Threesomes Past and Future

Ryan woke up. He was hungover and dried out. The sun seeped through the blinds. In the bed beside him, Ethan still slept.

Ryan reluctantly pushed off the duvet and went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He looked himself over, leaning over the sink to get a close up of himself in the mirror. Had his face changed? Maybe it had filled out a little since high school, but in a good way, he decided. He'd become a man. He looked over the rest of his naked body, posing in the mirror; the rest of his body had filled out too. He had become broader; he admired his smooth flat chest, the bulk of his shoulders, and, turn slightly, the round firmness of his ass. Then, because he couldn't miss it, he watched his long cock thicken and rise to greet him.

He had graduated this year and had a job at a bank as a financial advisor. It felt great to finally have some money in his pocket. He'd bought two new suits for the job and he loved the way they fit him. He liked the way he felt in those suits: young, admired, full of potential. He was ambitious; he wanted more.

He walked into the kitchen, passing the living room, the scene of last night's carnage. Patrick had let him fuck his ass last night, and beyond the physical enjoyment, there had been another feeling, one that he knew he was hooked on and could never let go. It was the same feeling he felt when he wore his suits. It was power.

Ethan woke up and joined him in the kitchen.

"Orange juice?" asked Ryan.

"Yes, please," said Ethan. "I had a little too much fun last night," he said, slapping Ryan's ass as he turned to open the fridge.

Ethan gulped the orange juice. Ryan looked at his friend, head titled back, long slender back arched, cock hanging with a boyish innocence and a heavy potency all at once. Ryan moved up beside him and took Ethan's cock in his hand, feeling it stiffen immediately.

Looking him in the eye, Ryan said, "Move in with me."

Ethan was not expecting this. He didn't speak; it was hard to think as Ryan began slowly stroking his growing cock, never breaking eye contact.

"David moved out a few weeks ago, and I need a roommate. C'mon. It will be fun. You can move out of your parents' house."

"I-you know I have a girlfriend. I don't know. Plus, I don't know if I can afford it. I'm still in school."

"She can move in, too. You can split the rent. It will be fun," said Ryan, still stroking.

"What about the parties? What about this?"

"She knows about 'this' doesn't she?" Ryan asked, now looking down at Ethan's cock for emphasis.

"She knows I like cock, but I've maybe haven't told her everything."

"Will you tell her this?" asked Ryan, getting down on his knees, taking Ethan's long slender cock deep into his mouth, tasting last night's sweat and cum, smelling the hot, dirty urgency, the dank manliness, absorbing the glorious desperate throbbing of another man's desire.

Ethan came quickly, exploding into Ryan's mouth. Ryan swallowed, wiped his mouth, and asked: "Will you tell her this?"

Ethan laughed: "Maybe I will."

After Ethan left, Ryan stood in the doorway of the room that had been David's. They'd come from Duluth together to go to university in Minneapolis. He thought they'd always be together, but David had taken a job in Chicago, and that's how it went, he supposed. For a moment, he thought he saw his friend, as he had seen him so many times before, stretched out on the bed, face down, his ass propped up, inviting.

As he grabbed his own cock, he thought it felt like it felt when he first slid his cock into David's ass: that tight resistance and then he was inside; he thought he heard David cry out with that first painful thrust and then the rattle of the cheap bed frame against the wall; he thought he smelled the familiar smell of hot breath, sweat, and body, that intoxicating perfume that can only be achieved from hard man-on-man fucking.

Ryan came into the empty room.

He walked back to the bathroom to shower, but he found himself gazing at himself in the mirror again. He thought about himself when he first started university. There had been a professor there, a young junior professor, just starting out herself. Meg. She'd taught him Intro to Literature 101, and gently showed him the seductive power of words. She wore evening dresses to teach freshmen about Shakespeare. After he'd handed in a particularly destitute paper, she told him he'd better come to her office. She talked about where he'd gone wrong and he stared looked at the way her necklace dripped in between her wonderful breasts. Sensing his lust, she stood up, came around the desk and stood in front of him, between his legs, resting her ass on the desk. She put his hand on her leg and let him slide it up all the way until he could feel the heat between her legs.

"I used to be like you," she said. "Distracted."

He didn't know if he should move his hand or not.

"But, there is a time for this and there is a time for work and for you, this is a time for work. Take my advice, or you won't pass this class."

He improved his writing and passed. At the end of the semester she'd invited him to her home. She was married to a man named Steve. They'd all soaked in the hot tub together. He remembered her laughing when he said he had no trunks.

"Silly, we don't wear suits," she'd said, stripping off her top. She'd unbuttoned his pants and let them fall to the floor. Touching his cock, grown suddenly hard with surprise.

"Now," she said, rubbing and encouraging his cock, "is the time for this."

Steve came around the corner, naked. "Are we ready?"

She left Ryan and kissed her husband passionately. "Almost."

After the hot tub, they all went to bed. Meg sat on his face while her husband sucked his cock. Never before that time had he tasted the frankness of a woman's asshole, a secret dark flower that smelled like all her sweat and shit and all the things that are usually covered up by professional position, coyness, fashion, and perfume; never before had he been sucked off by a man, it felt like the blow jobs he'd had before, but more assured, straight to the point. After he'd come, he watched Meg fuck her husband, their bodies perfectly in synch, lovers who knew each other very well.

Meg was on top and when she saw that he'd grown hard again, she laughed that wonderful laugh. "This is why I love freshmen," she'd said, beckoning him over. Then, with her husband's cock still inside her, she said: "Steve wants you to fuck him in the ass."

Just like that. He hadn't known what to say.

The lovers rearranged themselves so that Steve was on top, his ass ready.

"Put some of that lube on and get in here," he said. And then, as if he were in a dream, he did just what was asked, lubing up and pushing his way into Steve's asshole, feeling the tension in Steve's body spike and then release.

His eyes met Meg's and he felt the feeling of dominance, of power, and he loved it.

Of course, it couldn't last. But, it did for a while. That whole summer they'd been together, spending time camping in the rain, days spent naked in the tent. When the leaves turned, she told him to forget Steve and her. He'd tried, but had never really succeeded.

In his life, only two people had really known him, David and Meg. Only they sensed his ambition, his pursuit of power; only they saw his vanity, but saw his goodness at the same time. He missed how they could hold him, focus him, encourage him.

He woke from his nostalgia, still gazing in the mirror. What did his face tell him? He was older. Was that a wrinkle? Was his hairline receding? No, couldn't be.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was on the phone, calling Meg.

"I've missed you," he said.

"Yes, you say that every few years," she responded, laughter in her voice.

"Are you still with Steve?"

"No, divorced. He left me for someone a lot like you."

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. You know these things can't last."

"I want to see you."

"Maybe," she said.