The Over-Educated Nympho

This is a series. Start at the beginning here.

The Ninth Course: RED WINE AND OREOS

I didn’t mention this earlier, because it would have really fucked up the rhythm of all the sex taking place during Course Eight, but between each round of amazing fantasgasmic three-way sex, we talked a lot.

And I mean good talking. The kind you don’t normally have with people until you’ve known them a while. But that’s the thing–I do feel like I’ve known Handsome and Pretty Twosome for ages. I felt that way all throughout the long dinner, and then even more so when we went back to their house and hung out (somewhat awkwardly at that point, since we were trying to figure out how to get things going).

[um, I feel that I should mention here that this post is very sappy. And long and muttled and all touchy-feely-squishy and shit. Which embarrasses me so let’s never speak of this again. But who thought you could get sappy when talking about a threesome, which is the very reason I should write about it. Except without the wine would probably have been a better idea. Meh. Truth serum!!]

During dinner with them, I barely thought about sex. (Ok, I did, that’s a lie. I just mean I didn’t think about sex much more than usual.) We were having such a fantastic time talking in person, joking around, and getting to know each other better that at the end of dinner, I could have gone home on my own and still called in a fantastic evening.

Although the sex made it three times more fantastic, but still.

This… this thing here… do I sound totally lame, naive, needy for saying that it’s actually meaningful? Now DO NOT MISREAD ME, because there is plenty of room for that in a delicate situation such as this. What I mean is, Handsome and Pretty Twosome already mean so much more to me than really amazing sex. We’re friends. And what more beautiful way is there to show you care for a friend than getting her off? (haha, you thought I was going to be all sappy and shit there, didn’t you!! hee hee ok although I use humor as a defense mechanism with which to hide my many vulnerabilities, but again—whatthefuckever.)

I’ve said it here before, and that’s because I mean it. I can see the three of us being friends for years. Even after I get my own boyfriend, after they have cute-as-shit kids running around, after the thee-way sex stops and it’s clear it will never start up again–I think we’ll still be friends. And I don’t go around saying shit like that.

This may be the first and only time I utter this term in reference to a relationship of any sort, but I see Handsome and Pretty Twosome as my lovers. Is that totally lame? Oh I don’t care. They’re not my fuck buddies, they’re more than friends-with-benefits, but it’s not like I’m dating them—we’re lovers.

For years I’ve read that word in contemporary fiction and I always thought it was fluffy crap, a nice way of saying “fuck buddy.” But nuh uh. Now I get it. It’s how you express that special something that falls in that typically-abysmal grey area. Wow, did I really just type special something? What the fuck?

Sure, it sounds dangerous to many of you. This could easily be the pilot of a prime-time tv show about thee people who have sex and the guest star tries to weasel her way in and shove out one of the two in the original couple. And when she gets sick of one she goes to the other, meanwhile she’s pregnant with someone else’s baby but her new lover is ready to raise it as her own but then oh no he gets jealous and impregnates her with their own love-child they already have the 529 college savings plan set up for and yada yada cry my fucking eyes out yada where’s my sandwich.

Not my style. I hate the idea of screwing up someone else’s relationship, however rocky or new or almost-divorced it may be. I’ve never been the kind to steal a man away from another girl, and I’m not starting now. However much affection I feel for Handsome and Pretty Twosome, they will forever be Handsome AND Pretty Twosome to me. They are great individually, but they’re really best as a set.

Truthfully, for most people a slightly less dramatic version of the above prime-time tv paragraph could happen. That’s why being the guest star in a couple’s sex life is very very tricky. In fact, both Handsome and Pretty Twosome told me that they would not have done this with any of their previous boy/girlfriends. That’s because their relationship is so strong, they can withstand a threesome and ironically it brings them closer instead of driving a wedge in between them like it could so easily have been. I’ll go into more details in a later post for how to know if you’re ready for a threesome, but you get the idea. And this post is long-winded as always and I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last here before falling asleep, which has absolutely nothing to do with the wine.

One of the many things I enjoyed about being with Handsome and Pretty Twosome was watching them be all coupley together. They’ve been dating long enough to be past the annoying “Schmoopie!” “SCHMOOOPIE!” stage and well into the “yeah we get each other” stage. It’s nice. Refreshing. A well-timed reminder that there are fully functional loving relationships out there among the douchebags, assholes, crazy bitches, and fuckwits.

They’re also older than me, so it almost felt like they were mentors. I may have sex with them, but I still look up to them as a positive example for what a strong and healthy relationship should look like, And yes, my definition of “strong and healthy” DOES include feeling secure enough in my relationship that we can bring in a third person for sex and it doesn’t fuck up anything. That’s my new litmus test for when/if I ever meet someone worth marrying. Yeah… since nice, smart, and funny” and not a pussy” aren’t hard enough to find already.

But I’ve completely digressed from where I intended to be by four tangents. I blame the wine. And the fantastic sex that has left me at only 85% functioning mental capacity. Oh fuck I’m totally rambling.

What I’m getting at is this is not what I expected this threesome to be. When the thought was first thrown out there on the table, I thought it would be more of the Wham Bam Thank Ya SLAM variety, which typically is what I prefer in anything short of a serious relationship.

Instead it’s this thing that has a set of rules all its own I’ve never seen the likes of. Instead of sneaking out or being thrown out in the middle of the night like I would normally do, they pleaded with me to spend the night, to keep talking and to let them cook me breakfast in bed in the morning! Bacon! she said. Coffee! he said. Biscuits! she said. It was touching. But thanks to Princess Dog and Queen Dog, my two dogs who were surely flipping out at home alone, I had to leave at the end of our very long night. This was not without promising Handsome and Pretty Twosome that next time I would arrange for them to stay with a friend so that I could spend the night and we could all enjoy a lazy Sunday morning together.

As I was putting on my boots to leave, Pretty Twosome (now all sweet-looking in her plush white robe) reminded me to take home my presents.

I looked up at the coffee table and grinned.

When I had first arrived at their house, Pretty Twosome pointed me to the coffee table where there were two presents for me. One was a bottle of red wine, called Ménage à Trois, wrapped with an ornate bow around the neck.

“I saw it when I was shopping at Sams Club today and I just thought it was too perfect. I had to buy it for you!” she told me as I fingered the bow. “And did you see the other present?” She pointed to a second package which I had not seen. A package of Oreos, wrapped with a matching bow.

My heart grew three sizes.

“Awwww, sweetie!! You really do get me, don’t you?!” And I gave her a huge hug.

Before I left that night (early morning, really), Handsome and Pretty Twosome signed their names on the label of the wine bottle, complete with a funny stick-figure drawing of Handsome Twosome falling off the bed (which did happen).

“Are you going to drink the wine eventually?” Pretty Twosome asked as I hugged her one last time, bottle in hand.

“No. I could never drink this. I have something else in mind,” I told her.

When I got home I took the bottle and I put it on that same bookshelf with my growing collection of journals and notepads, a wine cork from my first night alone in my new bachelorette pad, and the empty bottle of champagne celebrating my first big achievement as OEN.

Once again, as I have done so often these last couple months, I raise my wine glass to all the many unexpected twists and turns that make life worth living, no matter how boring the day job may be.