The Mammoth Book of Threesomes and Moresomes by Linda Alvarez Read Free Book Online Page B

pumping exactly in time with Mark’s, and the energy changed just as perfectly: all of a sudden I was fucking them both. Pierre may be the guy in the middle, the one who gets the most sensation and attention, but each of us could feel the other two, Boyfriend’s cock gradually nudging Mark’s cock into Boyfriend’s own rhythm, driving us both like a team of horses. This made it feel as though there were two cocks in me, not filling me up like two cocks really would (yeah, of course we tried that later) but energetically, one fucking the other fucking me, as Boyfriend’s cockhead rubbed the base of Mark’s cock over and over.
    Maybe this is the true basis of male homophobia. Guys, when fucking, know their ass is sticking up for anyone to plug. It might as well be painted on in neon letters: “Fuck me! I’m an ass-phobic straight guy!” Some big fag like Boyfriend is going to come along and become the ultimate topman, pin Mr Missionary Position like a bug on a corkboard. I’m sure the charm of this situation was not lost on Boyfriend, though he had the decency not to brag about it when he was fucking straight-boy butt: a fey boy, fag since youth, able, with the help of a glop of lube, to subvert a heterosexual coupling, turn it perverse, bend it from two to three, from straight to queer, from vanilla to kinky.
    And if you do it right in the first place, he’ll bend over any time you like. The arrow will never really straighten out again.
    This was one of the bases for Boyfriend’s and my arrangement; in a way, I helped get the boys in, held them down while he worked his ass magic, gave them just enough of the familiar – hot hungry pussy, legs wrapped around their backs – to allow them to assimilate his cock without freaking out. Together, we were a walk on the wild side.
    Maybe some of the men we fucked went home and cried, got drunk, went into therapy. But Mark fucked back, ass opening easily to new knowledge, greedy for pleasure from both ends. He was as open to sensation as he was to love. If fucking me was like saying a mantra, getting fucked was like being the prayer. Filled with cock, his cock in me, he became a fulcrum, sex and sensation perfectly balanced, and I felt the song of his come build up in him as he climbed higher and higher. Surfing pure fuck, anyone’s come was everyone’s come – any one of us could have been Lucky Pierre, the one in the middle.
    When you fuck someone over and over, you learn them and you create a new entity, the fuck of your relationship, your ongoing connection. Your sexual energy weaves together, making a new thing that is of you but beyond you. You can’t create it again with anyone else, not exactly. This is true when you fuck one person, and it’s just as true when you fuck more.
    When you fuck someone only once you enter into chance, ride a wave of fate, then sweep up on the shore. Many waves, one ocean: most of us go out and ride the waves again, but not that wave.
    Mark died shortly after I brought him home to Boyfriend, doubtless just after making someone else happy, for that seemed to be his brief and shining path. His motorcycle slid on a rainy curve; his last threesome was with it and a speeding car.
    When you fuck someone only once, someone you’ll never be able to fuck again, it’s as evanescent as the spun sugar crown on top of the fancy dessert, and just as delicious. I imagine the three of us, on each other, and I circle around and around the image, stopping and starting us like we were wind-up toys, or computer animation. In a place where time stops, just like it did for Mark, we are fucking right now, will fuck perpetually – I visit that place in glimpses and always will. He will always be Lucky Pierre, and I – oh, I’m just lucky.
    In memory of Mark.

 
    The Magnificent Threesome
    Elspeth Potter
    The One-Eyed Man saloon was not providing the entertainment DeVille was waiting for. His companion, Harcourt, was hunched over a small bound