I admit I have the occasional qualm about writing gay and lesbian erotica. I’m neither gay nor lesbian, though given half a chance, I’m pretty sure I’d give girls a try, and I’ve long wished I had a dick of my own with which to make sweet, sweet love to a man. If I had to tack a label on myself, it would be as heterosexual woman, but I have some serious bi-longings.

When I wrote my first gay stories, I didn’t give it much of a thought. Honestly, people are people. Love, lust, longing–they’re all the same no matter what your gender. Hearts get broken no matter who does the breaking, and honestly, it’s less about genitals than about the whole person.

I still sweat the details when I write from a male point-of-view. I have never experienced an orgasm with my own penis (alas) and I will turn to friends who are endowed to have them check me and let me know if I’ve got it right or if I’m a bit off in describing the sensation. So far, so good, knock wood.

But then I submitted a lesbian story to a publisher and got rejected because she felt it would be off-putting to her mostly lesbian audience. I didn’t understand, but I didn’t disagree. I assume she would know better than I, and a dear lesbian friend of mine explained it to me in greater depth.

But now, ever since then, I worry about writing stories with same-sex relationships, afraid that I’m going to get something wrong. I had banked on universal emotions and shared experiences making it cool, and now I’m just unsure of myself. I read not that long ago that most of the gay erotica currently being bought is actually being written by straight women. I don’t know what to make of that.

One of the stories I’m working on is a full-length novel for a change, though it started out as a short story. Then two, and I realized a story was unfolding and sure enough, this character had a story that needed to be told, so I started telling it, fitting the bits I’d already written into the whole. It’s one of my NaNo novels for November, and I thought I’d share a bit more of it. (For another chapter, click here.) I posted this chapter on Literotica ages ago and it was one of my highest rated stories, and it got an Editor’s Choice and “Hot” designation. For what that’s worth…

*****

On Friday, it rained. Hard. I mean, really hard. There’s no work to do on the barn when it rains. Oh sure, if we were as far along as working on the inside we could get something done there, but weren’t quite there yet, so I had the day off. A rainy, miserable Friday, with a long weekend yawning before me.

I sat dejectedly in the living room of my summer rental watching the rain run down the windowpane. When I took the job, I guess I hadn’t realized how difficult it was going to be to put my life in the city on hold to spend the summer doing construction work on a farm. I liked the job, and as long as I could go out and actually work I was fine. It was the down time that made me restless and edgy. Rural New Hampshire is not exactly a hotbed of social activity, and there’s not much of a gay scene. Let’s face it, folks—one boy bar in a 75-mile radius does not a scene make.

Of course, part of my problem was more that mere homesickness and lack of social stimulation. My problem was Vic. It’s never a good idea to get your freak on with your job foreman, even if he is young and good-looking. I knew this full well, just as I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him that he was so my type. Well, okay so he claimed he was straight, but I never like to let a little thing like that slow me down. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that! Besides, I swear I had only planned to use him as a summer conquest, a sweet, dirty little fling to keep me warm in the winter when I was battling the slushy streets of Manhattan and the limp advances of jaded chorus queens. Vic was hot and fresh and as full of promise as a summer morning, and I really didn’t want a serious relationship, just a roll in the hay. Which there was plenty of, I should add. Hay, that is.

To my delighted surprise, Vic was a great deal more open to shall we say, “sexual experimentation” than I originally anticipated. He greeted my advances almost from the get-go with open arms—and legs. He was an avid and willing pupil, and his hard, strong, tanned body had made the hot summer literally fly by. I didn’t even miss the bright lights and big city all that much when we were lying together on a warm night, holding hands and searching the enormous black sky for shooting stars.

Now, I knew all along that he didn’t consider himself to be “gay”, or even bi for that matter. He made it clear that for as much as he liked to fool around with me, at the end of the day he really couldn’t live without pussy. I knew what he was talking about; because while I’m not averse to a little trim myself, it’s not something I want a steady diet of. His sexual preference was just fine and dandy with me. At least I thought it was—at first. Remember, he was nothing, just some out-of-town sex. And I was just supposed to be something kinky on the side; sort of a little foray down a gay side street for him.

So here’s the rub…

You see, I made a fatal mistake. The fatal mistake. I fell for Vic, and I fell hard. I didn’t care that he was straight. I didn’t give a rat’s ass that I was just some sexy fun for him. Hell, I could even get past it when he said he was going to try out some of my “moves” with his girlfriend Randi. None of that mattered a bit when his arms were around me, and his lips were pressed to mine.

In those precious golden moments I could tell myself that there was something more. Call me the King of Delusion if you want, but when we were together, I was sure he felt the same way, that his heart was coming along for the ride too.

And as long as I didn’t really think about it too hard, like when we were working side by side, it wasn’t a problem. Then it had to go and rain. As I sat and looked out across the soaking wet lawn into the fog, I thought about him. He’d have gone back to sleep when he saw that it was pouring outside. His sun-kissed hair would be tousled against his white pillowcase, his naked body relaxed and easy in sleep. His dick would be semi-hard, maybe stirring occasionally if he was having a particularly enjoyable dream. Maybe it would be about me.

But then he’d reach over in his half-sleep of morning and drape his arm around Randi, and she curl up against him, her soft ass creating a warm nest for his wonderful cock. He’d pull her to him, unconsciously caressing the soft curve of her breast as they slept, his breath warm on her neck. Maybe he’d wake her with a gentle kiss, his wonderful searching hands seeking and roaming and touching…her.

It was at times like that I knew he wasn’t mine to keep. And I didn’t know if I wanted him to keep. Hell, fall was going to be coming along soon enough and there was no need to let him stomp on my heart a bit before I hopped the Concord Trailways back to my life.

I sat there alone in the gloom feeling sorry for myself. And stupid that I could have felt that there was something more between us than just animal sex. Wasn’t I the one that told him that it was okay to separate love from sex? Well, okay, maybe it was a ploy to get him into my rented bed, but still. Well, there’s the lesson in all of this for you: practice what you preach, you know?

Just when I was about to give in completely to the Eeyores and add a shot of Baileys to my coffee, the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” It was him. Hmmm. Not feeling so glum all of a sudden. Be cool.

“What’s up?”

“Nothin’. Fuckin’ pouring out there.” Vic was in charge of the painfully obvious this morning, as usual.

“Yup,” I agreed. What else could I do? It was fuckin’ pourin’ out there.

“You doin’ anything tonight?” he asked.

“You say that like there is anything to do,” I retorted.

“You want to hang out later?”

Did I want to hang out? Jeez, let me think.

“Sure,” I said casually. “What did you have in mind?”

“I dunno. Play it by ear, I guess. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

So forceful, so decisive. So manly. “Sure,” I said again.

Click. Cool. I had a date with Vic. I just had to kill twelve hours in the meantime.

I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say that I made it through the longest day on Earth since the creation of time. I spent plenty of time getting dressed, though. I wore a great pair of jeans: my ass looked perfect in them. My shirt was one of those snug fitting knit things that cling in all the right places. Luckily a few months of hard labor had defined all those right places or I’d have had to choose something else. I appraised the results in the mirror, turning and checking myself out from all angles. No major visible flaws detected. Could use a bit more definition in the abs, but my guns looked good. I’d do me. I was just about to tuck my wallet in my back pocket, when I noticed my leather cock ring sitting on the dresser. Should I? Would he think it was sexy, or just too cheesy for words?

I decided to go for it. It’s not like I wear it around all the time. I unzipped and pulled out the little guy. I shouldn’t call him that, really. It’s not exactly true, and besides, his feelings might get hurt. I snapped the leather harness into place, one strap behind my balls and the other in front. I never failed to get a little hard just from the sexy tightness of it, and I gotta tell you, it greatly improved my overall profile, if you catch my drift.

Vic was on time as usual. He had Randi’s car, which kind of pissed me off a little. Rub my nose in it, why don’t you? Actually, I wasn’t really that put out. She had—get this—a 1965 Ford Cobra with a stroked 427 V-8, forged rods & pistons, aluminum head & intake, race ported with titanium valves/springs, 800 cfm 4 barrel Holley, MSD ignition, dual electric fans, silver ceramic coated headers and side pipes & a 4 speed manual, all synchromesh tranny to boot. Yeah, way more car than a girl her age needs. The car both kicked and hauled ass. I wouldn’t mind owning it myself. Especially when he tore off down the road, kicking up dirt and gravel and taking corners easily at sixty. It’s a guy thing. Still, it was hers. I was ticked off just on principal.

It’s been my personal experience that a guy can forget his troubles in the right car, with the right person behind the wheel. We were tearing around at what felt like warp speeds, that goddess of an engine roaring at the top of her lungs. Vic handled the car expertly and that beauty hugged every corner without so much as a single squeal. For a while I didn’t even think to wonder where we were going. It was enough to just be running wide open on the interstate, flying over the rain-slicked highway in a silver blur. We didn’t talk; we just sat back and enjoyed the ride.

Vic was pretty buffed up himself, but then I was so used to seeing him—and having him, for that matter—dirty and sweaty from working all day, that this clean, sweet-smelling boy was driving me crazy. I was definitely filling out my jeans, that’s for sure.

We pulled up in front of a rather seedy looking building. The sign out front let me know that I was at “Mark’s Showplace” and the one on the door told me that I had to be 21 to get in. I reached for my wallet to show my ID, but the bouncer at the door slapped Vic on the back and waved us through. Since I knew that Vic was still two years shy of being able to enter this establishment legally, I had to assume that he knew someone.

I was right.

On the main stage, surrounded by about fifteen or twenty guys, was Randi. Vic’s Randi. She was as naked as the day she was born, writhing to the pounding bass of “You Can Leave Your Hat On,” the Joe Cocker version. I’ll be damned if she didn’t have good taste in music too. She saw us as she came in and blew Vic a kiss, never missing a beat as she squatted and picked a folded dollar bill up off a guys face. Without using her hands, I might add.

We didn’t sit right up close but took a small table toward the back. The waitress came right over, her obviously braless breasts nearly escaping from underneath her cutoff “Mark’s Showplace” t-shirt. Her ass was performing the same stunt from underneath her very short shorts, and she proceeded to plop the Defiant Ones firmly on my lap. What’ll it be, boys?” she shouted over the aggressively loud music, and then before we could say anything she fairly yelled “Mich light, Vic?”

He nodded and I held up two fingers, and with a nod of her head and a wiggle of her ass she trotted back to the bar. I definitely needed a beer. Or twelve. Luckily, our server was quick and she returned posthaste with two cold bottles and a couple of frosted glasses, which I thought was a nice touch for a strip club. Which was what this was. And go figure, Vic’s little piece of ass was a headliner. Well good for her. A girl needs a career. If the folded bills that littered the stage were any indication of her annual gross income, I could see how she could afford a classic muscle car.

She certainly knew her business, that’s for sure. There wasn’t a guy in the room that could take his eyes off her. It wasn’t that she was the best looking girl in the place. Don’t get me wrong, she was pretty, but not stunning. She had a great body, but she was not Pam Anderson or anything. I hate to use a cliché here, but she really just looked like the girl next door. If she had on makeup, it was just a trace, her hair was, well, normal hair—not bleached or dyed or anything. She wasn’t wearing any jewelry, she was barefoot, and even her nails were plain. Yes, I notice stuff like that. Usually dancers have polished talons that look like they just killed a water buffalo with their bare hands. Not Randi. She looked like someone’s horny, naked little sister.

What kept the guys mesmerized was her obvious enjoyment of her job. I should qualify that: her perceived obvious enjoyment of her job. She really looked like she was getting off on the attention. She was grinding to the music, feeling it inside her and letting the throbbing bass beat control her movements. She turned her tight ass to their table and bent over, her tight puckered asshole winking at them over her moist slit. She grabbed her ass and squeezed it seductively, her tits and hair swinging in time with her movements.

She turned toward them and winked again at Vic. She stared right at him as she caressed her own breasts and pulled the nipples into hard points. She tossed her straight, light brown hair over her shoulders and bracing herself on the brass pole, arched backwards into a graceful backbend. Her pussy opened and everyone could see the erect clit peeking out from her slick, pink vulva. She swayed to the music, gyrating, with her pussy open before them. She lowered her back to the polished floor of the stage and spread her legs wide. She spread her lips with two fingers and showed everyone her tight hole and her neatly trimmed bush. She closed them again and opened them, her legs scissoring to the beat of the music. The bass was pounding and they could see the moisture seeping from her smooth cunt. She was aroused and smiling, looking at each and every guy, inviting them with her eyes and her seductive smiles.

Planting her heels on the rug, she lifted her hips toward them and thrust her pelvis in the air, her tits bouncing with the beat. Her head was thrown back with ecstasy and her wet, red lips were parted as she panted. The song faded out and she slumped to the floor, the men around them applauding wildly. I had to admit, I was impressed, and applauded as well. After all, it was quite a show. I might have been able to chalk it up to the tight leather encircling my cock, but I was more than a little hard despite myself.

With a blast of Aerosmith from the sound system, the next girl came out and started doing her thing. I ignored her. Vic leaned in close to me and asked, “So, what’d you think?”

I told the truth. “She was really good,” I said honestly. “She, um, seems to like what she does,” I added by way of critique.

“Yeah, dancing makes her really horny,” he affirmed with a boyish grin. Some guys wonder how other guys can stand to let their girlfriends take off their clothes for money. Vic could tell them. I glanced down, and sure enough, his cock was like a steel bar in his pants. I didn’t dare touch it, but I sure as hell wanted to.

Randi came out front after a few minutes dressed as a Catholic schoolgirl. But not in a Britney sort of way, all tarted up. She was literally dressed like the president of the CYO, which made it even hotter. She was wearing a short blue and green plaid skirt with knee socks and black platform Mary Jane’s. She had on a white oxford shirt and a green headband to match. When she pulled up a chair and sat down, I caught a glimpse of her white cotton panties. Now she totally looked like someone’s little sister. Actually she looked like a girl I had a crush on in the eighth grade at St. Jerome’s. That was before I figured out that her older brother had more to offer.

She greeted Vic with a lot of tongue before she sat, and then turned her attention to me. We had met a few times up at the farm. She was nice enough, but besides the fact that we shared the same great taste in cars, clothes, music, and men, what did we have to talk about?

I must have seemed really uptight, because she ordered another round of beers and totally focused on me. She chatted easily with me, like she’d known me forever, and I wasn’t sure, but I could have sworn she was flirting with me. She was doing that thing where every time I’d say something even kind of funny she’d laugh and then tell me how funny I was. And when I thought she had a great car she smiled and said I could take it for a spin any time I wanted, stuff like that. I mean, I’d been flirted with before, so I definitely recognized it when I saw it.

At one point, she got up and went to the bar for something, peanuts or beers or something like that. And Vic leans over to me and says something like, “Well, what do you think of her?” He wasn’t looking for my opinion of her dancing this time; he wanted to know if I liked her. Of course I told him I did; I said she was great, or something like that. It was hard to hear with Steven Tyler screaming in my ears, but I think he said, “She told me she thinks you’re hot.” I didn’t know what to say, so then he says, “She gives the most awesome lap dances.” I don’t remember what I said back, but it must have been encouraging, because when she got back to the table he got up and said something in her ear. She grinned broadly and before I knew it I was following these two to the back room. I never got the chance to ask if she knew about our little arrangement.

We went through the heavy red curtains past yet another bouncer into what I assumed was the private dance lounge. It was as tacky as the rest of the place, but the music was more muffled in here. Finally, we could hear ourselves think. Randi gestured for me to sit on a well-worn sofa. Vic stood against the wall by the door with his arms folded, smiling broadly and apparently content to watch. He seemed so eager to please me with his girlfriend that I put on my game face and sat back for the show.

Have I mentioned that I’ve had relationships with women before? I prefer boys as a rule, but girls aren’t without their own particular charms. There wasn’t much about Randi for me to find fault with—well, except for the fact that she was dating the guy I wanted to be dating. I was pretty sure that I hadn’t told Vic about any of my previous relationships, so I have to assume that he was just trying to broaden my horizons. It was kind of sweet, when you think about it.

Randi started to dance for me. I’d like to say in the girl’s favor that she was an excellent dancer. A lot of the girls were lacking in that department, but Randi really knew how to move her body to the song. It was a slow one this time, “Careless Whisper” by Wham or something like that. She never looked at Vic once, just at me. She ran her hands through her hair, discarding the headband in the process. She shook her thick, shiny hair free and let it fall around her face. Slowly as she danced, she unbuttoned her plain, white shirt. I was almost astonished to see that she was wearing a bra, a very pretty white lace one. I told you, I notice these things. She came over to me and danced very close, slowly lowering herself down onto my waiting lap.

Now, I thought the rule with lap dances was that you couldn’t touch them, and since this was my friend’s girlfriend, I practically sat on my hands. I wasn’t taking any chances. She leaned in very close and told me that I could do anything I liked in here. She asked if I would help her with her blouse. I looked at Vic and he’s still standing there with his huge hard-on, grinning like a Cheshire cat. So I reached up and slid the shirt off her arms, running my hands along them as I did. Randi closed her eyes and groaned a bit, letting her head fall back. Her tits were right in my face and I looked up at Vic, asking him with my eyes what I was supposed to do next.

He smiled and made a sort of “you know” gesture with his head. I gestured at her chest and he nodded, while he reached down and rubbed his cock through his jeans. “Oh my God,” I thought, “he wants to watch.” There wasn’t much I could do, and seeing Vic stroke himself was making my already uncomfortable erection that much more so. I obliged him, and lowered my lips to her breast. I kissed the skin softly, gently. Randi raised her hands and ran them through my hair. She smelled fresh and clean and I breathed in deeply as I kissed a delicate trail up her neck to her tiny earlobes. I nibbled them ever so slightly, barely touching her skin, which was driving her wild.

I pulled down the lace cups of her bra and released her tits. They were perky and all natural, and her tiny nipples were as hard as diamonds. I took one in my mouth and sucked gently, licking all around it and teasing it with my tongue. As I let it go and moved to give the other one equal time, I looked over at Vic. He was watching intently, still rubbing his dick through his pants. I looked right at him as I took his lover’s other nipple into my mouth. I slid my hands up under her skirt and felt her supple ass through her panties.

She stopped grinding her pussy against my thighs long enough to get up and turn around. She continued to dance, and facing Vic, she reached up under her skirt and smoothly slipped her panties down, revealing her tight, perfect ass to me. I had to admit, as far as asses went, hers was a very nice one.

I can’t resist a great ass, I don’t care who it belongs to; I leaned forward and encouraged her to bring it a little closer. She did, climbing up on the couch so that it was right in my face. Lap dance, up close and personal. I ran my hands up her smooth, well-toned legs and wrapped my hands around her soft cheeks. They were like two halves of a peach: pink and firm but yielding with skin as soft as silk. She swayed slowly to the music, balancing carefully on the edge of the couch.

I slipped one hand between her thighs and ran my fingers lightly along her slightly spread slit, once over from stem to stern, then back again, very slowly. I did it again, just as lightly, just as slowly, teasing her with feather-light touches. On the third trip through, I added a bit more pressure, stroking her clit as I went by, wetting my fingers in her soaked cunt and teasing her tiny pink asshole with my damp thumb. It was so perfect, and so close anyway that I took her by the hips so she didn’t fall and break a leg, and guided her back gently to my face. I kissed the little rosebud, and she groaned, so I continued, licking and sucking gently at it. She bent forward a bit, but there was no way I was going there. I mean, I’m as open to all things sexual as the next guy, but I’m just not going down on a chick, sorry. But she’d been so accommodating so far that it seemed cruel not to give her a bit of pleasure. I stuck my fingers in her eager pussy, and she swallowed them up hungrily. I finger-banged her while I used my tongue on her just like I did with Vic, penetrating her tight asshole and reaming her for all I was worth.

She was moaning loudly and I was afraid for a second that the bouncer might come in. Then, despite the fact that there was precious little blood getting to my brain at that moment, I realized that he’d probably been told to stay out, and keep everyone else out too. Sure enough, I looked up over the half-moons of Randi’s ass and saw that Vic had his cock out and was stroking it slowly, his eyes half-closed but still watching us with obvious delight. My own dick was pounding uncomfortably against the metal zipper, so I took a little break from Randi’s sweet hole to adjust myself.

Randi must have assumed that I was ready for more, because she jumped down off the couch and completely ignoring Vic’s self-pleasuring—which, by the way, was getting me hotter by the second—she swiftly unzipped my jeans and pulled out the big guy. He jumped out at her, grateful for the fresh air, looking at her with that one good eye of his. She leaned over and gave it a quick lick, then took the whole thing in, right up to the hilt, leather straps and all. What a woman.

If I had any question as to Vic’s attraction to her, the skill with which she was sucking my cock held all the answers. I’ve always felt that no one gives better head than a guy, since they have the same equipment and know what feels good. If I hadn’t just had my head buried in Randi’s ass and gotten a good close look at her plumbing, I would have sworn she had a dick of her own. Enthusiastic doesn’t even begin to describe her attention to my rod. I wondered how she’d react if I started sucking Vic’s cock at the same time. Obviously, he had to have told her that he knew someone who’d be interested in a threesome. Or maybe Randi just had her eye on me and Vic liked to watch. It’s so hard to think clearly when you’re getting your dick sucked.

I ran one hand through her glossy hair, and with the other I gestured for Vic to come over and join us. He hesitated for a second, and then slowly walked over to the couch. He stood next to me and I took his shaft into my mouth, taking it all the way in until my nose was nestled in his pubes, just like Randi had done to me. I used the hand that wasn’t guiding Randi’s head to stroke the base of Vic’s cock.

Randi stopped when she saw Vic put the purple head of his cock to my lips. She watched me as I deep-throated her boyfriend. Her eyes got really wide, and she looked up at Vic, who had his head back and eyes closed enjoying the mouth-ride I was giving him. Again, I have to say kudos to Randi. She never took her eyes off me and Vic, but she again took my prick in her mouth. I had eyes only for my beautiful Vic, but I could tell she was watching because whatever I did to him, she did to me. When I caressed his balls, her soft hand fondled mine. When I sucked him off slowly, so did she. When I pulled him hard into my throat, I felt my own prick hit the back of hers. You get the general idea. So, she wasn’t completely turned off by a little bi-action. This was just getting better by the minute.

Personally, I like the set-up we had going, but I was pretty sure I was expected to fuck Randi. Problem was, I wanted to fuck Vic. I wasn’t sure how either of them would react. Boy, it sure would have helped to have had a little heads-up ahead of time. Maybe set some ground rules. But, as they say, there’s no use crying over spilled milk.

Before I spilled something else, I reluctantly released Vic’s cock, and Randi pulled off of mine, her full lips shiny and red. She sat back on her heels, waiting for me to lead the way. I decided to give them what I figured they were after. I looked around and spotted a black vinyl-covered barstool in the dark corner of the sparsely furnished room. I guided Randi to her feet and pulled the barstool out into the light. She caught on quickly and got up on the stool. She was a limber little thing and promptly and gracefully slid her ankles up onto my shoulders. I thought it was quite nice of her to give me my choice of holes. I gave my unit a couple of tugs to prime it up, and guided it right to her front door. I figured, what the hell? I hadn’t been there in a while and one can always use a vacation in exotic lands.

She was hot and tight and to quote Jim Morrison in his fat, drunk years, “Her cunt gripped me like a warm friendly hand.” The man was a poet, but I digress. I guess I didn’t expect it to be such a delicious sensation. I went in easily, as deep as I could go, and pressed in tight. She moaned and threw her head back as the silver stud on my cock ring hit her square in the clit. I thought that thing was purely ornamental. Who knew?

But this is the best part. I’m sliding in and out of Randi’s slippery pussy, really enjoying the ride and trying to make it last by thinking about old nuns and rocks. My cock looked great sliding in and out, all shiny and purple. And Randi was having the time of her life, pulling on her little nips as my multi-tasking cock ring banged against her red, swollen clit. I swear it was so hot I didn’t even think about where my sweet Vic was. But I found him soon enough. Or I should say he found me.

I felt his dick hard and hot against my ass. Oh, this was going to be good. He pushed my jeans down to my knees with one swift motion and pressed his hot, hard knob past my cheeks and right up to my entirely neglected asshole. I’m embarrassed to admit that I panicked for a second. Vic was no small-fry and as much as I wanted to feel him inside me, I didn’t relish the thought of it going in dry. I reached behind and grabbed him rather abruptly by his pole and pulled him around beside me. I stopped thrusting and took a baby step to the right. Vic slid in between Randi’s legs as well, and began to tease her clit with the tip of his cock. I thought it was a nice touch. I don’t recommend doing this little maneuver with a girl who is less than flexible. Randi just spread wider. What a trooper. I liked her more and more by the minute. I slipped out of her warm cunt and allowed him to dip his shaft into her copious juices, figuring that would get it nice and wet indeed. I stayed right at my post, rubbing our dicks together like a boy scout trying to start a campfire.

Inspired, I eased the head of my cock in beside Vic’s. I didn’t know if she’d be able to handle two at once, and I was prepared to pull away if need be, but she just reached down and lent a hand, rubbing her own clit while I spread her as wide as possible with my own none-too-tiny member. My dick was squeezed tighter than I thought humanly possible. I picked up a rhythm opposite of Vic’s: when he went in, I slid out, and vice versa. Our cocks were rubbing together, her cunt was caressing both of us all around, and she was kissing each of us in turn, first Vic, then me, then back to him. Then both of us at once, then Vic and I kissed each other. We each took a breast and went to town, licking and sucking and pulling at her hard nipples with our teeth. I could see why Vic loved her. I think I loved her.

Vic was the first one to lose control. He was younger, he was not assisted by a cock ring, and he was just too pretty to be able to say the alphabet backwards. He never pulled out, just sank in all the way and shot his load with a grunt. His cum felt scalding hot as it flooded her cunt and enveloped my cock. I had never felt anything quite so amazing before, and I gave Randi one or two more good strokes and let fly myself. If I had ever felt anything quite this good before, I don’t remember it. The best sex I ever had paled in comparison to this. We were both panting and sweating, and leaning on Randi and each other while our dicks throbbed in her cunt.

I felt bad for Randi. She had been so generous with the both of us, had taken on two dicks, but she still wasn’t satisfied. I thought that was criminal. But I still wasn’t eating a pussy, I don’t care how well basted it was. So I switched tactics. I knew Vic would be able to keep going. He was nineteen after all. I held him in place and slipped out, gently repositioning Randi’s legs so that they were comfortably cradled on Vic’s strong shoulders. I slid my jeans up so I could move, and crouched down behind Vic. I shucked his jeans down to his knees like he had done to me, and reaching through his legs, coated my left hand with jizz and pussy juice. I slid it between his cheeks and massaged his asshole, just the way I knew he liked. Then, leaning slightly against his leg for balance, I did the same thing to my right hand and applied it to Randi’s exposed backside.

Vic was moving again, his energy renewed for another assault on Miss Randi’s accommodating pussy. He rode her high, working his rod against her clit, so with one swift motion I inserted a finger into each of their impatient asses. You know in movies when the hero is driving a souped-up modified car and he hits a magical button and it flies into turbo boost? Well, apparently I hit their collective turbo-fuck-boost button because they were both humping and fucking so wildly I wished I’d been wearing a helmet. I got kicked in the head twice and Vic damn near sprained the index and middle fingers of my left hand. And I’d be lucky if I didn’t get carpal tunnel in my right one. I was starting to fear for my life when Randi just went nuts. There’s no other way to describe it. She was laughing and crying at the same time, squealing a little and moaning, which of course made Vic hotter than a four-balled tomcat. He stabbed at her for all he was worth, but there was just too much cum and not enough friction to get off again. And she knew it too.

So what does she do? Did she get up and say, “Who wants Chinese?” Not Randi, not my girl. She pushed him away and slid wetly off the stool. At which point she braces herself against the slick seat and offers him her ass. She was a class act. And sexy Vic takes that huge, cum-soaked tool and slides it right in as nice as you please. I kept it up with Vic’s hungry asshole, using all four fingers of one hand to fuck him while he plowed Randi’s sweet ass. I was just about ready to introduce Vic to the invasive world of fisting, when he groaned and with a sharp cry came for the second time in less than ten minutes. The boy was a god.

He staggered over to the couch and flopped down exhausted. I can’t say as I blamed him. Randi reached up and wrapped her arms around my neck, so I lifted her gently and wrapped her legs around my back. I carried her to the couch and sat next to Vic, where we all sat for a moment, kissing and cuddling each other in a tangled heap of arms and legs. It was then, and only then that any of us spoke. I broke the silence and asked if they’d like to come over after Randi got off work. Everyone was in agreement, so we made plans to take Randi with us when she finished her last set on the main stage.

As we piled into the car much later that night and headed up to the farm, I got the distinct impression that I was part of a well-orchestrated plan, but I was the only one not in on it.