to unfasten my bra. He slipped his fingers under the fabric and cupped by breasts, which were already aching with the anticipation of his touch.
“Mmmm, that feels so good,” I moaned as I reached for Brett’s belt buckle.
I worked my fingers quickly to undo the belt and unfasten his jeans. Once the fabric, along with his boxers, was around his knees, his huge cock jutted up between us.
I looked over my shoulder at Derek and he lowered his head to mine for a kiss as I wrapped my fingers around Brett’s thick shaft. I squeezed slightly as I worked the length of him, earning grunts of pleasure for my work.
Derek stepped back and undid his own jeans, sliding them down before sitting on the bed behind me. He reached out and pulled my bottoms off and I stepped out of them.
Brett leaned down to kiss me, plunging his tongue deep into my mouth as Derek’s hand slid up my inner thigh and cupped my pussy. He parted my folds and slipped a finger inside of me.
“Holy shit, Lyn, you are so wet,” he said, his voice thick and husky.
I broke from Brett’s kiss and looked back and forth between them. “That’s what you two do to me.”
Derek put his hands on my hips and pulled me backward toward his lap. I spread my legs wide and lowered myself onto his rock-hard cock, instantly groaning at the feeling of him inside me. He kept hold of my hips and started to thrust up into me as I rode him.
I reached out for Brett and pulled him to me, leaning forward to take the meaty head of his dick in my mouth. His hands fisted in my hair as I sucked and licked his shaft.
Derek’s thrusts were getting quicker and I could feel him wanting to come, but I didn’t want it to end just yet. I stood up off of him and released Brett from my mouth with a popping sound.
The guys switched places, with Brett on the bed and Derek
standing in front of me.
“Kneel on the bed,” Brett commanded, his voice deep.
I did as he said, and he slid himself underneath me, his mouth poised just below my pussy. I sat back just a fraction of an inch and Brett’s tongue and lips went to town as he ate me like Sunday dinner.
Derek was standing in front of me, his breathing jagged as he stroked his cock and watched Brett devour my pussy.
“Come here,” I said, reaching for him.
Derek stepped toward me and I took him in my mouth. As I ran my tongue up and down his hard shaft, Brett’s pressure on my clit intensified. I rode his face as Derek fucked my mouth, the sensations starting to blur my vision. When Brett took my clit between his teeth and slipped a finger inside my tight channel, I was done for. I came hard, sucking in a breath that caused Derek to spill down my throat.
“Holy fuck Lynette,” he cried as he came.
Brett wiggled out from underneath me as I sucked Derek dry, drinking down all he had to give me.
The three of us sat for a moment, panting and sweating.
“That was amazing,” I said, finally catching my breath.
“Yes, amazing,” Derek agreed.
I looked back at Brett, who was sitting against the headboard with a satisfied smirk on his face.
“What are you grinning at?” I asked him.
“I like making you come,” he said.
“Well now it’s my turn to make you come,” I told him.
I crawled up the bed to where he sat and pressed my lips to his. I tasted myself on his tongue and it only made me hot and wet all over again. My God, I could never get enough of these two. Derek crawled onto the bed as well and stroked my back as I kissed Brett.
We made out for a few minutes, my hands on his back, his fingers in my hair and our tongues mating, twisting together. I felt my urgency rise, the level of my arousal evident when Derek traced his fingertips along the inside of my thigh and I jerked, my entire body enlivened by the touch. I felt the tip of him pressed against my slit. I pushed down, taking him into me. He met my movement with a thrust of his own and I cried out. Not to be outdone, Brett fondled my nipples, stroking them tenderly with his fingertips, then shocking me with a firmer touch, rolling my puckered nipples between his thumb and finger, almost pinching them as I tossed my head back and forth at the intensity. It felt amazing, and there was a disorienting quality to feeling Derek’s cock pumping inside me while I was face to face with Brett, my hands knotted in his hair.
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