Date: Fri, 22 Oct 1999 09:00:28 PDT
From: Guy Trache <pfantazm@hotmail.com>
Subject: Good Luck Comes in Threes
Good Luck Comes in Threes
By Pfantazm
~~~
Author's Note: Don't panic!
If you've found this story, and you've read the other things I've written
(Strings Attached, The Knight and the Thief, Knights of the Road), I will
be returning to my series. I just had this lying around half-finished and
I decided to complete it first.
If you've found this story, and the thought of two (or more) grown men
having sex sends chills up your back, then boy, are you lost. Visit
www.go-play-in-traffic.com and forget you were ever here.
If you've found this story, and you like what you see, then why not write
me? My address, written backwards, just to make life that much more
interesting, is moc.liamtoh@mzatnafp .
If you've found this story repetitive so far, it gets better, I swear.
If you haven't found this story, then what in heck are you reading?
~~~
*** 3 x 3 / 3 / 3
We were discussing areology, the study of Mars. Frank was trying to
convince me that the famous face on the surface of the planet was evidence
of a long-gone civilization. I was trying to convince him that some
"scientists" had overactive imaginations.
The discussion ended, as it always did, with the end of dinner. Neither
one of us made much progress in dissuading the other from his
viewpoint. This made me worry about Frank's sanity. But not seriously.
We'd met about three months ago when I was researching an article I was
writing: a slice-of-life piece for a community newspaper. It didn't pay
very much, and the readership didn't quite break 1,000 people, but it was
a weekly column to call my very own and at the tender age of 24, that's
something to be proud of.
I'd been stuck for a subject for my next column, and my editor suggested a
karaoke bar. I gave her a dirty look, but took down the address. In the
absence of better ideas, I sacrificed a Saturday night for work.
Although I was expecting a night in hell, I steeled myself to spending the
whole night. Where this was an evening's entertainment for everyone else,
this was work for me and I wouldn't do it in half-measures. I parked
myself behind a ginger ale (I don't drink and I don't sing; what was I
*doing* in a karaoke bar?) and prepared to wince at the show.
While I doubted anyone there that night could ever hope for a record deal,
some of the singers weren't bad. Some were. But all of them got
enthusiastic applause.
I figured it out. The place wasn't about technical merit. It was for
people who wanted to be Bruce Springsteen or Celine Dion or, God help
them, Barry Manilow, but who would be laughed off the stage anywhere
else. Here they can take the risk of stepping into the spotlight and be
assured of getting approval. That was a nice feel-good message for my
article. I could write that up. It still meant I had to get up and sing
myself.
Not only was it a house rule, but it fed into my style. My thing was not
just to go out and watch the world (or at least that part of it called
Kitsilano) but to amuse my readers with the things I made myself do every
week. An "I have a life so you don't have to" sorta thing.
Usually my best stuff got written when things went wrong. I got a better
article out of the snafus that happened while trying to pay for an acting
seminar than I did the day I was an extra on a movie set. One colleague
at the paper described me as the only person he knew who looked forward to
when things went wrong in his life.
This means I usually have to involve myself in whatever subject I'm
writing about. I've had my aura read. I've crossed a nearby *very*
unsteady suspension bridge (and I've got the T-shirt to prove it). I've
spent the day serving hot dogs at a concession stand at a sports stadium,
before it closed down. I'll admit I did not indulge when I did the write-
up of the tattoo parlor. And though I could argue singing in front of a
roomful of strangers could leave a permanent mark on my psyche, I was
going to do it anyway.
After slamming back my Canada Dry I went up to talk to the DJ.
I looked over the list of songs and picked out one that I was pretty sure
I knew backwards and forwards, even though the words would be right there
if I needed them.
The DJ sensed I was a "karaoke virgin" as he put it and did his best to
put me at ease. I took the opportunity to interview him, since he would
have much better insight into the whole karaoke scene than I could get in
one night.
I told him who I was and asked for the interview between songs. He
agreed. I didn't use a notebook; I find that makes people nervous. A
tape recorder is ten times as bad, and with patrons belting out
their idea of "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head," it would be 3/3 + 3/3
pointless besides. I relied on my memory and phone numbers for
verifications. I'm an excellent listener, which I think is about ninety
percent of my job. If you really listen and try to understand, the
articles practically write themselves.
I got the last things I needed for my article, including an anecdote or
two. There was the one about the poor woman who was so nervous she threw
up on the tables nearest the stage. Hilarious, but not something I could
use. They'd never print it.
The DJ and I kept talking as much as possible until it was my turn.
Strangely, talking to him in between his other duties did help to calm me
down. I took the stage and sang my chosen tune: an overplayed song from
my university days. I heard a few groans from the audience, the sounds of
nights (and hangovers) best left forgotten. I even nailed the yell that
traditionally went with the last line. My voice cracked, completing the
night.
The audience applauded, as predicted, but some of them whistled and
cheered, something I'd noticed had been reserved for the best singers.
I went back to the DJ, Frank (betcha didn't see that coming), who told me
I did good. He asked me if I wanted to go somewhere after he was done for
the night. Intrigued, I accepted.
We went to an all-night restaurant I knew and talked for most of the
night. Once I got him out of the dark of the bar and into the dim light
of the restaurant, I checked out my newfound friend.
He was slightly taller than I was, at 5'11". Black hair, brown eyes.
Smiled a lot, which is always good. Nice body. He was something of a
weekend warrior, playing pick-up baseball whenever the weather favoured
it. Like the singers all night, myself included, he'd never get a
modelling gig, but he was pretty handsome.
He had a great sense of humor, and, like me, was interested in pretty much
anything and everything. Particularly science.
Over the coffees and conversation, Frank noticed that I had something more
than a professional interest in him. He asked me out. And that was the
beginning of five great months.
So, on this cold February night, while I was wondering whether Frank
should be carted away for believing in little green men who clash with
their red planet, and Frank was doing the dishes, we were both
contemplating the end of the evening. I was willing to bet we both wanted
to spend it the same way: naked.
When the end-of-dinner limit is reached on the night's topic, it's often
hard to get conversation going again.
"I hear Alanis is going to be coming to town in May," Frank said from the
kitchen. "You going to the concert?"
"Aargh! No! She is way overrated. I wouldn't want to waste time or
money on her."
"You felt the same way about karaoke. And look how well that went," he
said, winking.
"Yes, but none of those people were suffering from the delusion that they
were any good," I teased back.
"I don't know. There was one guy who wasn't half-bad." Frank finished
drying his hands and joined me on the couch. "You had them cheering,
John. Not everyone can say that."
"Including you, come to think of it. You never sang that night."
"Why do you think I'm the DJ? I loved trying it, but I really do stink on
ice. I applied for a job there so I can participate, but I don't drive
everyone else away screaming." I laughed. "Why don't you sing again?"
"There's no music," I said.
"That's no excuse. Your voice is an instrument. Just sing."
I thought about it. It was a sign of how much I liked him that I
considered it. I was truly in love to actually sing.
"Okay. But I'm really not that good."
"Hang on. Stop right there. I'll make everything perfect for you. Don't
move."
He got up and started turning lights off. He went into the bedroom and
got a couple of candles for the coffee table, reproducing the murky
atmosphere of the bar. (Maybe to help me forget that I've
got an audience?) He came back to the couch right next to 3 x 3 - 3 - 3
me and took my hand. "Okay. What do you want to sing?"
"One of my favorite songs. Now don't make anything of the title. I care
about you very much."
"And I love you. Go ahead." He rested his other hand on my arm. I took
a deep breath.
I sang "I Can't Make You Love Me", by Bonnie Raitt, originally. I've
always liked female artists and that song is so beautiful.
I don't know what I did. When I was finished Frank gave me a big hug. I
hugged back and Frank kissed me. I stroked his back and started making
out with him.
He leaned forward, pushing me back onto the arm of the sofa. He climbed
onto me and started unbuttoning my shirt. I reached under his sweatshirt
and up to his chest, teasing his nipples and running my fingers through
his sparse hair.
Once he got my shirt open we paused to undress a little. I shrugged out
of my top, and he pulled his over his head. He lay right on top of me,
pressing his skin to mine and attacked my mouth again. As I wrapped my
legs around him, our tongues wrestled playfully back and forth.
Frank began humping into me as our passion rose. I broke the kiss and
groaned his name. I gripped him tighter and nibbled on his ear. He
licked at my neck. He worked his hand into my jeans and grabbed my cock
through my briefs. I sighed into his ear and he shuddered. "Let's get
these things off," he purred.
He stood up. I could see his beautiful, trim body in the flickering light
of the candles. He undid his jeans slowly and dragged them and his boxers
down, stroking his sexy legs as he went. My rock-hard prick was pressing
to get out of my own jeans. Though it was obscured in shadow, I know his
cock was happily pointing back at me.
He stepped out of his pants and kneeled at my side. He undid my button
and drew down the zipper. I lifted my ass and he pulled my jeans down to
the thigh. He reached into the leghole of my briefs and rested his hand
on my hip. He put his lips over my still-covered cock and sucked me
through my briefs. I reached down to touch him but he pushed me back.
"Let me," he said. "That can wait until later. I want to do this for you
now."
He pulled down my waistband and kissed my cock. He looked right up at me
with a dirty little leer before picking my hot pole up off my belly with
his tongue and sucking it into his mouth. I sighed and let my head roll
back.
He took most of my shaft into his wet mouth and started riding it up and
down. He rested the palm of his hand on my balls.
I knew where he was heading, and it was getting me excited. He was
getting me good and wet. I squirmed in anticipation.
He released my cock and climbed back onto the couch and up my body,
letting his own hard dick draw a line up my stomach. He leaned down and
whispered in my ear, "Do you believe that I love you?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"Then you are one hell of a singer, as well as one hell of a fuck."
He backed off and sank slowly onto my throbbing cock. I groaned as I felt
the softness and heat of his chute take me in. He sat there, with all of
me inside him and he gave me a squeeze. I twitched as I felt him grip
me. Even after having been with him as many times as I had been, he could
still thrill me with his touch.
He pulled up off me and dropped back down again. I bucked my ass to meet
him on the downstroke, plunging my cock deeper into his hole, driving the
sex machine we created faster.
I delved deep inside of him, massaging his guts and providing him with
sensations so few humans dared to experience, while he captured my
manhood, using the most secret part of himself to give me all the pleasure
I could handle.
He shifted angles to improve my aim on his G spot. It
must have worked because he moaned aloud as my stiff (3! / 3) + (3! / 3)
rod continued to drill into his ass.
He had his hands on my chest, my sides, and he hadn't touched himself once
when he started to shoot his seed all over my chest and even up to my face.
Seeing this and feeling the process from the inside out sent me over the
top. I jerked to a sitting position and thrust my pelvis up once more,
head back, fresh cum running down my body and more being added all the
time. I blasted off into his bowels, coating him with my essence.
Finally my arms gave out and I collapsed back onto the couch. Frank
toppled forward onto me, falling in his own sticky mess. He wrapped his
arms around me.
"I do love you, John," he said, before licking his cum off my chin.
"I love you too, Frank." I held him tight.
We stayed like that for about ten minutes, just cuddling, until I heard a
loud click come from his bedroom behind me.
"What was that?"
"I'll tell you later," he said.
"Why do you do that?" I asked, curious.
"Do what?"
"You've always got some secret cooking. I don't know why I didn't see it
coming when you planned that surprise party for me."
"I like doing things for you." He kissed me on the nose. "And surprises
are better because you don't know they're coming. You have no
expectations. So whatever you get is better than what you think you're
getting, which is nothing." He smiled.
"Don't I get to be in on the joke just once?" I smiled back.
"Okay. I was going to give this to you later. I can do it now."
He sat up and climbed off me and the couch. I'd gone soft and fallen out
of him a while ago. When he left, I felt the cold air on my chest after
feeling his body heat for so long, even more so because I was still wet
from Frank's cum.
I looked down at my pants, still just far enough down for me to be
considered indecent. Pull them up or take them off? I pulled up my
undies and my jeans. If we're going to have a Round Two, we can take them
off again.
Frank came back to find me sitting on the couch. "Are you not going to
shower with me?" He was still nude, his chest hair matted, but his arm
was behind him.
"Yeah, but I figured I'd better be ready for anything with your latest
surprise coming and all."
He laughed. "Well, get ready. Here it is." He brought his arm around.
"Tada!" It was an audiocassette.
"What is this?"
"A recording I made tonight."
I looked back toward the bedroom. I could barely make out a black wire
leading under the couch. I got up and looked. There was a microphone.
"You recorded us?" Was Frank getting freaky?
"No. I recorded you. The rest just happened because of your song,
spontaneous-like."
"Hunh?"
"You'll see when you play the tape. Do it after you get home. Now, we've
got to get cleaned up." He led me into his bathroom, stripped my jeans
off, and got me into the tub. From there we spent the night naked in his
bed, in the dark, discussing philosophy, religion, life, and love. But
not Mars.
* * *
When I got home the next day, I put the tape next to my stereo and
labelled it with a Post-it that said 'Frank's tape'. I'd listen to it
later. I had a column to write.
I'd spent some time a few days ago in an Internet cafe, chatting with
customers (the old-fashioned way: without an IRC client) and having it
explained to me why calling it "the information superhighway" was a Bad
Thing.
I was computer literate enough to write up my column on a word processor,
and I could make my Commodore 64 say "Hello World!" over
and over on my screen, but not much more than that. For 3 + (3 + 3) / 3
*this* assignment I needed my notebook to make sure I got
the details right. Except I couldn't find the flaming thing. I tore
apart the special cabinet where the computer was looking for it, since
that would be the *sensible* place to keep it. No dice.
I checked my bedroom. All over. The bookshelf, the bedclothes. I
checked inside my CD collection fer cryin' out loud. I spent more time
looking for my damn notebook than I would writing the article.
You know how it is. After a while it stops being about finding the thing
so you can use it and get on with what you were doing and it starts being
about finding the expletive-deleted thing. It becomes an obsession.
After a couple hours of tearing my room apart, I admitted to myself that
perhaps this was unhealthy behavior, and checked my sock drawer once again.
In the middle of all this, Jeff, my roommate, came home. "Okay. What did
you lose this time?"
"My notebook," I called back, while still armpit deep into my laundry
hamper, checking pockets.
"Did you check the computer desk?"
"Yes, Jeff."
"Did you leave it at Frank's place?"
I looked up. I leaned out of the doorway to my bedroom. "Good question.
I don't remember."
"So call him and ask."
Jeff has to be my best friend, after Frank. And before Frank, come to
think of it. We've been roommates since I moved to Vancouver. I say "he
has to be" because I don't know what else to call him. We're exact
opposites.
He's manager of a clothing store, and I have no fashion sense. He's got
his everything pierced: ears, nipple, tongue. Okay, not *everything,*
but you get the idea. He's got a goatee and his hair is dyed green on
top. I'm completely clean cut and I say metal protruding from one's body
is what horror movies are made of.
About the only thing we have in common is that we're both gay. And even
in that we're diametrically opposed. I had one person in my heart, and I
didn't want any others. I wanted a long-term relationship with a man.
Jeff clubbed, partied and boffed as many guys as he could. "Settling is
for colonists," was his motto.
We worried about each other. I was worried he was going to fuck the wrong
guy and catch something. I didn't want him to get sick. He didn't want
me to get hurt. He saw getting emotionally involved as a disaster waiting
to happen.
About the only thing we didn't do together was have sex, even in moments
of desperation. Our goals just weren't compatible. Maybe that's why we
could be such good friends despite everything. There was no pressure to
perform there. We could just be ourselves.
I gave the karaoke bar a call. I got the manager.
"Hey, Mack. It's John. When Frank has a minute, could you have him give
me a call?"
"I would, John, but Frank's not in tonight. Jenn is."
I blinked. "That's weird. I thought he said he was working tonight."
"Nope. He was here this afternoon."
"Huh. Okay, thanks."
"Yeah. Bye."
I stood there a second. I was positive Frank had said that he had a shift
tonight. I could have gotten it wrong, but I didn't think so. Still, who
was I to argue with Frank's boss over his schedule.
I picked up the phone again. If Frank worked that afternoon, he'd be
spending the evening in tonight. Frank had turned me into a nightowl like
himself, and he hated "early" afternoon shifts.
He'd be home. I thought about what Frank said about surprises. Why don't
I be spontaneous for once and show up at his door?
The recording of the operator was telling me to put up or hang up so I set
the receiver back in place.
"I'm going over to Frank's," I yelled out.
"I thought he was working tonight," Jeff yelled back from the kitchen.
"Me too, but his boss says it ain't so, so...." I shrugged, grabbed my
coat and was out the door.
*** 33 - 3^3
Being a pedestrian in the city gives you an entirely different perspective
of the place you live than does being a driver. When you drive, and the
lights aren't going your way, you have things inside your car to distract
you though the eternity until your light turns green. You've got the
radio, you've got heaters, windshield wipers when it rains, the rear view
mirror to watch the lunatic behind you *almost* rear-end your car, and the
horn for when the idiot in front of you fails to notice that the light
has, in fact, changed.
The pedestrian will, on average, spend just as long at the crosswalk
waiting for the red hand to go away and the white man to appear, but it
doesn't seem like as long because we're not moving as fast. We get to
watch drivers peer into their rear view mirrors and honking their horns,
and we can actually look around the city itself. Businesses, apartment
buildings, movie houses, fellow pedestrians. Billboards can be studied at
leisure.
It also changes your mental map of the city, especially where there are
one-way streets. Do not ask me how to get somewhere in the city,
especially if you don't already know your way around. The directions I
give will be severely out of whack. I will tell you exactly how many
blocks away your destination is, and if a no-left-turns sign sends you
three blocks off my route when you try to follow it, that's hardly my
fault, is it?
With all this in mind, know that the walk from my apartment to Frank's was
about 20 minutes. (Closer to five for all you gasoline junkies out there.)
It threatened rain. I hadn't thought to bring my umbrella. The sun had
already set, meaning the featureless black sky had a texture, as opposed
to the perfect flatness of a clear night. You don't ever see the stars.
I passed by the parking lot. I let myself into Frank's complex with the
key he'd given me. I trudged up to the second floor and went to knock on
my love's door. Even though I have the key to get in, it's rude to break
in on someone when they're not expecting it. Just ask any burglar.
My fist was in the air, poised and prepared.
There was a cry, as if of pain from inside the apartment.
I fumbled into my coat pocket to get my key out. What was wrong in there?
Then I heard, "Ohhh, Frank...."
I stared at the door without seeing it. I stood dead still, fixated on
what I could hear. Another moan.
I leaned into the door to listen. I heard a very familiar noise.
Bedsprings squeaking.
Frank lived alone and the fucker was not watching a movie.
Surprise.
I ran.
I ran back down the stairs and through the door. I ran into the parking
lot. And stopped.
One time, I borrowed Jeff's car to go and visit Frank. Afterwards I vowed
never to drive in Vancouver traffic again. So I knew what space was
assigned to Frank.
There was a car in his space, which wasn't Frank's, since he doesn't have
a car either. It was *his.*
I did something very stupid and left.
Twenty minutes. I wasn't going to cry, not in public, not on the street.
I refused. Twenty minutes because I didn't know which fucking bus to
take. Please just let me last twenty minutes. It had begun to rain.
I have a naturally fast pace when walking, made faster when I'm nervous or
excited. Call it fifteen.
The wind blew the raindrops around. They dripped from my cap brim. They
stung my nose. They chilled my ears. They soaked into my socks and froze
my feet. Fifteen minutes.
I used a short-cut method to go faster. I went with whichever light was
on the WALK/DONT WALK sign that took me in the right direction toward
home. It took me through some areas that were not strictly safe at this
time of night. Call it twelve minutes.
When I made it to the final intersection before home, I still had it
together. I crossed with the light and waited on the other side for the
light to change in the other direction.
I couldn't stop myself from thinking about what I'd heard.
Even then, I couldn't quite bring myself to complete the 3 + 3/3 + 3
thought. Just three minutes. Just let me get to my building.
The light changed and I ran through the downpour. My building was on the
other end of the block, and I headed full tilt toward it. The wind pushed
against me. The rain slapped at my face. Just one block, please.
I was out of breath when I made it to the door. I convinced the lock to
let me in. The elevator took forever to come down. On the ride up I took
off my gloves and cap. I ended up locking our door trying to get in,
delaying me even further. I don't even know what I was trying so hard to
get to, I just wanted to be *home.*
I got in *finally* and just stood in the front hall, dripping on the mat.
Jeff came around the corner. "Hey, I found your notebook. You left it on
the... What happened?"
Did it show on my face? "There was someone in Frank's apartment... with
him... and they were--" Why couldn't I make myself say it?
"He was cheating on you?!"
I nodded and hot tears rolled down my face. I started to just sink to the
floor but Jeff was right there.
"Oh, honey, come here." He set me on my feet again and pulled my coat off
me. He steered me past the closet and hung it up, then ushered me into
the living room onto the sofa.
I curled up into a ball and cried some more. A blanket materialized from
nowhere and wrapped itself around me. A couple of minutes later a mug of
hot chocolate appeared in my hands from the same unseen source. Then Jeff
arrived beside me and hugged me.
"That's it, just let it all out. Oh, John, I thought he was gonna be the
one for you." Most of the time, Jeff is a good friend. "Are you sure you
saw what you saw? What happened?"
I told him about my decision to surprise Frank and what I heard through
the door, then what I saw in the parking lot.
"John, did you do something to his car?"
I thought a sec and nodded again. You could call it that.
"What did you do? Key it? Slash the tires?" He picked up my head and
looked me in the eye. "Smash the window?" Jeff has something of a
vindictive streak.
I had taken the little pad I keep with me all the time for ideas and my
golf pencil and wrote a note. I stuck it under the windshield wiper. It
said, "Hey stud, give me a call," and then my number. I signed it "J."
"What??!" Jeff said.
"I wasn't thinking straight. I...."
Jeff was grinning. "You're going to sleep with the guy he was cheating on
you with?"
"No." I gave it a second thought. "No. Then I'd be as low as him,
screwing around after last night - shit!" I was bolt upright.
"What is it?"
"We had unprotected sex last night! If Frank's been sleeping around... oh
god."
"Oh, John, you didn't. After all the times you've nagged me to be safe..."
"I know, oh god...." I started crying again. So let's add feeling scared
and stupid to angry, upset and deeply hurt.
"We'll go tomorrow and we'll get you tested. You'll be alright for now."
Jeff continued making soothing sounds at me until I'd finished my hot
chocolate and had fallen asleep.
* * *
The next morning I woke up alone in the house. Jeff had already gone to
work. I decided to try finishing my article on the Internet.
I worked at it, but nothing I wrote really sang. I couldn't stop thinking
about Frank. I cast about the apartment looking for something to distract
me. I saw the tape.
Foolish and self-destructive, I know, but I rewound it and played it.
First came Frank's voice:
"Hello, John. Tonight I am going to try to get you to
sing. I know. You don't think you're any good, but (3^3 - 3) / 3
hopefully this will convince you otherwise. You're
going to hear you the way everyone else hears you.
"Do you ever wonder why I love talking with you in bed with the lights
off? It's your voice, man. Take it from a professional. Just
listening to you talk about something you believe in, it makes your
voice sound even sexier.
"Give yourself a chance. Talk to you later. <laughs>"
There was a break in the tape where he stopped it and later started
recording again.
I heard Frank walking around. The clack of the candle-holders on the
table. The scratching of a lighter. Springs compressing in the couch.
"Okay. What do you want to sing?" More of the conversation that I
remembered. Someone took a loud breath in and out, then sang my favorite
song.
I could feel myself starting to cry again. Forget Frank for a moment. I
was listening to me. I resisted the urge to sing along with myself. Then
I wondered what *that* would sound like. I could hear why that song was
my favorite. There was genuine feeling in that voice. You could hear the
pain in it, except I'd never been in the situation described in the song,
in love with someone who didn't love me back, or at least I hadn't when
I'd sung this. That's why Frank reacted like he had. I touched him.
The song ended. I heard movement and a kiss. More juicy noises. Heavy
breathing. Whispers. Rustling clothes.
"Do you believe that I love you?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
I stopped the tape, took it out of the stereo, threw it into the depths of
my closet and slammed the door. Then I crawled into bed, still dressed in
the clothes I wore to go to Frank's last night, and cried myself to sleep.
* * *
The phone was ringing. I heard Jeff answer it through my open bedroom
door.
"Hello?... No, there's nobody here by that name.... Which one? There's
two J.'s here.... Oh! Hang on a moment. I'll see if he's available."
Jeff raced into my room.
He whispered, "John, you awake?"
"Yeah, what?"
"Did you sign that note, or did you just put your initial?"
"Initial."
"Holy shit. It's him."
"Him who?"
"*Him* him. The other woman."
"The note from the windshield. Oh shit. What am I going to say to him?
Give me a minute to wake up."
I'm not good at mornings, especially when the clock says it's 6:09 pm.
Could I get from 0 to 100 IQ in only thirty seconds?
I picked up the phone in my room. "Hello."
"Hello, is this J.?"
"John, actually, yes. You got my note?"
"Yeah. What's up?"
"Are you busy in...." I checked the clock again. "An hour? I'd like to
talk to you."
"Sure. Where do you want to meet?"
I named a cafe nearby. "Do you know where that is?"
"Yeah. Okay. I'll meet you there in an hour. My name's Alan, by the
way. I'll be wearing a yellow jacket and I'll be on my bike."
"Alright. I'll probably get there first. I'll be wearing a dark blue
wool jacket."
"Cool. See you at seven, John. Bye." He hung up.
"That was easy," said I.
"Well, how did he sound?" Jeff asked, zipping back into my room.
"Okay, I guess."
Jeff frowned. "What are you going to say to him?"
"I don't know. Probably give him a piece of my mind."
"John, don't make a scene."
"Don't worry. I won't."
"One more thing, buddy boy."
"What's that?" I asked.
"Shower. Please. And take those clothes off first, unless you've got
some sort of attachment to them."
I gave him a Bronx cheer and trundled off to the bathroom to prepare for
my rendez-vous.
*** 3 x 3 + 3 - 3
By seven o'clock, I was still unprepared. I sat in my booth, nursing
another hot chocolate and checked my watch again. I'd spent three
quarters of an hour trying to figure out what I was going to say to him.
What would I say to him if he was just borrowing Frank's space without
asking him? I didn't think it would come up; the voice on the phone
sounded like the one I'd heard through Frank's door. I was obsessing for
the hundredth time when the door to the cafe opened.
My first thought was that he was insane. Let me explain. I'm from
Ontario originally. (You can't throw a rock in Vancouver without hitting
a Starbucks or a refugee from another province.) We have *real* winters
there. In Vancouver, it doesn't snow, it rains. But when the temperature
rises near ten degrees (fifty Fahrenheit to you Yanks) there are those
looneys who'll go out in shorts. Madmen, every last one of them. This
particular kook was dressed in bicycle shorts no less.
He was wearing a yellow jacket and looking around. My second thought was,
*that's* Alan?
Allow me to describe myself. I'm thin, but not gaunt, I don't wear
glasses, no acne, no face-marring scar from barroom brawls. I don't have
an extra finger, toe, eyeball, or nipple. In the right light, I'm halfway
decent looking.
Now, allow me to describe Alan. God *damn!* Perfect features, a model's
face. Crystal blue eyes. Straight blond hair even his helmet couldn't
ruin. Taller than me by a good four inches.
And what I could see of the body? Holy shit.
I once saw a magazine cover with a bodybuilder on it. It looked like
someone had shoved a tire pump in his mouth and inflated him. Made me
wanna puke.
This guy, though, was gorgeous. Not overmuscled like that picture. The
specimen in front of me knew his body was not a toy. Strong, powerful
legs. Broad shoulders, flat stomach through his open jacket. Couldn't
see the arms, but I didn't think I'd be disappointed.
Not until he walked over to my table and said, "John?"
"You. Uh, you must be Alan. Have a seat." He smiled and did so.
My eyes were red from all the crying I'd been doing and I looked pale. In
walks Mr. Wonderful and I have to wonder why Frank strayed? It was
obvious; I wasn't good enough to satisfy him. What he wanted was right
in front of me and the saddest part was I couldn't even blame him. In the
time it took him to sit down, I knew just what to say to him.
"You can have him. If you still want him after hearing what I have to
say, he's yours and I hope you enjoy yourselves."
Alan looked confused. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about Frank. I'm pretty sure you were at his apartment last
night."
Alan just stared. "And who are you?"
"I *was* his boyfriend for the past five months."
"That's not possible, I've been seeing Frank for the past few months
myself."
"Don't lie to me." I fished in my pocket. "Frank gave me the keys to his
apartment." I laid them on the table.
Alan reached into his pocket and withdrew a keyring. He separated a
smaller ring with two keys on it, just like mine, and laid them on the
table.
"May I?" I asked. Alan's brow just furrowed so I picked up his set and
compared them to mine. Outer door... and apartment door. "You're telling
the truth." Still no light bulbs over Alan's head so I added, "The keys
are identical."
"Can I look?" I passed him both sets and he examined them.
"He's been dating both of us. Where did he find the time?" I said.
"Or the energy?"
I glared at him.
"Maybe we're still not talking about the same person," he
suggested. "Maybe they're roommates or something." He dug 3! + 3 + 3/3
out his wallet and showed me a picture. "Is that him?"
The photo was of Alan and Frank, skiing. I felt myself start to cry
again. I nodded.
"That picture was taken during a surprise ski weekend we went on."
"Yeah, that's Frank, alright," I said bitterly. "Him and his goddamn
surprises."
Alan smiled sadly. "Yeah. He's very controlling, but I don't mind."
"Huh?"
"You haven't noticed that about him?" I shook my head no. "When you've
had sex, who's the bottom, you or him?"
"He is."
"Sometimes?"
"Always."
"Uh-hunh. It's true what they say: the bottom is the one in control.
His surprises too. He's the only one who knows what's going on. His job,
he's *master* of ceremonies. He doesn't sing, he just manages the whole
show."
"His cheating on us as well," I added. "He had to keep a few steps ahead
of us to keep us from finding out about each other."
"There you go. One control freak."
I was still staring at the picture. "That must have been the weekend he
said he was visiting his uncle."
"It was. His uncle has a cabin near Whistler."
"And he knows I hate the cold. I didn't want to go." I thought about our
last time having sex. My jeans were around my thighs and he was sitting
on top of me. He had it so that, not only could I not move, I didn't want
to move. "God damn him."
"So what should we do?" Alan asked.
"I already told you. You want him, you got him."
"No. I want to talk to him about this. If you're right, he's been
jerking me around since he met me. We need to get him for it."
"Then we'll hit him where it hurts. We'll take away his control. I
haven't been to the karaoke bar in months. He's working tonight, right?"
"As far as I know, but if we're going there, I'll want to get changed.
It'll take maybe half an hour: home, get showered, dressed and back again
in the car?"
"Alright. We'll meet back here."
Alan ran out to his bike to get going. Those shorts really don't hide
anything. I'd gotten a good look at his crotch and his ass by now. I
could see why he'd wear them even in weather like this.
I got out a quarter and called home. Jeff answered on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Hi. Guess what?"
"What?"
"The other guy, Alan? Frank's been seeing him regularly too. For months
now."
"Well, fuck. What an asshole! What are we going to do to him?"
Most people would have said 'about him'.
"We, Jeff, aren't doing anything. Alan and I are heading over to the bar
as soon as Alan gets changed and picks up his car."
"Picks up his car? Do you people walk *everywhere?*"
"No, Jeff. Bike."
Pause. "And he's changing out of...?"
"Bicycle shorts, Jeff. And he earned 'em." Jeff could hear that I wasn't
drooling, and that I was more dismayed than anything.
"I get the impression Alan isn't too quick?"
"Well. At first it sure seemed like he wasn't exactly the brightest light
on Broadway, but he did have an insight into Frank I never noticed. He's
a control freak."
"You think?"
"Yeah. It fits. So?"
"So fuck him. If Frank can't see what a great guy you are, then he's not
too bright either. There's better out there."
"Thanks, Jeff. Don't wait up, by the way. We'll probably end up having
to wait until his shift is over."
"Okay. You be careful."
"I will. See you tomorrow."
I hung up and ordered a sandwich at the counter. I
hadn't had time for dinner, had slept through lunch, (3! x 3! - 3) / 3
and there wouldn't be anything much at the bar. I
wasn't facing this on an empty stomach. I didn't feel much like eating,
but I'd regret it if I didn't. I picked at it until Alan returned. I'd
managed to eat most of it at least.
Alan's car was a compact of indeterminate make and model. It was a weird
metallic olive green color. It looked like it was in the habit of
breaking down, but it ran perfectly from what I could tell. I don't know
cars.
I climbed into the passenger seat. Alan's seat was considerably farther
back than mine. I had no idea how he could possibly be comfortable in a
car this small.
Alan must have seen me calculating heights, because he said, "It was a
gift when I graduated high school."
"And you had one more growth spurt up your sleeve?"
He laughed as we pulled into traffic. "It was the old family car and I
kinda inherited it when Mom and Dad got the new car."
We kept on talking all the way to Frank's workplace. We discussed cars
(Alan carried the conversation there, and let's face it, he was built
enough to carry something like that), my column (no great shock: he
hadn't read it), and where we would hide the body. I think I had all the
practical, and yet still creative, ideas on that last subject. Once we
had drifted away from matters automotive, I managed to keep Alan in
merriment for most of the trip. He had a great laugh, and I guess I was
discovering that I love an audience.
We made our way near the front, a table or two back from the stage,
inconspicuous, but still visible. I watched his expression. I knew he
was supposed to keep track of all the new customers coming in, so he can
enforce the rule that everyone must sing. He saw me, and he saw Alan, and
I could see his eyes widen. He was in shadow, but I'd swear he turned
pale.
"He's seen us," I said jovially. "Now the real show can begin."
Alan snickered and took a seat. He hung his jacket on the back of his
chair. He wore a dark blue T-shirt and tight jeans. I was right about
his arms.
"I wonder if he'll come over for his break," I said. "If he asks us what
song we're doing, I'm going to knock his teeth out." Might, perhaps,
Jeff's vindictive streak be rubbing off on me? Nah.
"Aren't you being a little... intense about this, John? We ought to hear
what he has to say."
I looked at Frank at his controls and imagined him sweating. "I don't
think you're getting into the proper spirit here, Alan," I said
conversationally. "Do you two have sex?" Stupid question.
"Uh-hunh."
"Use condoms?"
"Until we get tested enough times and come back negative, yeah."
"Fat lot of help that is if he's sleeping around. Two nights ago he and I
had sex without a condom. That might have been the moment he committed my
murder. No offense, but if he can have two partners, he could have more."
"But if he was the bottom--"
"Doesn't matter. HIV's been transmitted in both directions." Alan
studied the table. "I'm sorry if I'm depressing you," I said. "I've had
a while to think about this. You're just finding out. How are you
holding up?" I put my hands on his, which were resting on the table.
"Alright, I guess. I still trust him. I want to hear what he has to say
first."
Oh, lord, kid, I thought, just stamp VICTIM on your forehead, why
dontcha? I have to admit, I was feeling sort of protective of Alan. He
didn't look or act like he was as old as Frank or I, maybe hadn't had a
real relationship before this. And wasn't there something about the enemy
of my enemy is my friend? Maybe Alan wasn't feeling enough enem-osity to
qualify but the theory was still sound. Frank had crapped on his head too.
Alan might not have been ready to lynch him, but I knew I wanted Frank to
suffer right then. So let's get the ball rolling.
Alan still looked downcast. "Come on, man, don't feel down.
You want to hear a dirty joke? A white horse fell in the 3^3 / 3 + 3
mud." Alan gave me a pained look. "Alright, how about a
real dirty joke?"
I proceeded to do my best to make my muscular new friend laugh as often as
possible. And because the other patrons were singing loudly, we both had
to lean in so he could hear me. I kept looking over to Frank's station to
see how he was doing.
He saw the two of us talking conspiratorially, laughing at regular
intervals and looking over at him. He was definitely sweating.
Once it seemed to Alan that this was how we were spending time until we
dealt with Frank, he contributed some horribly corny gags himself.
All in all we were having a good time. For the second time, I considered
what would happen if Alan and I were to get together. And for the second
time, I quashed the idea. There'd probably be too much let's-get-back-at-
Frank for me to even enjoy the sex. Besides, I wanted something more than
just sex and I didn't see enough in common between me and him for a
relationship.
Finally, Frank's shift was over, and he had to face us. He came over to
the table as the place was closing. "Hello," he said.
I chimed in right away. "Hi, Frank. Look who I found."
He looked properly embarrassed. "I'd like a chance to explain. It's
something I think you'll want to hear, John."
That he specified me was significant, I knew. *What* it specified, I
didn't have a clue. I looked to Alan. "You still want to hear him out?"
Alan was admiring the patterns in the veneer tabletop. He looked like I
imagined I must have walking home through the rain, like he hadn't really
believed that this strange person who told jokes at him all night long
really knew Frank.
"Are you going to be okay?" I asked him.
Frank sat at the table. I grimaced at him. He'd done enough. If Alan
was going to be getting any kind of comfort, it'd have to be from me.
"Yeah. Let's get this over with." Attaboy, Alan.
"I'm in then. This should be an amusing way to end our evening."
* * *
We squeezed into Alan's compact. Frank sat behind me. It was a short
ride. When we got to Frank's complex, I had my key ready to let us in to
make a point, and keep him off-balance. I was proud of Alan when he
picked up the cue and got the apartment door before Frank could.
We moved into the living room. I sat in the recliner, refusing to sit on
*that* couch. Frank offered something to drink. We declined.
Our host stood facing the two of us, seated. "I suppose I ought to get on
with it. John, I'm declaring a topic." I nodded. So we were going to do
this like one of our discussions, were we? "Alan, what that means is that
I'm going to be establishing what it is we'll be talking about, and it's
only polite not to interrupt. You understand?"
"Yeah. Go on."
Frank took a deep breath. "Let me start by saying I'm sorry you had to
find out about each other this way--"
"Out of order. This isn't an apology. It's an explanation. Establish
your topic."
This derailed Frank once more. "Okay. The topic is 'Marriage and Other
Permanent Relationships'. My position is that two is something of an
arbitrary number." I rolled my eyes, but didn't comment. This should be
good.
"In a straight couple, pardon, a straight marriage, there are two people
because biologically this makes the most sense. You need exactly one
woman and one man to have a baby and anything else is superfluous. None
of that is at issue here.
"In a homosexual relationship, there is no biological reason to stop at
two people. If you can find three or more people, where any two of them
love each other, then you can extend the idea to any size."
Alan's mouth was hanging open.
"I'd like to show relevance to our situation, if I may," Frank said.
"I have no problem with that. It's why we're here. You want to hear what
this has to do with us, Alan?" He nodded.
"Good," Frank said. "I tried, when I was in school, to find
a man with whom to share my life. Everyone I met, though, (33 + 3!) / 3
lacked somehow. I believe very strongly in the idea of a
healthy mind in a healthy body. I couldn't find one single person with
whom I could share these two halves of myself: the Mind and the Muscle."
I could hear the capital letters fall into place. Alan looked like he
recognized that phrase, while he'd dropped the Latin "mens sana in corpore
sano" in his conversations with me.
Frank looked at me. "The Mind and the Muscle cannot exist separately.
The Mind needs the Muscle to feed it; the Muscle needs the Mind to direct
it. I was looking for something similar in a life partner, and it wasn't
working.
"I thought to myself that if I could find one person to stimulate my Mind,
and one person to stimulate the Muscle, and mush them together, I could be
happy. Then I realized that I didn't need to play Frankenstein to get
what I wanted.
"If I could just find those two men, then perhaps the three of us could be
happy together.
"I started to search for boyfriends to fill the two positions. Right now,
it's you two. In point of fact, you are the most likely match I've ever
found.
"That is my proposal. On a completely theoretical level, what do you
think? If you reject the idea itself, there's no point in going on."
"It sounds like you just want a way to have two boyfriends at once," Alan
said.
"I agree," I said. "Just how is this different from having the equivalent
of a wife and a mistress?"
"The two other people would also have to know about each other, be
intimate with each other, and love each other, irrespective of the husband
from your analogy, John. As I said, any two people from the group should
be compatible enough to be a couple on their own."
Alan went quiet. "John?" Frank asked.
"Let me think." I mulled. "It seems like it ought to be possible with
the right set of people. The larger the set you try to gather, the less
likely it is to happen. It's hard enough to find *two* people who love
each other enough. But, yeah, theoretically, it seems sound."
"Alan?"
"Well, there were communes and stuff like that in the Sixties, so I guess
it could happen," he said.
"Okay. So that's that. And that is also the explanation for my cheating
on you. What I'd like to do is take you each aside and discuss things
with you briefly."
"Control freak," I muttered under my breath.
"First, you two are the only people I've seen in months, even casually.
Check your schedules if you don't believe me. I've spent every morning
asleep, and every afternoon and night with one or both of you, or at
work. I haven't had time for anyone else.
"So far I've only had safe sex with Alan and we've been tested twice each
in our time together. John and I had unprotected sex exactly once but
we've been tested five times. As far as I know, we're all clean here.
Does either of you have reason to believe you aren't?"
"No," Alan said.
"Not counting that one time with you, I haven't done anything stupid," I
said acidly.
"If you want to get tested again, guys, I'll understand. In fact, I think
it's a good idea. I love you both too much to do anything to hurt you."
"Too late," said I.
"He's right, Frank. Why did you have to go behind our backs? You could
have told us from the start that this is what you had in mind."
"You already know the answer to that," I said. "He *is* a control freak.
If he told me five months ago that this is what he had in mind, I'd have
a say in the decision process. This way he gets veto power."
Frank looked stricken. "I don't think that's very fair."
"Did you ever think of telling me?" I countered.
He didn't answer. 33 / 3 + 3
"It may not be fair, but it's true. You manipulated both of us to suit
your plans."
Frank sat down on the couch on the other end from Alan. "Am I really like
that? Am I that bad?"
Alan slid over. Frank looked as though I'd really wounded him. Alan put
his arm around him and his other hand on his knee. I didn't feel any
jealousy. I'd half expected him to do it.
"You're not really that bad. Usually you handle it well, doing nice
things for people. You just have to think a little more about other
people's feelings." Frank looked up at him. "John, could you maybe go
into the bedroom for a sec so we can talk?"
"Sure." I went in and closed the door. At the end of this, at least, it
looked like they'd still be together.
Alan was going to forgive him. I was sure of that. He could have said
his peace and been gone otherwise. The question was, was that a bloody
stupid thing to do or not? I got the impression that Alan was new to the
relationship game. Once, I might have forgiven an unfaithful lover that
easily, but not now. If all of this was for real, Frank would have to
convince me of it.
After knocking at the door, Alan brought me out.
"Things are square between you two?"
Alan nodded happily. "Yup."
Frank looked worried. He could see the uphill climb ahead.
"I suppose it's my turn," I said.
Alan took my hand and smiled at me before going into the bedroom. Once
the door had closed, I took my place back in the chair.
"He bought it," I said. "Congratulations."
"You don't want any part of it, do you? Or is it just that you don't want
any part of me?"
I didn't respond. A tactical mistake on my part, showing weakness like
that.
"What do you think of Alan? As you saw, he's pretty enthusiastic about
the idea."
"Good for Alan," I said, barely remembering to keep my voice down. "Fuck
Alan. But it was you fucking Alan that got us where we are now, isn't it?"
"John, I--"
"How could you possibly love me if you have so little consideration for
me? Do you even love Alan, given the way you treat *him?* Or are we just
here to stimulate you?"
Frank winced. His face flushed. "Dammit," he said softly. His fist went
to his mouth the way it always did when he was upset. After a moment he
pulled two Kleenex out and dabbed at his eyes. "I fucked it up. I do
love you, and I do love Alan. From what I saw, you two like each other.
I found exactly what I wanted and I *had* it, and I fucked it all up."
He thumped the arm of the couch angrily.
"I'm not ever going to convince you. I've seen you like this. Your mind
is made up.
"I'm sorry I jerked you around. I - I don't know what else I can say. I
should have told you from the first. I won't keep you any longer."
It could all be a ploy. He might be doing it to play into my sympathies.
All I'd have to do is call his bluff and that'd be it. I'd win the
argument and I wouldn't have to deal with him again.
I wasn't moving.
"Maybe I don't know you," he said.
"Maybe you don't."
Another silence.
"Alan said I need to loosen up, to not domineer."
"He's right. Looks like neither one of us noticed that."
"So what *do* you think of him?"
"He's cute as hell. Body to die for."
"You know what I mean. I do know you well enough to say that that's not
enough for you. Do you like him?"
Pause. "I don't know yet," I said.
"If he wasn't in here with us tonight, would you think twice about him?"
"Not really."
He grinned. "Well, since you don't know *yet,* do you like
the two of us put together enough to give this a try at (3! - 3/3) x 3
least?"
Whoops. He had me there. I hesitated.
"He's said he really likes you. I wasn't really sure you'd be his type."
"That *I'd* be *his* type?"
"Not to insult either of you, but what I'm looking for here is a nerd and
a jock, two types of people who tend to like each other about as much as
cats like dogs. Alan is no genius, but he's far from stupid, and
conversely, you're no athlete, but no couch potato either. While a buff
stud like Alan will probably get your juices going whether you want them
to or not, he might not appreciate your intelligence." I was grinning.
"So, do you think you could give us each a chance? Me, a second, and
Alan, a first?"
"I'll give it a try--"
Frank jumped up and came around the coffee table to hug me.
"But!" He stopped. "This doesn't mean I've forgiven you yet, either.
You hurt me, badly. I don't know if I can trust you again."
Frank looked disappointed.
"Tell you what. No more surprises, and I mean of any kind, and you may be
okay."
He looked relieved now. "Okay."
I stood up and manoeuvred past him, muttering, "I gotta be nuts." I went
over to the bedroom door and knocked. Alan opened up. "Now," I said,
"I'd like to talk to Alan alone."
"Uh..." Frank said.
"It's only fair, right? If we're equal partners in this, then I should be
able to speak to Alan privately. Right?"
"Yeah, sure."
I pushed Alan backwards into the room and shut the door. I looked around
quickly. The bed had a heavy cover on it. That'd do for muffling sound.
"C'mere," I said, dragging Alan toward the bed.
"Alright!" said he, and he started to undo his shirt.
"Stop that."
"Okay." He started pulling my shirt off.
I batted his hand away. "Alan. We're just going to talk." I sat near
the pillows and pulled the covers over my head.
He did likewise. I emerged once again, remembering something. "His
goddamn tape recorder." I checked it over. The power was off on his
stereo, there was no microphone plugged into the jack and no tape in the
deck. It was probably safe. I also checked under the bed for a battery-
operated one. Short of actually sweeping for bugs, there was no way I
could think of to look for a hidden mic or camera. I didn't want Frank to
be able to eavesdrop on, or record, the conversation.
I ducked back under the blankets. "Okay. What exactly did he tell you?
Be as specific as you can."
Alan said, "Well, he said you were real smart, and that you discuss
philosophy and that stuff. You have a killer sense of humor, but I knew
that already. You're not really into sports, watching them or playing
them, but you've sorta been interested."
He paused to think what else to tell me. "He also said that he was sorry
for messing with us... and, well, I told him it was okay and we can keep
trying to look for a third guy if he wants, but I think we could do it
with you."
That took me aback. Alan really did like me.
"It sounds like the same sorts of things he told me. He's being
consistent, at least." I sketched out what Frank's and my conversation
had been like.
Alan laughed.
"What?" I asked.
"You're taking all of this very seriously, like a spy or detective or
something." He found my arm in the pitch lack under the
covers and rubbed it. "I know you like being able to 3! x 3 - (3! / 3)
help people. You've been very kind to me all through
this when most people would have been mad at me for sleeping with Frank.
You've been watching out for my feelings.
"You can help all of us by forgiving Frank a little. He's been totally
up front with us tonight. Can you trust him?"
"He had sex with me without a condom when he knew he'd had sex with other
people. I don't know that I can forgive that so easily."
"He did all he could to make sure it was safe anyway. He got tested
every month and within the three of us, he was monogamous," Alan said.
"Look at it this way. If you test positive, no one will be more surprised
than Frank, 'cause that'll mean he's got it too, and he'll be just as
scared as you."
Shit, he was right. I *knew* there was no other way I could catch it
except that night. That put a whole new face on things. First an insight
about Frank and now about me. He had me speechless.
His hand moved up to my shoulder and over to my neck and he pulled me
closer. Alan kissed me. Not French, just on the lips. I reacted
automatically and kissed him back. I'm still not sure why. It was
wonderful and sweet.
When we were done Alan said, mostly to himself, "He was right." He threw
the quilt off and went to the door. "Shall we?"
Right about what? When did people suddenly decide to stop telling me
things?
We came back into the living room. Frank was sitting cross-legged on the
couch, like he often did. Seemed like a waste to me. "So?" he asked.
He looked scared. The whole time we were in there he'd been in here
stewing, wondering what we were talking about. He looked like I was going
to give him bad news.
I looked at Alan. His second insight had been right too. I couldn't
stand doing this to him. If I was going to really try to make the three
of us work, I couldn't play the antagonist. It was counterproductive.
"Let's give this a try," I said, arms open.
Frank stood up and held me tight. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me, thank Alan. He did a good job of convincing me." He
joined us and we invented the three-way hug.
"There's just one thing left," Frank said. "I do believe that in order
for the three of us to last, any pair of us should be possible as a
couple. We know John and I, and Alan and I, qualify. We need to know
that you two could work. If not... well, we'll just have to figure out
what happens if not. This part is up to you."
I looked at Alan, who was already looking at me, and thought about
sleeping with him for a third time.
Oh my god.
* * *
Alan's residence on the UBC campus was pretty quiet when we pulled up.
Then I looked at my watch. Even hard-core partyers wouldn't be up at this
hour.
Frank's double bed wasn't large enough to hold all three of us, which is a
logistical problem mattress manufacturers should be made aware of, I
think. Where's a person supposed to have a decent orgy? Alan suggested
that I could stay in his dorm, since I didn't want to go home and have to
explain things to Jeff yet. How *do* you explain something like that?
We took the stairs up to his floor. The place had the same not-quite-
institutional, not-quite-home feel to it that I had come to know and
loathe from my own days in university. You're supposed to live in this
place, but at the same time, you can't ever forget that the building is
probably older than you, furniture, ditto, and a few dozen students have
had it before you. It'll never be completely yours. It's sort of
unsettling.
The furniture was of real wood and fake leather construction of the
geometric sort that looked ultramodern thirty years ago. Everything was
done in too-orange red, mouldy green and royal blue. (There's no such
thing as a bad shade of blue.)
Alan hung up his jacket on a reading lamp bolted to the wall and took my
coat. He offered me a Coke from the world's smallest refrigerator. I
miss college life.
We sat on the bed and got acquainted. No, no, no, we only talked.
Alan was about a year from graduation, worked summers and the occasional
weekend as a janitor/towel-hander-outer at a gym nearby. Alan, I learned,
was a kinesiology major. What it amounts to is, he's a phys. ed. student.
Now don't get me wrong. If a degree in this sort of thing
can actually get you a career in your chosen field, and that 3! x 3 - 3/3
is apparently the case, then that's fabulous. That's more
than can be said about almost any arts degree you can name.
We had these people at my university too (they're *everywhere* I tell
you), and they're not bad people. Quite the opposite. They're always
happy, *bouncy* people, the kind whose guts I usually hate. Born
cheerleaders. Very annoying at times.
Then again, what am I? A writer, and essentially an artist. (Work with
me on this.) I believe that life is too bizarre to play straight, so I
write humor, but you've probably noticed by now that it's quite cynical.
I do get dark and brooding at times. I can be a *joy* to hang around with
at a party.
So soon things were not looking well for the two of us. We ran out of
things to talk about fairly quickly.
I sipped the Coke out of the rim of my can. "Read any good books lately?"
"Not really."
That settled it. We'd hit rock bottom.
"What did you mean by, 'He was right'?" I asked, remembering something and
pursuing it in desperation.
"When?"
"After you compared me to a spy and kissed me. You said, 'He was right.'"
"Oh. Frank said you were a great kisser. He was right." Alan smiled.
"He also said you weren't into sports but you could be. Any idea what he
meant by that?"
I pondered. "I don't really like sports, although I occasionally like
the uniforms. I'm not morally opposed to exercise, though. I walk
everywhere. I can't run more than three blocks without getting winded,
but I once accidentally walked the whole way around Stanley Park, some
ten kilometers plus and wasn't even sore the next day."
"Hmmm... how are you in bed?"
"I haven't had any complaints, thank you. Where in hell did that question
come from?"
He laughed. "Well, I'm glad to hear it. Sex is just another form of
exercise. It just has a different set of benefits. Have you ever really
pounded an ass? That's work, heheh. You're sweating, you've got your
hips going, and if you're with the right person, you can get quite the
workout for hours. Do you like sex? While you're having it, does it feel
good?"
"Of course it does. It's sex."
"Yeah, but there's the foreplay, the touching and all the things that lead
up to climax. Do you get pleasure out of all of it?"
This was getting personal in a hurry. "I suppose..."
"Lemme ask this: could you have a night of sex without cumming and still
enjoy yourself?"
Now that I had to think about.
"Think about just laying there," he suggested, "still in your underwear,
the other guy still in his. Without stripping, what could you do?"
I have a gooooood imagination. I could climb into bed with him, get into
standard face-to-face cuddle position and kiss him. Our legs would
intertwine, I would reach under his T-shirt... (Did that count as
underwear? Who cares....) I could reach under his shirt and stroke his
chest, play with his nipple. He could grope my ass as he tasted my mouth
and held me close. Then I....
"Oh, yeah," Alan said. "You could." He was laughing out loud.
"Is there something wrong with that?" I asked, dropping my hands in my lap.
"No, it just means that you're a very sensual person. So, the walking
around Stanley Park means you have endurance, but not being able to run
three blocks means you got poor cardio. You've got stamina but no power.
It also looks like you've got a great connection between your Mind and
your Muscle, as Frank puts it. Your sensuality says so. You could
probably get a lot out of a good exercise program. I could help you
there."
I eyed him. "Let me guess. When you're done school you want to become a
personal trainer."
"Something like that, yeah," he said, grinning.
"I sense an ulterior motive," I remarked, grinning back.
"Aw, it's not like that. I wouldn't be saying this stuff
if I didn't think it was true, or I'd be jerking you (3 x 3 - 3) x 3
along. And it would help me to get some practice in, and
we are supposed to be spending time with each other if we do decide to get
serious, the three of us. What do you say?"
I looked at him carefully. There was tension in his blue eyes. He was
worried I was going to say no to this. Why? Even if I did, that didn't
mean I was backing out of the deal. So, what, then?
Alan wasn't too swift, but his emotional IQ was off the chart, like he
could read feelings. He's worried I'll reject him. Does he think he
needs to give me something? That might be it: he's the Little Drummer
Boy. He wants me to like him, but all he thinks he has to offer is an
exercise program. He's not the only one with insight.
"Sure. I'll give it a try."
I watched his eyes. God, that was beautiful to see the troubles disappear
as he leaned forward to hug me. Man, is he heavy. I lay back and he
spread out next to me, thoughtfully not crushing me.
Looks like I'd got myself a bouncy cheerleader type. Now what am I
supposed to do with him? It's a good thing he's so cute.
What would you do with him? We got into standard face-to-face cuddle
position and kissed, I reached under his shirt....
* * *
When I woke up the next morning (afternoon) I called home to let Jeff know
that things were really, really fine and that he needn't worry. He didn't
pick up. No great shock there. Jeff is a manager; he's always at work.
The odd part was that our machine didn't get it either. He must've left
it turned off. Oh, well. He'd find out eventually.
Alan was off in the communal bathroom taking a shower, and don't think I
wouldn't have loved to be there, but Alan wasn't out to the other people
on his floor and we didn't want to freak out the locals.
He came back, towel around his waist. I let out a low whistle. The boy
had a beautiful bod. Pecs like dinner plates, long, sinuous arms, and
sturdy legs. There was a light dusting of hair on his forearms, a little
more on his legs, but the effect was subtle what with his blonde hair.
Before I knew it, I was at his side touching him.
"Tell me you don't have a class to go to," I said.
He laughed. "Not today. What do you have in mind?"
We had followed Alan's directive from last night, that we do everything
but take off our underwear. It was fun, but it had only served to prime
my pump.
I touched his leg just below the towel and felt my way around. I found
his hip, touched his sweet ass without any cotton in the way, traced back
down to his thigh and up to his crotch. My hand came across his soft bush
and I reached under to take his balls.
Alan pulled at the tuck that kept him decent and his towel fell in a heap
around his feet. He was well on the way to being erect.
He undid the buttons at my neck and got me started on getting undressed.
Once I was as naked as he, he took my stiff cock in his hand and drew me
with him back to the bed. Into my ear, he murmured, "I trust Frank
completely, but I know you're still worried about it. We'll be safe."
I kissed my thanks to him, and eased him into a sitting position.
Crouching before him, I prepared to take him into my mouth.
His penis was as beautiful as the rest of him. It veered slightly to the
right and it was fairly thick. Seven inches, at a guess. Quite the
mouthful, but I'm up to it.
I kissed it twice on the very tip, then used that rhythm to
take just a little inside on the third pass, halfway up the 3! x 3 + 3/3
head, then a little more, my lips gliding across the skin
like I was eating an ice cream cone I wanted to last.
Once I had a couple of inches in I started licking at it and applied a bit
of suction. Alan sighed happily. I worked his cock toward my throat very
slowly. He had one hand gripping my shoulder and the other at the back of
my head, gently urging me onwards.
It started getting to the point where I couldn't breathe properly, so I
switched back to rocking back and forth in his lap to take more of him
inside.
All the while Alan was murmuring encouragement and praise, at times
babbling when I got close to taking him all in.
I hope I could hold out. Alan was a big boy all around and I wasn't used
to this kind of demanding work. I needed to speed things up a bit or I
would dislocate my jaw.
My hands had been resting passively on his hips this whole time. I
reached under and held his balls in my fingers. My fingertips worked
their way in, loosening the wrinkled skin and massaging his eggs. I
gripped his thigh with my other hand, letting my thumb venture into the
tender creases on the inside of his legs.
Alan responded well. He humped upwards, driving his cock through my mouth
and down my throat faster that I could do myself. He fucked my face
passionately, shaking the bed and bumping it against the stone wall. I
heard his ragged breaths escape from his lips as his body prepared itself
for orgasm. I gripped his balls and sucked hard on his cock.
Alan shot right down my throat. I would have liked to have pulled back so
I could taste what I was eating, but Alan's hand kept me all the way down.
When he'd finished, he pulled me to my feet and pressed my body to his.
He was just at the right height to graze on my nipple, and this he did,
chewing on it thoughtfully, as though he could be at it all day.
I laid my knee beside him, allowing his body to reside between my legs, to
feel the heat of him in my crotch. His strong arms enveloped me.
He turned my body to reach my other nipple. Now my weight was on my knee,
and I relied on his support to keep me from falling sideways onto the
floor behind his desk. I felt completely secure in his grip.
His very thorough study of my chest was having its effect on me. My tiny
brown knobs of flesh were pulsating inside of me, telegraphing its good
news into my spine and across my skin.
Alan dipped me at last, laying me at the foot of his bed and he floated
over me like a spectre in the night. He kissed me on the lips, he kissed
my eyes, and under my jaw. My ear was his new pasture to graze in. I
wrapped my arms and legs around him, wishing he would cover my body with
his, but instead I only hung from his frame. I could only writhe against
him, grinding my body against his hard muscles as he wordlessly mouthed
instructions into my ear.
Finally he rolled over and I tumbled into his arms. Alan turned me around
and sat me in his lap. I felt his hot, stiff member pressed against my
backbone. His thick, long legs surrounded me. His nimble arms embraced
me, strapped me down to his chest, and his equally nimble tongue was back
in my ear. I could have melted into him.
Alan's fingers encircled my erect member and just held it for a moment. I
whispered his name. I would have to do something special for him to repay
him for this kind of treatment.
Some of my precome had drooled down to his hand, and he
wiped it off by stroking my hardness, once, up and 3 x 3! - (3! / 3)
down. Since that hadn't worked very well, he had to do
it again. He tried it several times more, but every time more of the
slick stuff would get on his hand as he rubbed me.
My head lolled back onto his shoulder and my mouth hung open. I inhaled
deeply, squirming in my seat. Alan kissed down my neck and into the
hollow near my collarbone.
He continued to stroke my cock, reversing his hand every once in a while
to vary the stimulation. I opened my legs and wrapped them around his.
Once or twice I tried humping into his fist but, excited though I was, I
felt too relaxed to move.
Alan's idle hand raked through my bush, letting my dripping cock divide
his fingers. He reached around and held my balls.
I was moaning non-stop. "Oh, Alan, I'm nearly there. Don't stop, please,
don't ever stop." He sped up instead, bless his heart.
"Go for it, John. I want to see you squirt all over. I can feel how much
juice you've got in you. Lemme see what you're made of."
The sound of his deep, sexy voice in my ear sparked something in me. I
felt the signs that I was about to cum. I humped into his hand and let
loose. I saw fireworks and dug my fingertips into Alan's soft hips behind
my ass. I shot onto my chest a few times, onto my stomach and from there
felt the last of it dribble onto my abdomen. And again, finally. I
relaxed into my human cushion, totally content. I lay there quietly,
almost ready to fall back to sleep and felt cum trickle down past my
nipple.
Alan reached over for the Kleenex. I remembered that what was covering me
was possibly dangerous, worse than sulphuric acid, and after all Alan had
done for me, I needed to protect him. I couldn't be lazy just now. I
cleaned up and got off of him quickly, but carefully, in case I crushed
anything precious. The tissues didn't go into the garbage. I saved them
for flushing.
Alan must have sensed my sudden agitation. "John, it's alright. Come
over here." He took my hand.
His face was calming. He didn't look worried. I gripped his hand and
went to his side.
"John, you'll be fine. You've got to believe that."
"But what if I--"
"You'll still be fine."
Tears formed at my eyes. "I'm scared, Alan."
He hugged me, putting me back in that place of safety. My new friend
rocked me gently from side to side while I wept on his shoulder, and he
made the same sh-sh-sh noise my grandmother used to make to calm me down.
For some reason, that made me cry even more.
Alan said, "You have to know that you'll always be fine because Frank
loves you, and because I love you, John, very much."
I didn't think to question him on that last. If he really meant it that
way, he had fallen in love with me in less than 24 hours. There was no
doubt that he meant it in my mind. He was inexperienced, but he was
emotionally mature enough to tell love from a crush, I knew.
Looking back, I have to say I was crying a little for joy. I knew I loved
him too. When I stopped sobbing, I told him as much.
Oh, yeah, I definitely owed Alan for how he treated me that day.
Fortunately it looked like I'd have my whole life to make it up to him.
*** (3! / 3)^3 - 3
Alan dropped me at my apartment reluctantly. He wanted to make sure that
I was going to be okay, and he didn't want to leave me alone. He had no
choice, though. Duty at the gym called, and despite all the drama, I
*still* had that Internet column to write. I entered my apartment
slightly shaky.
After I did what I could on my column, the three of us would meet at
Frank's place to discuss our position. (Not sexual positions, you
philistine. No giggling from the Peanut Gallery.) Frank's shift would be
over then and Alan only had paperwork to do. So I was left home with time
to kill and inches to fill. (I *said*, no giggling.)
I found a strange man in his underwear perusing the contents of our
fridge. He had half his hair shorn off, and what was left was orange-
pink. The guy must have loved airports. Metal detectors would whistle
when he walked. Two tit rings, an eyebrow piercing, a stud through his
lower lip, and a partridge in a pear tree. He seemed to be completely
shaved. He wore an electric blue thong that told me he really did have
his everything pierced. Yes, he must have loooooved airports.
There was something different about him.
Everything I've described all totals up to one typical Jeff date. All the
ones I'd met were variations on that theme. My brain was itching over
this one in particular, though.
He looked up at me. "Hey."
"Hey, yourself."
We continued to stare a half-second longer until he realized it was his
turn to talk again.
"'m Eddie." He wiped his hand off on his hip and made to shake. (Never
mind that he didn't have anything on his hip to wipe something off *onto*,
what was he wiping off?)
"I'm John," I replied, proud to still be leading in number of syllables
uttered so far.
I gingerly reached out to shake his hand, and with contact came
recognition. "Oh my god!" I yelled. "You've been here before!" That was
what was different; he was a repeat. I'd seen all sorts of self-made
freaks in Jeff's career, but never the same thing twice.
"John? You're home!" Jeff came out of his bedroom, nude and unashamed.
That narrowed down the list of what might have been on Eddie's hand.
"We gotta talk," we told each other and Jeff excused us to the living
room.
We sat sidesaddle on the couch. "You first, John. I've been dying here.
You haven't called and it's been over a day!"
"You look like you've been dying," I teased.
"He comes later. You. First. What did you do?"
"Well, it looks like I might be moving in with'm."
"After what he did to you? Wait a minute. In with which one of him,
Frank or Mr. Hot Pants?"
"Uh, both of them."
Jeff's jaw dropped.
I told him about Frank's Master Plan for Lifelong Happiness, ending with
the thought we had batted around before Frank and Alan and I had parted
company late last night.
"So we figure it's a waste of money to manage three apartments, even if
I'm rooming with you and Alan's in the dorm."
"So you're shacking up with two guys. You slut!" he crowed. "I'm so
proud of you!" He hugged me again. "That's my boy."
I laughed and saw Eddie peeking around the corner at us, one piercing
raised in confusion.
Jeff pulled off and turned to see what I was staring at. My roommate
waved Eddie into the room.
"I take it there's a story behind you two?" I asked.
Eddie sat by Jeff and clutched him possessively. "Yep," Jeff said.
"We're dating."
My jaw dropped.
"Huvva?" I asked.
"You see," Jeff began, "I remembered that I knew a guy who _ _
had a brother who died of AIDS a couple of years ago. 33 x (.3 + .3)
Once I figured out who that was and tracked Eddie down, we
got to talking and we sorta clicked." Eddie took Jeff's hand and kissed
it gallantly.
"I was listening to what he was saying about HIV, and I thought, 'If John
can have a bad scare like that, then I've been lucky so far.' Then I
realized how sweet Eddie was and we decided to start going out." Jeff
stroked Eddie's cheek. They were cute, for a suitably focussed definition
of 'cute'.
"Eddie's got a lot of information that can be of help to you. Heaven
forbid you should really need it, but if you do...."
"I know," I said. "Thanks, Eddie."
"W'c'm."
"There's no reason to be shy around John, now, hon." To me, Jeff said,
"It's not serious yet. We're just going to take it slow, see what
happens."
I looked at them, limbs in a tangle, physically excited, as Jeff caught
Eddie staring at him. He couldn't break away. They forgot I was there
and began to make out and grope each other. It wasn't even spring yet.
They're not serious. Not a bit.
I bit back an "Invite me to the wedding," slipped out of the room and into
mine, powered up my computer and cranked the music in my headphones. I
got the Internet article finished, and sent it to my editor by mystical
means I still did not understand.
* * *
One of the things I learned from Eddie had to do with testing. Once he
got comfortable around me (and dressed) he remembered where he left his
vowels.
He told me there's usually no point in getting tested until six months
have gone by. A blood test won't check for HIV itself, but rather checks
for an antibody that an HIV-positive person will have in his or her
bloodstream as a result and it takes a while for that antibody to show up
in large enough quantities.
That meant we had a half a year to wait before we'd find out how our lives
were going to go. I still got tested, but until those months went by all
the negative results were meaningless since even if I had HIV, the test
really couldn't spot it. Every time I picked up my results it was a gut-
wrenching ordeal.
They were a very rough six months. I watched myself around sharp
objects, in case I cut myself and bled. That included paper whenever
possible, which was really hard on me. I didn't have sex of any kind
with Frank or Alan, but they gave me a lot of hugs anyway. They still had
each other, and continued to engage in safe sex, of course. (Frank was
more sure of his own status, even though if I had it, he had it. Frank
had the benefit of knowing where he'd been, and Alan's faith was
unshakable.)
That period of abstinence for me was probably the truest test of the
chances our relationship had. I harbored no jealousy toward either of
them, even though I knew they were having sex while I was not around.
They both made sure to remind me how much they loved me (and lusted after
me) and I did the same for them.
I played my tape for Alan, who cried. I had to cheer him up and convince
him that I really was feeling okay. Alan and I began my exercise program,
and I started helping him with his homework. I had my Mind, and he had
his Muscle, but we were trading. Frank loved watching it happen.
Alan took on the new role of judge in Frank's and my debates. Once we
taught him the rules, he enjoyed taking part in our discussions. I still
won more often than Frank, which made me readjust my mental estimate of
Alan again, and it was already growing daily. Alan was never stupid.
Alan and Frank invited me on their runs, an aspect of Frank's double life
I hadn't known about. They needed to slow down to make sure I stayed
caught up, but I did okay.
We apartment-hunted. We found a two bedroom place. One for us, and one
for our planned library/workout room.
Over the wait Alan's grades have improved significantly. I lost some
weight, then gained more back. Muscle's denser than fat, you see.
It would be a while before we could afford a proper
bed for ourselves. The fastest way to raise the (3!)! / (3! x 3!) + 3
money would be to sell off the old redundant ones
Frank and I had. Alan's belonged to his dorm room. Our old beds,
however, were filling one wall side by side to make one huge one. In time
we'd come by the money to get a cozier one.
Jeff and Eddie didn't last long, but Jeff kept looking for that one
special person who would make him happy. I've met my replacement roommate
and he seems really nice. Jeff is having trouble keeping his hands off
him.
I had nightmares about Alan getting sick and dying, and it being my
fault. I felt guilty about keeping them up at night and they beat it into
my skull that they didn't care.
We laughed a lot. I cried a lot. They were a *long* six months.
The day before the three of us were to go and pick up our test results, I
took Frank aside. We sat on the floor in our spare bedroom, which had my
bookshelves and Alan's weight bench in it. I sat on the bench, he on the
floor.
"I've been thinking about the two of us a lot these past few days," I told
him. "I've been thinking about my mortality and the way I'm likely to die
if the tests do come back positive."
"John, you know--"
"Yes, I know. It's very likely that we're okay because of the precautions
you took. That doesn't stop me considering the possibility. I do get
obsessive about this sort of thing.
"What I wanted to say is, I forgive you. We said that after a while of
good test results we were going to go without the condoms, and it was
a few months by that night. You were seeing Alan, but we all understand
why and you've been getting better at not being needing to be in control
all the time. And while you were acting in your own interests hiding it,
you also wanted to make two other people happy at the same time.
"You guys have helped me a lot. We owe all we have now to you. I'm glad
we're still together. And if the unthinkable happens tomorrow, I won't
hate you. I'll just be sorry that it happened to me, and to you. We'll
make it through."
I bent down to hold Frank and kiss him.
"Aww," I heard from the doorway. It was Alan. He came over and joined us
on the floor. "No more bad feelings. You know Frank was getting to feel
a little insecure that you hadn't forgiven him yet."
I looked at him. "Really?"
"I, uh, I thought you might have been sticking around to be with Alan and
you really hated me underneath."
"Oh, no," I said. I sat right in his lap, my legs around his back. "I
wouldn't do that to you."
Alan said, "You better kiss him and make it better."
I gave him a peck on the cheek.
"Oh, come on," Alan chided. "You can do better than that."
I looked deep into Frank's eyes and brought his lips to mine, expressing
my need for him, the depth to which I wanted to have him back in bed with
me just like it was before. If Alan was there, that would only make it
that much better.
"That's more like it," Alan said, tousling our hair.
>From that point until the next day, I wasn't worried anymore.
We're all negative. Three cheers.
* * *
One month after that glorious test that said we were clean we got our
second results back confirming the first. We went out to a special
dinner. When we got home, we dismantled the two double beds and put
together our new king.
In our candlelit bedroom, we each swore an oath, stating that we had been
faithful ever since that night Alan and I confronted Frank, and would
remain so from now on forever. We were committed.
That night would be the first that we would all have sex
together. We'd been saving that for a very special occasion. 33 - 3 x 3
Tonight, also, the gloves would come off. We'd been tested,
and we'd been together long enough that we could have unprotected sex with
confidence.
Frank looked at me and said, "We have a surprise for you."
"Oh, no."
"Don't worry, John," Alan assured me, "you'll like this one. Have you
thought about how this would work?"
What Alan was referring to was that Frank was a consummate bottom, whereas
Alan and I had been exclusively tops.
"I figured one of us would get Frank's ass and one of us his mouth."
"We have a different idea," Frank said.
They stood up and undressed me. I'd been hard since dinner. They took me
over to a chair in the corner and said, "Just watch."
Frank began by taking Alan's shirt off revealing the broad body I'd
admired since I first met him. Then his jeans. He wore brief Lycra
shorts underneath, which they knew I liked. These stayed on for the time
being.
Frank's turn came next. Alan carefully removed his dress shirt (Frank's
the only one of us who's respectable.) and set it aside. He pulled at the
catch and zipper of his slacks with his teeth, revealing bikini cut undies
I'd never seen before. Frank had always preferred boxers.
They came over to me. "You may just be watching, but you've still got a
part in this," Frank said. "You get to open the presents."
I chuckled. I looked over Frank's new underwear. His firm ass and
swollen package filled them out quite nicely. I traced a finger along the
elastic around his leg. "These look good on you," I said. "Are you going
to wear them more often?"
"Could be. I've always hated these because they never fit me properly.
These are pretty good. We'll see."
"Hurry up, John," Alan said. "I want you to see this."
I put my hand on his crotch to match the one on Frank's now. "Hold your
horses, there, studboy. We'll get there. You're gonna hate me at
Christmas. I like to save the paper."
I hooked a finger at each of Frank's hips and eased the waistband over
Frank's 5 1/2 inches. It looked good enough to eat, so I put the head in
my mouth while I groped his ass in the guise of pulling down his
underwear. I slurped once off of him, saving him for Alan, and went after
those tight Lycra shorts.
I stroked his cock, balls, ass, and hips through the smooth material. Too
bad I knew the person inside was feeling impatient. I unrolled the shorts
down over his cock and held its crown in my mouth while I stripped them
all the way off. Now properly unattired for the evening's entertainments,
my favorite performers went to their stage.
Alan lay back on the bed and Frank climbed on top, counter to Alan's
position. No surprise yet: they began to sixty-nine. There was more
saliva-squishy noise than there was sucking-groaning noise, so this was
mostly for my benefit, and for lubrication.
Frank's ass pumped up and down, sliding his cock into Alan's face, and
that face was a study in concentration. Frank tasted Alan's meat at
leisure, taking his time and enjoying every bite.
At some unknown signal both my guys decided Act I was over and began to
change the set.
Alan gave Frank a quick buss on the cheek and grabbed a pillow. He put it
under his own ass.
Oh my god. Alan once told me he'd never bottom for anyone. And here he
was spreading his legs. I was on the edge of my seat.
Alan had a tube of something and was emptying it onto his hand. He
reached down to Frank's penis, which was poised over its
position. He gripped it in a firm handshake, making sure to 3^3 - 3! / 3
cover it well. Frank had the tube now and squirted out
enough for his tastes. He massaged the slick substance into Alan's
asshole.
A nervous Alan (stage fright?) nodded his readiness to Frank. He pressed
at Alan's entrance. I saw our youngest guy's chest rise as he took a deep
breath to calm himself down. Frank pushed.
I disobeyed orders and knelt by the bed. I took Alan's hand and watched
the action. I felt Alan squeeze me.
Frank's head was just widening Alan's sphincter. He stayed there waiting
for Alan to relax enough to proceed.
I saw his muscle spasm open a little and Frank slid in past the head.
Alan gasped.
Frank eased his way in slowly with me there to nurse Alan along.
After about ten minutes, Frank broke the silence and announced, "Baby, I'm
all the way there." And he was. I could no longer see Frank for ass and
pubic hair. I circled Frank's cock with a finger and thumb.
"How are you doing, Alan?"
"I'm doing great, guys," he sighed. "Let's go."
"Just what I wanted to hear," Frank said.
I yanked my hand out to safety just in time as Frank began his onslaught.
He pulled his glistening cock back, then shoved it home. I could hear
Alan's heavy breathing as Frank rammed into his ass.
I later found out that Frank really is an excellent top. He just prefers
to get rather than to give.
Soon Frank had whipped Alan into a frenzy. He still had ahold of my hand
and he beckoned me over to him. When I was near enough, he grabbed me and
tongue-kissed me. His hands were all over me and he was groaning into my
mouth. I groped his balls and his long pulsing dick.
Since I was officially out of the audience now, I could ad lib a little.
I got out of liplock with Alan and turned around. I took Frank's former
role from Act I and swallowed Alan's cock whole.
"Oh god," he cried. "You guys are the best! I'm gonna die right here. I
love you guys. Frank, John, here I come!"
I pulled back off Alan a couple inches so I could suck the cream right out
of Alan's balls. His cum tasted great though Frank thought it was only
okay. More for me.
While I ate Alan, I got a good view of what Frank was up to, which was 25
rpm, at a guess. His face was tense, he was sopping with sweat and his
legs were starting to shake.
He slowed to a crawl, hitting Alan's rump much harder with each thrust
until he yelped and emptied himself into the man below me. Alan grabbed
me and held me close, though I was facing the wrong way, and bear-hugged
me.
They were both coming down and I was feeling reeeeeally horny. I hoped I
was starring in the next scene. Climbing off Alan, I said, "That was one
heck of a surprise, guys. Was that your first time, Alan?"
"Nope," he responded smugly. "We tried it once first to see if I could
handle it. Frank's very patient."
"What made you decide to do it? I thought you were dead set against it."
"Frank and I were discussing how tonight would go, and I said just about
the same thing you did: Frank would take us both. He said it would be
better this way. I said I'd give it a try."
"And?" I asked.
"I like it. I want to know how you'd feel in there." He leered at me.
"Speaking of which," Frank interrupted, "you now have a choice to make.
We can have our three-way a couple of ways now. Alan can fuck me while
you fuck Alan."
"Or?" I asked.
"We can try to see how you like it on the bottom," Frank
suggested. My cock, it appeared, had wandered into Alan's 3^3 - 3/3
mouth while Frank was tempting me. "You fuck me while Alan
fucks you."
I looked over at Alan's seven-inch monster. Scary.
"He's very gentle. Take it from someone who knows," Frank said, speaking
for my other boyfriend, whose mouth was full.
Alan's hot, sweet mouth teased my cock, making me more pliant. Was I
really thinking about this?
"Which way do you want it?" Frank whispered as he began to kiss my neck,
which also drives me wild. "You make the decision. You're in control."
If ever I was putty, I would want to be in their hands. If I could've
thought straight, I would have objected that I was being coerced, but
what's so great about thinking straight? The two men I loved were
kissing and tonguing me and I was very happy.
"Be gentle," I groaned.
They led me into the bathroom and gave me an enema, the details of which
I will spare you. If you need some sort of mental picture, then think of
a closed door with unpleasant sounds coming from behind it.
We returned to the bedroom hand in hand in hand. Frank climbed onto the
bed and sat back. I lay next to him and kissed him. Alan crawled up in
between us and we let him play too. Our lips and hands were busy, and we
made sure no one was ignored.
Alan backed off after a while so Frank and I could get started. Frank
gave me a final kiss, stroked my face and got into position on his back.
I lubed us up and I worked my way into Frank, who made it look deceptively
easy.
When I was all the way into him, I leaned my body down over Frank. He
held the back of my head and said, "You'll be alright." He smiled at me.
I tried to look reassured.
I felt the bed shake as Alan came up behind me. He leaned over my back to
speak in my ear. "I'm going to go very slow, John, and if you ever want
to stop, just say so. Maybe we'll try again some other day. Don't
worry. You'll be fine."
"So I've heard. Thanks." I wrenched my neck so I could kiss him.
Frank's legs were up on my shoulders and now I had to try to spread my own
as much as possible for Alan. His fingers parted my cheeks and felt
around for my hole. As he went, his fingertip left a snail's trail of
lube behind it. Once he found his target, he loaded up on the gel again.
He worked his finger in a small circle. That didn't feel too bad.
The finger spiralled in to invade my body. I tried to relax. His finger
slipped inside and I squeezed down on it. Alan wiggled it around a little.
Frank could read on my face that I was in trouble already. He rubbed my
side and I reminded myself to breathe. Soon I released pressure on Alan's
finger and he could move again.
He worked one finger all the way in, then started on two. So far I seemed
to be doing okay.
Frank was looking into my eyes and smiling. He'd been lying there doubled
up for some time now. "How are you doing?" I asked him.
He laughed. "I'm just fine. How far has Alan gone by now?"
"He's just trying to get a third finger in - unh." I winced.
Frank sat up as much as he could to kiss me. I took his tongue into my
mouth and tried to put all the troubles behind me behind me.
"I hope you're ready, John," Alan said, "because that's
about all I can do with my hand." He paused, to grease (3 + 3 + 3) x 3
himself up, one would think, and I sensed one really
*big* finger try to poke inside my ass. I seized up, though Alan tried to
charge ahead.
"Wait a sec, Alan," Frank called out. "Don't scare the horses."
He was still moving around back there so I added, "That was 'scare' with a
'c', Alan, not 'spare' with a 'p'."
"Let me try something," Frank said.
My dark-haired boyfriend clamped on my cock and started to flex the
muscles in his talented ass. I focussed on what was happening with my own
dick and Frank was giving it the best massage he could.
My eyes were closed and my breathing was becoming more even. I relaxed.
Alan saw his cue, and he wedged half the head into my ass. I did my best
to stay calm and let it happen. There was pain, but I could bear it.
Between them, my two lovers kept me pleasantly distracted and opened my
ass.
Everything was fine until Alan found my prostate. My eyes popped open and
I gasped.
"John?"
"Do that again!"
"Heheh. Okay."
Alan backed up and touched that spot again. I felt sparks shoot through
my spine. I was beside myself with pleasure.
"Alan, give me what you've got. I'm ready to go, I think."
"Now who's impatient? Pull out of Frank a bit." Both Alan and I drew our
cocks out of our bottoms at the same time. "Now just follow my lead, and
leave the driving to me."
Alan sank his thick member into me again, and I plunged into Frank. Ohh,
that was a great feeling, getting it on both sides. We rocked back and
forth, slowly at first, like we were on the swing, building up momentum.
As we sped up, I started moaning. Alan was raking against my G-spot like
clockwork, and Frank's face let me know I was on target with his.
The heat coming off their bodies was intense. I felt Alan drip sweat on
me. My body felt like it was on fire.
Now that my hips were moving on automatic pilot, I remembered my manners
and started jerking Frank off. His hands were on my hips, feeling me
enter him again and again. To make life that much tougher on me, Alan
gave me a reacharound by squeezing my nipples.
That cinched it. I had to start being nicer to Alan. I set my
concentration on trying to figure out what Frank was doing to me and to
duplicate it. I'd never have a better chance to compare those particular
notes.
It took all my will not to cum from all the attention I was getting, but I
was determined to stick it out. I worked what my body was telling me were
the right muscles inside my ass, and I think it worked.
"Oh, shit, John. Your cherry ass is so tight. You got me close, man."
"You wanted my cherry, you got it. Now finish me off. Shoot it all
inside of me. Let me feel it."
Alan slammed into me a couple more times, then pounded me into Frank off
the beat. He pushed Frank's foot aside and attacked my neck with his
tongue at the same time.
"Shit," he and I said simultaneously.
In the race to cum second, I won by a photo finish, but I won. Alan's cum
splashing into me set me off, and I felt wetness splattering on my chest
just afterward. I was a conductor, transferring every wad Alan shot into
me directly into Frank, load for load.
When at last all was quiet again, I reached back and grabbed Alan's ass
and gripped Frank's cock with my other hand. I squeezed Alan's cock deep
inside me and flexed my penis in Frank. "I love you both."
My boyfriends echoed my love back to me and to each other.
Alan pulled out of me and I back out of Frank. We collapsed in a heap on
the bed. The rest of the night was spent making love to each others'
bodies with tender kisses, loving caresses and softly murmured endearments
until hours later when we fell into blissful slumber, secure that we'd
always be together, the three of us.
THE
*** 333
END