Sex + Love

October 19, 2011

What Is This Love? Part 6 – “one, two, threesome…”

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Written by: Kyle
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what-is-love

A part of me cringed when I heard his voice say, “Come on!”

Is this really happening? Screw you, Pablo! I yelled in my head, then subsequently realized that this actually was my chance to literally screw him.

I turned around and entered the room. The air was thick (as were other things in the room). Hot and smelling of sex, the two lay in the bed staring at me, talking to me with their eyes. I was visibly nervous and a bit pissed off. My lip was quivering like a tell in a poker game. Does he have it? Is he all-in?

Ricky got up from the bed. His muscles flexed as he pushed himself up and off the mattress. Gravity pooled sweat on his chest and forced it down his abs. I bit my lip harder to stop the quivering. I wanted to feel a little bit of that pain to wake me up, but it had the effect of turning me on even more than I already was.

He made his way over to me. Pressing his lips against mine he slowly started to unbutton my shirt. I just stood there, stoic and unchanging. Closing my eyes, I felt him push harder into my face. My shirt was off and my eyes opened. Peering over Ricky’s shoulder Pablo was touching himself and smiling. Fucker. He’s enjoying this way too much. But, by then, my body had given in.

Naked, I joined them. Pablo’s beard was cropped tight and close to his skin. Prickly, it grazed my neck sending shivers down my spine. Ricky was kissing my back slowly, nibbling as he went further down to the base. Was I really doing this? Yes, I was. And man, did it feel good.

We spent the afternoon in that room. Hours upon hours. It was insane. We passed out all together in the bed. I got to be middle spoon. Pablo was big, and Ricky took little.

When I woke up, the bed was empty. Pablo and Ricky were gone. The high of sexual ecstasy had worn off and the room looked cold and gray. Clothes, condoms and used towels lay around me. A sudden wave of feeling cheap and used covered me. I had to get out of there, even as I wanted to take a shower to wash the shame and stench down the drain.

I gathered my things and headed to the door. I took a not-so-brief moment to check how I looked in the hallway mirror before heading out. It clearly looked like I had gone out the night before, guzzled tequila, went home with some dude and had sex on his floor, woke up and had a crazy hot threesome for the rest of the afternoon. As long as I stayed at least five meters from anyone at any given time, the stench of stale lube and tequila might be avoided.

Of course the sun was shining brilliantly that day. My crusty lids squinted feverishly as I tried to adapt to the outside world. Mothers and fathers walking by with their over-sized luxury strollers casting judgment yet probably thinking to themselves, oh, I’ve been there. I hung my head as I walked across the park. Either it had rained the night before or I had just stepped in dog shit, my shoe slipping ever so slightly on the grass. Fuck… I didn’t even bother checking and just continued on to the subway station.

It was definitely dog shit. I could see the passengers in the cab of my northbound train checking their soles to see if the misfortune had fallen upon them. No folks, all me. They looked my way suspiciously.

I don’t know why I was in such a rotten mood. I mean, I just got laid for hours by two really fucking hot guys. (#gayboyproblem) Maybe it was that deep down, I really like Ricky in a non-slutty way. Like, I want to be slutty, but just-with-him-kinda-slutty. If that makes sense.

Walking up my street I felt the hairs on the back of my neck raise ever so slightly. I’ve watched those shows before, you know the one’s that say if that happens, a ghost is probably behind you? I glanced back to satisfy my increasingly bruised and jaded imagination. Nothing. Pfft, I thought.

Walking up the driveway to my apartment building, I could see some guy pacing feverishly back and forth. Biting his nails, the guy also looked like he was crying. As I got closer, my heart stopped. It was Ricky. He was bawling and he had blood on his shirt and a bit on his face.

“Ricky? Are you ok?” As if he had been waiting an eternity, he flung himself on me and started crying even harder into my shoulder.

“Ricky? Ricky? What is going on? Are you ok? Are you bleeding?!” I was so confused.

He backed away a little and looked up at me. His eyes were filled with tears, the broken blood vessels apparent. It looked like he had been beaten pretty bad.

“Ricky! Are you ok?!” He wasn’t responding, but simply just quivering. “Are you bleeding, Ricky?”

No”, he said “It’s not my blood…”

To be continued…



About the Author

Kyle
Kyle
|Contributor & Photographer| MA in cultural and political communications. Currently live in Montreal with my boyfriend and his cat, Shakira. Writer, #hashtagabuser, slow food advocate, culinary master, avid photographer, hopeless romantic, handsome pants, part-time lumberjack, occasional super hero, determined professional, master of witt, and self proclaimed food and wine junkie.




 
 

 
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5 Comments


  1. This makes me want to be a gay man.


  2. Kyle

    You heard it here first, folks! Lesbian conversions $5/per.



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