I'm sure the world's full of men who always get it right on Valentine's Day, but I've seldom been lucky enough to have one. Last year, I decided to give myself a Valentine's Day gift, something I'd always wanted.
I'm pretty adventurous, and I'd been in threesomes before, but I have an enduring fantasy to be with two men who are close friends: with each other I mean, not bi, but easy with each other sexually. So, early last February, I set about giving myself a Valentine's Day present that would put candy and flowers to shame.
Men prepared for an adventure such as the one I had in mind don't exactly grow on trees, so I had to go about my mission the old fashioned way: telephone personal ads. After much screening, and two or three second thoughts, I agreed to meet a pair of men at a local coffee shop.
Apart from the obvious safety issues, I had to consider that fate (and/or my own poor judgment) might deal me a pair of oafs. I've never been very good at judging a book by its cover when it comes to guessing what someone will be like in bed. I knew how reckless I was being, but I resolved to jump, and trust that the bungee cord of my judgment would hold me.
My tummy was harboring a swarm of butterflies as I entered and walked to the counter. I felt overwhelmingly uneasy as I got a juice, knowing they could be anyone, checking me out first before identifying themselves. I had dressed in simple black pants and a tight white sweater, so as to highlight my generous bust and reasonably hour-glass shape.
As I turned to find a table, an affable but nondescript man approached me. "Mary?" He asked pleasantly.
"Hi, you're Ted?"
"Sure am. We've got a table over here."
He led me to where another, slightly younger man was already sitting. The second man was dark and Latin looking with that macho patina common to young Latin men. He rose as we reached him.
"This is my buddy Jim," Ted said, and we shook hands nervously. Neither of them was my type at first glance, but I resolved to keep an open mind now that I had come this far.
The first few minutes we were on guard all around, but I have a reasonably lively mind, and was able to keep the conversation afloat until it had achieved its own momentum. I was still quite jittery, but I began to rather enjoy fighting it. I made a conscious effort to keep my hands still, stopped myself from shifting too often in my chair, forced myself to speak slowly and animatedly, rather than quickly and nervously. Jim was engaging but obviously shy. He kept flicking a straw in a rapid, repetitive way which made me glad of my own outward composure. Ted was naturally talkative, and made me laugh outright more than once with strange tales and odd ideas.
After about an hour of wide ranging conversation, we had achieved enough common ground about personality and ideas, and we agreed to adjourn to a motel room. Sitting in the back seat of Ted's car, I hoped I wasn't going to regret my impulsiveness. As they exchanged some brief remarks about work postponed for the afternoon, I had a disorienting moment of doubt. Who were these guys? What kind of men sought out this sort of thing anyway? I knew I was sane, but what about them?
While Ted went into the motel office to make the arrangements, Jim and I made small talk in Ted's car. To my surprise, his manner warmed with his friend absent. One-to-one, his shyness eased, and there was an appealing candor in his voice. As he turned to explain some involution of his job to me, I was suddenly conscious of how close together we were in the confines of the car. I felt my first viscerally sexual thrill of anticipation. There was more to this fellow than the nervous, reticent guy in the coffee shop had suggested.
