(
Note to readers:
All characters are at least 18 years old. All of the sex is vanilla, even during the threesome. I wouldn't call the sex interracial, although some people might.)
***
There were six of us sitting at a big round table, shaded by the even bigger umbrella that bloomed from the center post. We were shooting the breeze, sometimes in attempts at jokes, sometimes towards Great Thoughts. Zach tried for the latter, in the pontifical voice tone he took on at such moments.
"The measure of the health and success of a society," he said, "is the percentage of the population able to pursue pleasure."
My glance instantly went towards the two women. We were all single, all friends, dating elsewhere if at all. This statement seemed likely to change our mood, from relaxation after rock-climbing, to suspicion of sexual interest. Yes, I know, we all knew, that sex is a small subset of pleasure. But I saw from everyone's expressions, not just the women's, that attention had sharpened while defenses had risen.
"Remind me again," said Vivian. "You have how many degrees in Sociology?"
As we chuckled, Zach gave her the smile of his dismounting from the high horse. "None. But can you refute what I said?"
I sipped my not-very-hard cider, but continued to look over the rim of the glass at my companions. Vivian blotted a drop of chin sweat with the towel around her neck, and said, "I don't think that's necessary. Pleasure-seeking is a second-order result of success, or health, or prosperity, or freedom. First-order is moving past survival to how much an individual has control of their life. You could submit
your
insight to the academic journal known as 'Well, Duh!'"
That got a louder group laugh, maybe as a tension release.
Zach nodded and said, "I'll consider that." He still smiled, but I had a hunch he wanted to be bailed out by a change of subject.
No such luck. Jeff said, "It's healthy, if pleasure-seeking is at all levels. In the past, privileged classes could indulge in decadence, if their wealth was unearned. Or if they got it from connections. The society could shrug off the dissipation of such people, because the real work was done by the underprivileged. These days, a tech maven has to keep using his or her skill until reaching super-richness, at which point his or her silly indulgences are no damage to his or her work, or the world."
"Thanks for the pronouns," said Gail, "but the silly indulgers in the news all seem to be male."
Norm put in, "We just spent time and effort on recreation that didn't serve a higher purpose. Climbing an artificial rock wall accomplished what, exactly? It raised our self-esteem. Maybe it taught us other approaches to climbing. For me, it strained a calf muscle."
The fact that I hadn't said anything spurred me to chime in: "But our recreation was harmless, to anyone else. Better than, say, drag racing downtown?"
Norm nodded, Gail said "True," and I relaxed. Now I could revert to my comfort zone, of lurking and watching.
There wasn't much more to watch. Soon, as drinks were finished, we fared each other well, settled up with the concessionaire, and departed the park. Everyone went to address other matters in our lives, seeming unaffected by the breeze that had been shot. But I suspected that the subject of pleasure pursuit had lodged in their minds.
It had lodged in mine.
***
I've read about asexuality, and aromanticism. I've gone beyond clicking on links, I've actually done research. 'Ace' might be where I am. But I don't like the idea. I want to want sex, and connection. Yet I feel most comfortable, and I guess
engaged,
when I hang back and watch, while other people interact. Maybe I'm letting them experience life, so I don't have to.
I don't think I profile as a voyeur. The idea of watching others have sex, while I'm present or hidden, doesn't excite me. Porn does, sometimes, a little. But not as much as watching ordinary interactions of real people in normal situations, and wondering if there are undercurrents there. And my excitement is mental, not physical.
I should be the narrator of a story about other people. Like Nick, in
The Great Gatsby.
But soon after the chat that touched on pleasure pursuit, Gail asked me to play an active role. With sex. I was flattered enough to say yes. While I wasn't turned on, I thought maybe I could fake it 'til I (or she) made it. And maybe I wouldn't have to do much at all, because of what Gail said she wanted.
Some of us from the chat happened to be hanging out at a bar a few nights later. I was watching Zach and Vivian from a distance, because of their involvement in the chat. They were in a few brief, one-on-one conversations, then mingled separately. As always, I was trying not to be creepy, so now and then I'd look away or take a sip. It was in one of those moments that I saw Norm and Gail approaching me.
"Mind if we barge in, Dev?" asked Gail, already taking a chair at the table where I'd been alone.
"Sure, I don't own the place," I said, though I may have jerked a bit as I sat up straight.
"Could be your lucky day," said Norm, also sitting.
Gail was an inch shorter than I, lean and wiry. Norm looked to be 6' 2", and big-boned. He and Gail might have matched up well, in the compatibility of gender body types that's generally unspoken but often assumed. By me. I wondered about them as a twosome.
She styled her sandy hair in a way that gave her head a triangular look, long enough on top for thick waves, shortening from there down, trimmed at the base of the skull. It was like, feminine allure above, transitioning to androgyny below. She may have simply found that cut to be convenient for her athletic pursuits.
Norm's black hair was short, maybe receiving no more effort than a cheap chain-store haircut, and washing in the shower. His bone structure carried through to a lantern jaw, but departing from the template were his large, 'soft,' brown eyes.
Gail gave me a piercing look. Most of her looks are like that. It's from the way her steely blue eyes are set in her hawk-sharp face. "I've been thinking about how I live," she said. "I tend to be lazy about that, because I have things pretty easy, day to day. Decent job, nice apartment, healthy relatives. But I've decided that I should work out what the rest of my life ought to be. And before I do
that,
I want to empty my bag of wild oats."
Norm chuckled. Gail sent a glance his way, with a smile, but then returned to me.
"Dev," she said, "I think you're pretty hot. If you have a reason for always keeping your distance, I'll respect it. But until I know if this is a problem, I'll just ask. Will you join Norm to give me a three-way?"
I think even a totally horny cis/het male would have responded as I did. I gawked at her, jaw plunged.
Norm was obviously waiting for that reaction. He laughed, and said, "Hey, no pressure."
I was excited, maybe because I had just learned of a connection between Gail and Norm. "Is this, um," I said with a struggle. "Are you two, um, already--"
"We've never even gone for coffee together," said Gail, with a smile from what I guessed was pride in her boldness. "I dropped the same anvil on Norm's head ten minutes ago." Her expression grew more serious. "I've known you two for a while. I haven't picked up any warning signs. You might be a little like me, going with the flow, not looking for serious involvement. I'm wondering if this fling is something we can do without drama, and everybody walking away happy."
"I've already said I'll take the chance," said Norm, I think trying to shove me on board.
I took a breath, then looked at Gail and the diamond drills of her eyes. "I'd be glad to join you. I have to say, though, that I've never, um, 'menaged' before."
I said that to lighten the mood. It worked. Gail gave a self-deprecating smile and said, "Oh, me neither. Like I said, emptying the wild oat bag."
