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Summary: Paul attempts to navigate his three ongoing relationships. Will he be able to do it? Or will he have to give somebody up?
Tags: non-con, light humiliation, cheating, threesome
Note: non-con is not the focus of the story. I put it in this category because non-con can be a deal breaker for many people.
*****
The life of the promiscuous man is such that you must know how to jump from lie to lie. What becomes a lie gets a little confusing.
You start doubting yourself. Forgetting where truth and the cross-section of that fiction you're creating intersect. Did I make up the fact I went to my brothers? Or did I actually go?
These are truths but they inhabit the space of lies. Lies that I am perfectly content with keeping alive. Lies such as those that me and Camilla could ever be together.
She's a nice girl, certainly. She fills a space in me that needs filling but that space could be filled by any number of girls. Claire is just the first one to come by. The first one to scratch the thirst.
Claire made me feel loved. Camilla made me feel cared for. Rashana made me feel fucking unstoppable.
The distinction of these words are slight but all too important. They denote more than their face value meaning.
Only problem is that I'm not sure what is the truth in lies. When Camilla asks for me to be her boyfriend... I know what the answer ought to be. No. Instead I say, I'll think about it.
Here's a truth: Camilla is eating her salad. A salad. Does that mean something? It's obvious that girls will use their food choices to tell you something about themselves. She'll order the most expensive lobster salad to let you know she's worth it. She'll eat the healthiest item to let you know she cares. She won't get fat on you.
A laughable proposition. That a man thinks that deeply about your food choices. He cares about a few things. Your face. Hips. Ass. Symbols of things. Developed meanings that become greater than their parts. It isn't just porn. Men are watching because men are wanting.
It's hard for any Feminist to understand. Fiction is a reflection of wants. Women want a strong rich man to care for them. Because women are necessarily more monogamous. Men have no such proclivities.
She's sitting there eating her salad. Barking about some shit she's had to experience. She works at a fucking grocery store. What exciting thing could possibly happen there? It's a trick question. The answer doesn't matter because she'll tell you about it anyway.
The most boring mundane shit you've ever heard. The only reason you stick around is because she'll fuck you at the end. That's the exchange of relationships isn't it? Sex for comfort? Can relationships be about equivalent exchange? Sure. Are they?
She's blabbering on and in spite of all this I've been smiling and nodding at the right times. She says the word: Threesome.
"You'll do it?"
"It's like you're not even listening." She has a point. "Only if we're dating." She says.
"Aren't we?" I reply.
"Not yet."
"I'm not understanding."
"Then we're not having a threesome."
She's got me locked in her sights. I know what she wants. I'm afraid to give it to her. It involves giving up some sort of rights. It makes my relationship with Claire all the more difficult.
"Okay." I said.
"Okay what?"
"We're together."
Camilla smiles. I've paid this great debt accumulated from taking her body. She's filled the yearning for someone that loves her. I wonder where that was born from.
"Can I post our picture now?"
"No."
"Why can't I post us?"
"Take it or leave it Camilla."
"I want people to see us together."
I reach my hands across and grab hers. "Me too. I just don't think it's the right time for me. You want to be together don't you?" I don't wait for her response. "You do. So just one small problem? One small thing that separates us?"
"I guess—"
"It isn't a big deal."
"—You're right."
"Good. You ready to go?"
She looks at me with that grin of hers. She stands up and I get to see her and the red dress she's worn. She looks beautiful in it. Her curves and ass stand out nicely. Her figure is something any woman would kill for. Thankfully Camilla isn't just any woman. In this moment she's the woman.
I close the door as she gets into my car. I'm a multifaceted guy. I'm a gentleman. A salesman. A cheater. All types for all sorts.
She somehow convinces me to go to her place. The two bedroom house she shares with her friend Shell. God knows why her parents are willing to pay for it.
I don't mind Shell. She's something else. If I wasn't already with Camilla I would be with Shell. I like to think anyway. Shell is in another league of hot. A warm blooded latina with a face and body to match. She's got the ass of Beyonce and the tits of some fucking porn star I watched last week.
If I could die and had to choose... Fuck it... If I could choose to die right now... It would be motorboating Shell's tits. They're that big and gorgeous.
Her outfits were a conglomeration of every fitness fad in the last five years. Yoga pants? Check. Tight ass shorts of which the name escapes me? Check. Wearing a sports bra and nothing else? Check. When you saw her... She looked good. She wasn't dressed well. But any hot blooded man could see that she was sexy and exactly what they needed.
If there was any reason I decided to go to Camilla's house it was because of Shell. The hope that she would look in my direction, take my hand, and fuck me in that bathroom of theirs'. I would do it in Camilla's bed if the opportunity struck.
From the first moment we walk in Shell is leaning against the kitchen counter. Her tits are pushed together and the cleavage is hard to look away from. She smiles at us... At me. Welcome's us in and says how good it is to see us.
It is good. Isn't it Shell?
I can feel Claire get closer to me. I have to wonder if she can sense my dick getting hard at the sight of Shell. Or is every woman just hyper aware of her stance in the social hierarchy of beauty. Most women can't be a ten but any man can rise to be a 7 or better with enough cash.
The conversation and general chatter makes its way to what she's doing. Cooking, apparently. She knew Camilla had dinner and she needed to eat too. A salad of sorts.
Women and their salads. Am I right guys?
Can you hear the laugh track?
I'm unsure when the conversation flowed in this direction but suddenly they're talking about my dick and in detail.
"You should see it, Shell. It's the perfect size."
"I'd love to see it."
Forgive me if this gets repetitive but: What?
"What do you say Paul? Show me your cock?"
"You wan—My co—Are you?"
"Cat got your tongue?"
"A bit Shell. Wasn't expecting—How do I say?"
She takes a step toward me. "How do you say?"
A frog is in my throat. "Camilla?"
"Are you going to show her your cock?"
My chest is tight and I feel like I've been caught... But I haven't... Have I? It feels like I've been trapped in some alternate dimension where I get everything I want and that for some reason feels wrong.
Shell keeps walking toward me.
The world is moving in slow motion. They have a sofa and a TV facing the kitchen at an angle. A counter top that separates the two spaces.
