Months went by after our initial encounter: three, to be exact.

I didn’t hear from Tyler and Amy, and I didn’t reach out. Perhaps the evening didn’t go as well as I had thought.

A small part of me was relieved. It was a minuscule part, but existent nonetheless. It simply wasn’t meant to be. I faced the reality that I wasn’t the audacious, daring, and experimental woman I had the sudden urge to transform into. I quietly resumed my banal day-to-day. I taught, went out with friends, and read some books. I went out on a handful of dates from the app we had met on and kissed a few frogs, my prince, and sense of novelty, ever elusive. The kisses never amounted to much, and so my pilgrimage into the staid world of celibacy continued.

Wild, gratuitous threesomes and group sex were not in the cards for me, and that had to be ok.

Then, one sunny July afternoon, my phone chimed.

Hi Sarabi, we’ve been thinking about you and wanted to meet up soon. Life’s been getting in the way, but we don’t want to lose the connection. Let us know. – Ty & Amy

My heart skipped a beat.

Oh.

So the feeling was mutual. The two individuals I felt inexplicably linked to, connected with… were thinking about me. The connection, not to mention chemistry, I had felt at our first meeting was reciprocated. Admittedly, it made me feel better. My confidence and ego had taken a slight hit. I was so sure something was brewing between us…the idea that I misinterpreted the entire affair was difficult to process and accept. I’m glad I was wrong.

Hi, yes. Let’s get together soon. Y’all have been on my mind too.

Before my courage fled, I pressed send. Swish. Off went the text and all my bluster with it.

Lord, what am I getting myself into?

Two days later we had set a date: Friday night, 8pm, their house.

Thanks to grandparents scoring a last-minute set of tickets to the circus in town, Tyler and Amy had the house to themselves for the night.

As I got ready, I mused about how their kids didn’t come up in our initial conversation those months ago. For once, my anxious nature didn’t get the best of me and run wild with a worst-case scenario. It wasn’t malignant secrecy, it was privacy. I understood the privacy, especially as a teacher. I tend not to speak about my students in name or detail outside of close friends or loved ones. A meeting with a stranger in an upscale bar to assess for sexual compatibility for a potential threesome isn’t exactly the time or place to start showing off school pictures.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t scour the internet for every morsel I could find on the two of them, naturally. I thoroughly combed through every social media profile and company website, reverse searched phone numbers… the works. Everything checked out. In an abundance of caution, I also shared my location with a friend (or two).

Heyo, going over to this guy’s house. I should be home by tomorrow morning at the latest. Call the police if I’m not at this address, or if my location appears in a large grassy field.

 Of course, I omitted the actual nature of my late-night rendezvous. To all except myself, this was my last-ditch attempt to elicit romance from one of my long-standing dates. I would take whatever took place tonight with Tyler and Amy to my grave.

Now, what to wear, what to wear?

I settled for a red maxi satin slip dress in an effort to channel my newfound boldness, and maybe even stir the passions. It didn’t hurt that red always made my brown skin pop and it contrasted nicely with the black neck-length twist style I was now sporting in a low bun at the nape of my neck. The fabric draped and clung to my hourglass figure, with just enough room so my curves were pronounced with every step I took.

I looked delectable.

I decided on minimal makeup: brows, a little blush, and a clear glossy lip. I had no idea what I’d be getting myself into tonight, so best to keep things light. It was never fun waking up to foundation on a new date’s pillow.

My favorite part of my outfit was what lay underneath. My red matching bra and thong set always gave me the boost of confidence I desired for a date with sexual potential.

Suddenly, I realized I had no idea if tonight was such a night. We didn’t communicate any plans; we were meeting and “keeping the connection going”. What did that even mean?

As I slammed back a glass of wine and rushed out the door to my waiting Uber, I started to wonder if I had miscalculated. Was I making assumptions? Jumping the shark, or was it a horse? Was the intention to continue conversing? Watch a movie? Play monopoly?!

It was around 8:15 pm when the car pulled up to their house. As we neared the colonial-style home, my restless thoughts transitioned to a hyper-awareness that we were outside the city.

Oh my God, this is so stupid, what am I doing?! Sab!!! What if they’re psychopaths who lure women for sex trafficking? What if they’re serial killers? Is there a cage downstairs? My God, what would my mother say if she found out I died trapped in a cage I was enticed to on the premise of group sex?

I was finding the words to tell the driver to take me the hell home when a loud knock startled me.

“Ahhh!” I gasped, tense and on edge from the whirlpool of overthinking that was currently my state of mind.

I looked to my right and directly into Amy’s wide smile and cheerful, freckled face.

“Hi!” she quipped.

I instantly calmed. She looked charming in a white off-the-shoulder peasant top and a pair of blue jeans. Her dirty blonde hair was in a messy bun on top of her head, and she was waving enthusiastically.

Amy looked totally normal. She was the warm, approachable, and sexy-to-me woman I met and clicked with at the bar. She was not going to lure me into a sex trafficking ring.

“Hi,” I replied, willing myself out of the car. I am brave. I am vivacious. I can do this.

The summer air was thick and humid, and the sunset pinks and oranges painted the sky. I was inwardly grateful for the light out, it helped soothe my nerves.

No sooner had I straightened up than Amy threw her arms around me. “It’s so good to see you again!”

I laughed and hugged her back. “You too!”

 She’s so nice and normal and sweet. What was I so nervous about? Not that serial killers couldn’t be nice and normal and sweet, but my intuition told me I was safe here, with her.  

 I looked past the wispy strands of blonde and saw Tyler’s commanding frame filling in the doorway. As we approached, he reached out a hand to help us both up the stairs.

“Beautiful as ever, Sarabi.” He said my name in a voice that can only be described as pooling warm agave, dark amber and potent. It sent a flutter right to my stomach.

“Thank you,” I chirped in too high of a tone. Where Amy quelled my nerves, Tyler set them aflame.

His appearance did not improve my situation. He looked just as good as the night we met for drinks, shockingly even better? His curls were a tad longer and his tan a smidge deeper. He wore a loose, cream linen short-sleeve shirt and tailored beige pants. His new bouldering hobby was clearly paying off. His arms were muscular and strong, dusted with the perfect amount of hair and veins that showed as he flexed. My eyes drifted towards the front of his pants, his bulge unmistakable in the looser summer wear. It was sizable, to say the least. 

Get it together, girl.

I inwardly chastised myself for objectifying him to such an obvious degree and forced my eyes upward, right into his. Once again, his dark brown eyes were filled with unquestionable desire. It was obvious that he didn’t mind my appreciative ogling.

His full lips smirked, and I almost fell back down the steps. The flutter was transmuting into a slow-building fire, flush across my skin. I felt the first twinge of lust. I can only describe it as a milder kind of electric shock, right in my vagina.

“It’s hot. Let’s get inside,” he said, gently placing his hand on my lower back to usher me in. The feel of his strong hand caressing my back conjured another twinge. Despite my excitement at his touch, I immediately slid my eyes towards Amy. This was her husband after all, and I was still unclear of the boundaries.

I didn’t have anything to worry about there either. She had a soft smile on her face and came close to whisper in my ear, “That dress looks incredible on you. I haven’t been able to stop staring at your ass.”

I immediately blushed and felt the heat pool from my center and permeate my entire body. Her words, and the warmth from her breath on my skin, were causing my chest to quickly rise and fall. I was getting warm, and we hadn’t even sat down.

We are definitely not playing Monopoly.

We chatted and caught up as they gave me a light tour of the house. It was a nice home, indicative of how well they had done for themselves, but also the life they had built with each other. The house was lived in and full of affection: family pictures on the wall, fresh flowers on the table, and a Mother’s Day macaroni heart decorated the fridge door.

We settled into the bright, well-decorated living room. On the gold-accented mahogany coffee table lay a beautiful and elaborate charcuterie board Amy had made for us to nibble on. It was a bountiful array of fruits, cheeses, nuts, dips, breads, and even chocolate.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a little of everything,” she said bashfully while sinking into the plush green sofa and kicking her legs underneath her. I sat beside her, and Tyler sat across the two of us in one of the walnut mid-century accent chairs.

It was at this moment that I realized that Amy was not wearing a bra. I don’t know how I missed the important fact with our earlier hug. A flicker of unexpected wistfulness flashed within me as I realized her almost naked breasts were pressed against my chest. Her breasts, significantly larger than mine, hung low in her peasant top. It wasn’t entirely, or even mostly, from sagging, but rather the weight of them. The moment I realized this, turned into two moments of staring. I looked up and met Amy’s blue eyes.

“Hi,” she said flirtatiously, moving further on the couch until our legs lightly touched. She placed her hand on my thigh and cautiously ran her fingers over the satin. Her movements sent direct waves of pleasure to my clit. She moved her hand to the bare skin on my arms and trailed them up and down. It felt so good, especially having been touch starved for the last few months.

“Hi,” I breathed.

There was a bottle of chilled prosecco on the table and three wine glasses, presumably for our consumption. Now would be as good a time as any for a glass.

“Shall we toast?” Tyler asked as he poured.

“What are we toasting to?” I queried, injecting a little sultriness into my voice. I shifted slightly forward to pick up my glass, making sure my cleavage was on display while doing so. I hoped he could see far down as I bent over. I took my time straightening back up, pausing to bite into a strawberry, and making eye contact as I did.

The time for timidity was over and done with. It had been months since I had good sex, and I was hungry for it. When I settled back into my seat, I knew my nipples were raised and hard for his viewing through the thin fabric that was my dress.

“Hmmm,” he considered, openly looking me up and down. The man made no effort to hide that he was drinking me, and my hard nipples, all the way in.

“A toast to whatever comes tonight.”

His intense stare, the velvety bass of his voice, his indistinct shift while gripping the waistband of his pants, and the innuendo, all were not lost on me. The slow burning fire rippling underneath my skin was threatening to surface.

He’s so fucking fine.

I didn’t know foreplay could be stolen glances, feather-light touches, and unspoken words hanging in the balance. I was more turned on than I had ever been in my life. The intentions of the night hung thick and heavy in the air.

I’m getting wet. And I’m going to fuck them both. Tonight.

“Cheers,” I said with a seductive smile. I took a deep sip of my drink, welcoming the bubbly feeling and impending social lubrication. I turned to lock eyes with each of my dates for the night as I sipped.

 “To whatever comes.”