A THOUGHT-PROVOKING THREESOME

I had an interesting threesome while I was away in the north recently; one which set me thinking…..

Two men and one woman – in theory, it’s an unequal and ultra-feminine position to be in, isn’t it? Outnumbered, reduced to the role of slut, threesomes seem to position the woman as powerless and submissive to an overwhelming and dominant masculinity. (Which does not mean it isn’t fun, to be in that position, for those so-inclined).

But nor is it invariably true……


The woman was fantastic: sorted, cute, sexy, sassy, dirty, funny, bright and sociable. I felt I clicked with her and really liked her. Her bloke was ten years older: a nice chap and perfectly amenable; but not sexy, not funny, not really fit - and definitely not bright. So although he was easy-going and affable enough, it was in no way obvious what she saw in him. Other, that is, than the fact that he was inoffensive, presumably keen on her – and indulged her hobby of enjoying extra cock. And yet, didn’t the need for the extra cock come from the fact that he was low on manly qualities in the first place……?


Yeah, yeah – but what did you get up to? I hear you ask, impatiently. Well you invariably try to get from her – and if necessary second-guess - what the woman most wants from that scenario, don’t you? - what things she might enjoy which only two men could give her. (Unless she's dead clear, that is; perhaps with a long-cherished fantasy she wants enacted.) She's the centre of attention: in a sense, it's her party. I find that most women like being licked while sucking cock. What’s not to like? Although 69 offers it, it’s not exactly something they can get from one person. They ALL like a cock at each end – I don’t want to be too prescriptive; but no one is up for a threesome if they don’t want a spit-roasting, surely? And some women also like double penetration, or sucking two cocks at once, or being alternately fucked.


We both licked her. He licked her while she sucked my cock – and she liked this - really a lot. I loved seeing her moving her hips, moving her cunt across his mouth, while filling her own mouth enthusiastically with cock. Then I got her onto all fours for a spit-roasting: I fucked her, from behind, touching her at the same time, while she sucked his cock (and she really liked this, too). We took turns fucking her – and she clearly liked being fucked in front of her fella (what girl doesn’t? – as long as it’s not the first time, when she might be anxious about his reaction). And so we went on: she came. I came. I watched them fuck, he came over her, I fucked her again. You get the idea, I’m sure.


Here’s the thing, though: her partner had an ugly cock. It wasn’t very big, it wasn’t very thick – and that’s fair enough – but it was also the ugliest I’ve seen. It looked normal enough flaccid, but erect, it was sort of bent downwards from the beginning of the glans in an odd way, like the nose of Concord used to be for landing, or a flamingo's bill. On top of this, he really really wasn’t putting any oomph behind it, because he had no muscles to speak of and was quite slight in stature. This wasn’t ideal: he wasn’t well-matched to me, so that she could act the slut with two dominating men, and it wasn’t as visually pleasing for me as it might have been; because she was very attractive: slim, with a cute, cheeky face, long fair hair, perfect stomach and gorgeous little bum.

But what I realised from the demeanour and the dynamics between them was that she was the alpha of this pair; or, in old-fashioned parlance, that she wore the trousers. And while I say I clicked with the woman, what I actually mean, is that we respected one another, as two equals; respected each other as two sexual beings, looking for similar routes to fun. While her fella, on the other hand; he was like the girl in the threesome. No surprise in some ways, then, that he was fully bi (an opportunity I didn’t indulge in, fyi; because, quite apart from that cock, he simply wasn’t attractive enough).


The funniest thing was that when she spoke to him, when she was being encouraging, getting him to come (which, in a MMF threesome, ought if possible to be on the woman, so the other man can fully enjoy it, rather than in the woman), she’d say: “yes, yes - good boy!” She didn’t say this to me, though: because I’m no one’s boy, of course; but also because she didn’t need to, didn’t need to worry about making it happen for me. On the contrary, I was looking after it; concentrating on her coming, on both of us coming. Instead, I found myself saying to her: “do this for me/ do that…..yes, yes – that’s it – good girl!”


So she was a good girl, while she was with me; but with him, he was the good boy. And it was clear that she was usually in charge – I mean, in the bedroom, too – finding it unfamiliar – and perhaps, at first, disconcerting - to be told what to do. But she clearly started to enjoy it, after a while - she liked the things I was doing for her – and she loved the things I was making her do. Most hotel mirrors are screwed to the wall – and most hotels don’t understand that it needs to face the bed! But in this case, I was lucky and it was hung like a picture, on wire. So I’d taken it down and arranged it length-wise on a chair opposite the bed. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t done this for her before, but she responded to this fixture with surprise and delight.
“Oh God, I am a bad girl….” she remarked; almost to herself, as she surveyed her reflection, arse-up, on all fours, taking cock: “….I am…oh um…such a dirty girl.”
And whether on her own, posing during pauses in the action, being serviced by one or other of us; or whether she was taking both cocks at once, she could not take her eyes of her own image doing these things.


She liked me encouraging her to touch herself. When I fucked her – either with her legs up on my chest, or on her knees - her hand snaked between her legs instinctively, bringing herself closer. Most of all, she liked being fucked from behind – and I mean really fucked. She was only about a 6 and not very tall and doggy style can be pretty deep: both my regular partners don’t always want it all in that position, or they want it all, but not hard, and definitely not at first. She wanted it, she took it, she was loving it and she couldn’t get enough. In fct, she seemed to adore taking it like that, bending her legs to stick her tush out for it and bucking back rhythmically with her arse against my groin, which given its firmness and shapeliness, felt unbelievable; all the while exhorting me to give her more and watching the action in the mirror opposite the bed.


I don’t flatter myself for a moment that I was doing this any more effectively than the next man might; but I do know, for sure, that I was doing it with a significantly larger and more attractive cock than her partner’s, powered by a well-toned core. And she not only loved this: she liked every aspect of me taking the lead and obliging her to be responsive to that cock: she liked being told what to do, she liked being flattered and admired and complimented and called a good girl, she liked acting the slut in front of the mirror, and she liked taking a big cock in front of her partner.


So – given how cute and bright and fit and confident she is, why didn’t she hook up with a more….let’s say, capable, or powerful, or successful, or attractive partner? The only answer can be that she wants things the way they are: less of a man works for her. She not only happens to be the alpha of this pair; she needs to wear the trousers in any relationship. Now you could argue that there’s something missing: a need for a more effective masculinity, which she gets from the occasional threesome; without even having to cheat. In other words: she wants to wear the trousers, except in bed. Well, not quite, I suspect. Seeking out a seeing-to from other males in front of him neatly serves two purposes at once: reinforcing her dominant position in their relationship – and, yes, satisfying any hunger for more man at the same time. But far from having to submit herself to a more unassertive role, as a long-term relationship with someone more traditionally ‘masculine’ might require, these casual arrangements leave her in a position of power vis a vis these other, more potent, men she sees in 3somes. Firstly, she retains the power of choice. She selects them, but she does not need any particular one of them. Then, during the encounter, she is always under the nominal ‘protection’ of her partner. Thus she is free to play, on her terms, in “no man’s land” - the space between the two men’s restricted power (her partner’s masculinity compromised by the stranger, the stranger’s alternative authority limited by her partner). Finally, as if to emphasise and embody this usurpation of the phallic, (again playfully), she dresses-up in a powerful way, like a maitresse; her body protected by basque and gloves, elevated to our height by heels…….

THE EMOTIONAL LIVES OF LOVERS

The partners of those in love elsewhere are puzzled by evidence of an emotional life, which, they sense, is greater than the one they see day-to-day in their relationship.
"You’re looking a bit sad at the moment," my lover’s partner said to her one day, as she sat, drying her hair before the mirror in their room. "Is there anything the matter?"
Well….. yes, of course; she’s in love with someone else she can’t be with: there is a whole world of experience and emotion closed to him. He’s seeing the very tip of an iceberg she doesn’t even show him, let alone discuss with him. He’s merely glimpsing, momentarily, the complexities of feelings and needs - desiring and being desirable, shared tenderness, her vulnerability, her excitement and happiness – things she experiences daily; but from which he excluded himself years before by failing to appreciate their importance to her.


The same is true for me: lovely as she is, my wife’s world is a cooler one than I can live in, full-time. Like all men, I need a girlfriend, I suppose: I need attention, admiration, affection, glamour, sensuality, and fun. When my wife decided to relinquish most of these precious aspects of male experience, I found women who positively wanted to give me these things, and receive them back from me: who wanted me to buy them pretty things and then walk out for the evening on my arm wearing them; literally dressed up in my love. Better still, I was lucky enough to meet my present lover, who wants to be someone’s girlfriend, and who was distressed to have discovered, over the years, that her partner didn’t seem to want her to be his.

How terribly, terribly sad! And yet there’s a contradiction here, isn’t there, which has them over a barrel. One’s sympathies for them evaporate in the face of their stubborn refusal or inability to adapt, in order to meet the needs of someone they are supposed to care for. Neither of them is stupid – even if they weren’t so minded, for their own needs, they could still see what they must do, if they wanted. Instead, they’re puzzled and curious: how is it that we seem so complicated and alive; with sources of happiness and unhappiness, excitement and dejection, which are unknown to them? At the same time, they KNOW, deep down, that they have not put in the work; they simply have not been sufficiently engaged with us for any of these affects to be related to them……

So it perplexes them and challenges them. They gnaw at it, from time to time, like a dog returning to a bone, from which they continue, in vain, to hope for nourishment. In one sense, they would love to challenge us: ‘what is going on in your life?’ my lover’s husband seems to be asking; ‘what is it that’s affecting your emotional state?’ But a part of him simply does not want to know, lacks the confidence to demand an answer; because his enquiry entirely reveals how little he’s done which could make her happy or sad. And they cannot readily admit the existence of an emotional world beyond them. Because if they did, it would immediately reveal openly, not only the hidden bankruptcy of the relationship; but also their own shortcomings: the unacceptable knowledge that they are not, cannot be, what we want and need, since they disqualified themselves.

And here we come to the occasional blow-ups over sex. Finally, in this simpler, less subtle, arena they can express their outrage or disquiet over the secret realm of experience and feeling from which they have excluded themselves.....
I remember taking issue with my wife once. I felt that it was inappropriate for any partner, in any relationship, to come in with someone after a good night out together, and sit down to read the paper alone. It’s more of a commuting activity, I feel; it isn’t conducive, is it, to a shared sensual mood, late on a Saturday night? Other women, I pointed out (translated as: other women I’d want to have a relationship with), would indulge in some gesture of affection with their partner; perhaps one which promised more affection later? They might pour themselves and their partner a drink, slip into something more comfortable, light some candles, pop something languorous into the CD player – and generally do their bit to move the mood from outside having fun, to inside having fun.
"I’m NOT other women!" she protested; which of course is more or less guaranteed to make a man think “more’s the pity”, rather than being sympathetic to her wounded pride.

Funnily enough, an almost identical row took place at my lover’s house. Doubtless haunted by that very sense of an emotional life which did not include him, my lover’s partner was protesting that she did not want to indulge him sexually; that she was unenthusiastic about him or sex, and reluctant to tell him what she wanted in that department.
"I do not know what is wrong with you," he said; "I don’t know why you won’t help make sex work for us."
Her feeling was that he was ten or fifteen years’ too late; perhaps he’d finally woken up to the idea that she might have needs, but sorry, she’d moved on. All she wanted now was to keep him happy by being available to him, now and then, with the minimum fuss – and even that was way more than he was entitled to. She told him in no uncertain terms that there was nothing wrong with her at all: she didn’t have a problem; so perhaps it was him:
"I do not know what you are complaining about," she went on. "I’m fit, I’m available, and I’m sat here, half-naked, in your bedroom, looking fabulous, in very attractive lingerie. Other men wouldn’t dream of giving me a lot of grief - most of them would thank their lucky stars for what they’d got in front of them – not go whingeing on about something else or something more."
He hit the roof.
"What the hell do you know about other men and what they might want?" He demanded.
Ans: quite a lot, of course; but she wasn’t going to be telling him that.

What we have, in these exchanges, is their mystification in the face of our confidence. They’ve spent years selling us short – and, in his case, putting her down at regular intervals, to boot – so it’s probably puzzling to then find that we have an unshakeable confidence in ourselves as attractive sexual partners. Buoyed by each other’s loving adoration, desire and responsiveness, and especially by our shared confidences and insights, we not only don’t need them and their sometimes bizarre take on intimacy: we can step back from a debate conducted in their terms and assert contrary views with an authority they lack.

My lover B and her partner came to stay (with lots of other people) at our holiday villa during August. I’d taken the whole month off and we couldn’t bear to be apart for so long; but inevitably, there were flare-ups. In our simple pleasure at being reunited, B was almost bound to give me a lot of attention, and after another night of us sitting up late, chatting happily over a glass or two of wine under the stars, her partner snapped: incandescent with rage, he berated her for exclusively bestowing me with her company, and making him look like a spare part. At the time, she felt it seemed out-of-proportion, over-determined: she often goes out without him, she’s always gregarious; and what was to stop him sitting outside with us, over a nightcap, instead of skulking off on his own resentfully? I experienced something similar; with my wife complaining that I was always sat by the pool near to B: though again, our contact was confined to acceptable friendly chat and there was no reason why others shouldn’t join us. Where would we go, at a holiday villa, but the pool?

Here – where it is fed by sexual jealousy and expressed as the righteous indignation of a legitimate partner, feeling obscurely devalued in front of others – here you can see all the anxiety and unease which they can’t ordinarily articulate. It isn’t exactly the worry that we might really be cheating; let alone with each other. After all, they don’t know that, our blameless public manner doesn’t even betray the possibility. Nor is it exactly the fear that we might – and hence need a warning shot across our bows. No, I think the disproportionate outrage from them both stems from the vague apprehension that they were right: there is an emotional life they don’t see; one beyond them and their relationship, to which they’re not privy. They see they’ve missed the boat; that, emotionally-speaking, we’ve moved on. And despite our exemplary behaviour, they notice that someone else has access to that interior world. Someone else values us, gets us, feels good about being with us. They’d stopped doing these things – and now they’re haunted by the suspicion that we’ve stopped even wanting them to try.