It happens again, like it always does.

I’m in the checkout line at the corner store. I walked here, I’m in a hurry, my arms are already aching in anticipation of carrying the bags all the way home. I’ve set my basket down next to my battered Chucks.

A guy just ahead of me in line glances back at me, a few too many times.

Here it comes.

“Are you single?”

Okay. Let me fill in some details.

First off, I’m petite, pale, and muscular. My hips are small, my ass is small, my tits are non-existent. I have wavy brunette hair that conceals buzzed sides, which are getting a little shaggy lately.

I’m pushing 40, but people typically underestimate my age by at least 10 years. The compliment I get most often is “cute.”

It’s a balmy mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve in Southern California. I left the house in a string bikini top, as I often do when the breeze is warm. The cups are small–just enough coverage to keep me decent.

The rest of me is plunged into combat fatigue pants that are a little too big for me. They ride low-slung around my hips. The wide waistband of tomboy-style boxer briefs peeks an inch or two over the top.

I didn’t forget to wear my Santa hat, either. ‘Tis the season.

There’s something deep within the brain of the clueless straight guy that treats bare skin as an open invitation. Which is the situation I currently find myself in.

“Are you single?”

He’s not bad-looking. A smallish guy, young, slender in that way that’s easy for guys before they hit 30. I’d have pegged him for a twink if he weren’t wearing a wifebeater and basketball shorts.

“I have a girlfriend,” I say. My usual prepared answer, and it isn’t a lie.

“Oh,” he says, sheepish. Then, “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

Weird that my sexual preference is something that he should have to apologize for, but at least it seems to get his mind off me and back onto the middle distance immediately in front of him.

If I weren’t scrupulously trying to avoid conversation with him, I’d ask him when he last went in for an eye exam.

I mean, come on. Look at me.

I used to just tell guys I wasn’t interested, but it never seemed to work as well as telling them that I wasn’t straight and-or that I was already spoken for. Go figure.

He checks out with his groceries and heads for the door. I hoist my basket and start putting items on the belt.

The cashier is adorable–maybe 20, 25 at the oldest–with short hair that she’s dyed red and swept to one side. She has a septum piercing that she’s hidden by flipping up inside her nose. Her nails are short.

She takes one look at me and gives me The Nod. I give her The Nod back.

A minute later, I step outside, two straining grocery bags in each hand. In one of the bags is the receipt, which, I’ll discover later, has the cashier’s number written on the back.

(I may give her a call. I’m not single… but I’m not exactly taken, either.)

The guy in the wifebeater is between me and the crosswalk that will take me home. He looks like he’s waiting for a ride.

I’m in the middle of planning an alternate route, which will probably take me about half a mile out of my way, when he notices me standing there.

“Sorry again about earlier,” he calls over to me.



I walk up to him, fully intending to have this over with in 10 seconds so I can be on my merry way.

“No worries,” I say. “Happens all the time.”

“I bet,” he says.

I start to say, “Well, see ya.” The words nearly make it out of my mouth before he starts to talk again.

“I’m Ty,” he says.

“I’m Carol,” I say. I immediately regret it.

“Like a Christmas carol,” he says, smirking.

Damn it.

I should have just shut him down. I’m too nice to people, I’m a pushover, I’m–

He says, “I know how it is. Some of my friends are lesbians.”

What I should say is:

“Good for them. Well, see ya.”

What I actually say is:

“I mean, I’m not technically a lesbian, per se.”

The kicker is, as I say this, I’m putting the bags down.

Right there on the pavement, I put them right the fuck down.

His eyebrows go up. “Really?”

“I have a girlfriend, but neither one of us really identifies as a lesbian. It’s a little too rigid a category for how we see ourselves…”

(I can hear myself explaining this to him, faintly, over the sound of me screaming at myself inside my own head.)

He looks politely interested, but his eyes are salacious.

There’s a very specific look that straight men get, in the precise moment when their brain makes the leap from

“This woman has sex with men and women.”


“This woman might have sex with me and another woman at the same time.”

I’m sure he’s fantasizing about this now, even as he talks to me. And I’m sure his fantasy bears zero resemblance to what it would actually be like if I brought him home to Sheryl for a threeway.

…Oh shit.



“So, Ty,” I begin, very nonchalant.

So, Ty, I was supposed to pick Escort Bayan up Sheryl’s Christmas present and I completely forgot. So, Ty, the store’s been closed for about 15 minutes now, and I didn’t even think about it while I dawdled all day.

So, Ty–

“–Why don’t you come over? My girlfriend could probably explain it better than I could.”

The invitation is clumsy and transparent.

But, even as I’m kicking myself for the brilliance of my fuckup, I know what’s going through his head.

Sheryl has intimated to me several times recently that it’s been too long since our last threesome. (“I have a hankering,” she’d say.) In the absence of a proper gift, I’m going to have to improvise.

It looks like today is Ty’s lucky day. All his dreams, straitjacketed as they are by bad pornography, are about to come true.

I’ll just have to make it look like I planned it.

With a minimum of small talk, I manage to get him home to the small bungalow that Sheryl and I rent.

When I open the door, he sees Sheryl standing at the other side of the foyer, and his face falls.

Sheryl is about 5’11” barefoot. Taller than Ty, much taller than me, Latinx, covered in tattoos and piercings, her hair dyed dark purple, almost black. She’s a fat hourglass with big tits and a wide ass.

Today, she’s wearing a sleeveless floral sundress with a deep V-neck that plunges all the way to her deep navel. It puts the pendulousness of her breasts and the stretch marks on her belly on proud display.

The first time I ever saw Sheryl, from across the room at a party, my second thought was that I’d fallen in love. My first thought was that I wanted her hands inside my body immediately.

She looks like she just finished doing something in a hurry. Something present-related, no doubt.

“Hey, babe,” I say, “I brought you something.”

I can almost feel the wheels turning inside Ty’s head.

On the one hand, there’s a narrative in his head telling him to go for it–that a threesome is a threesome, and it doesn’t matter with whom as long as it’s two chicks at the same time.

On the other hand, as painfully beautiful as Sheryl is, she’s everything he’s been conditioned his whole life NOT to find attractive.

On our way here, I wasn’t quite sold on the idea of group sex with this little twerp.

At this point, if he says or does anything other than enthusiastically submit to Sheryl’s whims, I’ll break his arms.

Sheryl’s vivid green eyes light up behind her hip blue light glasses.

“For me?” she says.

We get the groceries put away in record time. Ty does a bad job of sitting casually on the living room sofa. At some point, I formally introduce them.

I silently dare him to make some rhyming wisecrack about “Carol and Sheryl,” but he doesn’t.

Then we whisk him to the bedroom.

He didn’t run away or beg off. I guess the “doesn’t matter, it’s a threesome” side of his brain won out.

He’s standing between us and the bed. Or we’re standing between him and the door, depending on how you look at it.

“Alright, Ty,” Sheryl says cheerily, “let’s see what you’re working with.”

Ty fixes her with a bewildered stare.

I clarify, “She wants to see you naked.”

It takes him a moment to comprehend. Then he awkwardly undresses himself. Then he stands up ramrod straight, like a military cadet.

Ty is pretty cut. Not big, but there’s a lot of muscle definition under his lean skin. His cock, purpleheaded and panhandled, is thick and kind of long-ish. His torso does that nice V thing at his hips.

Sheryl gives an appreciative whistle.

Honestly, I’m not that impressed.

He’s not bad–just not impressive.

“Are we doing this?” I ask him.

He nods.

I circle around and stand behind him.

At least he has a nice ass. He has a rounder, thicker ass than I do.

“You’re sure?” I whisper, right up next to his ear. He shivers, then he nods again.

Sheryl steps forward. She gathers him into her powerful arms, leans down, and kisses him, as if he were the female half of a classic movie couple.

I reach around from behind, put my hands on the ridges of his stomach, and press my pelvis into him, rough fabric on bare ass, as if to fuck him. I stick my tongue in his earhole and a jolt runs through him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see his hands start to pull Sheryl’s dress up. Without breaking the kiss, she grabs him by the wrists, one in each hand, stopping him in his tracks.

He settles for holding her by her thick waist, his hands above her hips.

I feel a rhythmic pulse through his ass and deduce that Sheryl is jerking his cock slowly. His body melts backwards into me, quiet moans thrumming through his back into my tits.


kiss breaks. A strand of spit connects Sheryl’s bottom lip to his. Her face and her eyes are filled with fire.

“On the bed,” she says softly.

We release him and he goes over to the bed. Unsure what to do, he crawls onto it and sits in the middle of it, crosslegged.

“Babe,” Sheryl says, still not above a whisper, “would you strip for him?”

I look to him and say, “Would you like that?”

He nods.

“Come closer,” I say.

He wriggles his way to the edge of the bed and sits there, his feet on the floor, his cock pointing at the sky.

I kick off my Chucks and shimmy my camouflaged pants down over my hips–no need to undo them–and stand there before him in my bikini top and my heather gray boxer briefs.

“What do you think of me?” I ask him.

He nods.

“Speak up.”

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

“And Sheryl?” I ask.

He looks past me at Sheryl, who stands nearby watching.

The sun shines in through the window, illuminating her from behind, revealing her nude silhouette beneath the thin fabric of her flowing dress.

“She’s beautiful too,” he says. It’s a little hesitant, as though he’s trying it on.

But I don’t think he’s being dishonest.

I shuck the boxer briefs, revealing my thickly grown pubic hair, which seems to startle him. He looks to my face, then to my bush, then to my face again.

By way of an explanation, I raise an arm and point at the hair growing unhindered in my armpit. He must not have noticed it before now, because he seems surprised by this too.

But he doesn’t seem repelled.

I’ve thrown a lot at him since our chance meeting, and he’s been surprisingly accepting.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s a threesome” is pretty powerful stuff.

All that remains is my string bikini top, which I pull loose and toss away.

The nubs of my nipples are big, dark, and eraserlike, though the areolas are small. Each one is vertically pierced with a straight black barbell.

“Are you going to wear the hat?” he asks with bovine dullness.

My eyes peer up at the rim of the Santa hat. I was feeling so big and sexually powerful that I’d forgotten about it completely. Sheryl laughs.

“Let’s make a rule,” I say. “Whoever is wearing the hat gets to be our special guest star.”

He stares at me, saying nothing. I look to Sheryl, who says, “Sounds good to me.”

I take the hat off and hold it out in front of me, making like I’m debating between the two of them.

Naturally, I place it on Ty’s head.

“Wise decision,” Sheryl says.

She takes off her glasses. Then she fetches a condom from the bedside drawer and takes it out of its wrapper.

Ty eyes the condom, puzzled, even as she crouches between his knees and unrolls it over his pulsing dick.

“We don’t know where you’ve been,” I explain helpfully.

I loom over him, as much as little old me can loom over anybody, and I tilt his chin up and kiss him roughly.

Sheryl is the one who likes slobbery, passionate kisses.

When I’m in charge, I much prefer domineering, invasive kisses.

Ty accepts my tongue passively, getting with the program.

He sighs tunefully into my open mouth. I glance downward and see why–Sheryl’s head is bobbing in his lap. The air quickly fills with sloppy sounds and latex smells.

I let him get his cock sucked for a while, all the while jerking his head this way and that, availing my open mouth of every facet of his cute little gormless face. I make sure to leave spit wherever I go.

Then I pluck the hat off his head and place it on Sheryl’s.

She lets his cock loose with a wet slurp.

Ty glances down at her, his face a red collage of pleasure and confusion. Sheryl glances up at me.

“You’re the boss,” Sheryl says to me. “What do I do?”

“Stand up,” I say, indicating with my head, “over there.”

She stands up and takes a few steps back. I follow, standing next to her.

“You,” I say to Ty, “come here.”

He gets up and walks over to us, his condomed cock bobbing comically with each step. He stands before Sheryl, who’s taller than him by enough that he has to look up to meet her eyes.

I step behind her. I slide the straps of her dress off her shoulders and down the great hills of her body.

He follows as it reveals her breasts, large and heavy with big, dark nipples that have pointed slightly downward over the years. Each one is pierced with a horizontal brass barbell.

(We each got ours done on the same day. Sexwise, kind of a miserable few days in the Carol/Sheryl household.)

“Kneel,” I command, and he does.

I peel the dress down over her belly. He’s nearly nose-to-navel with her. She has gentle rolls under her arms, where her wide hips come in at her waist, and another roll just above her pubis.

Sheryl shaves all her body hair–better to reveal the tattoos that decorate her body. They’re mostly floral, but a stylized sun rises from the V-shaped fold between her torso and her legs.

I crouch to get the dress down over her dimpled thighs. From there, it drops to the floor.

“Now,” I say, peeking at him from around her leg, “worship her.”

He has a bewildered look on his face. His eyes are asking me, “What do I do?”

I give him a “Don’t ask me” shrug.

He looks up at Sheryl.

She plants her feet apart, far enough that her thick thighs no longer meet. Below the arch of her, I can see the lower half of Ty’s nude body. His cock, still hard, points more or less straight at me.

“Put your hands on my ass,” I hear her say.

I look up at her ass. His hands creep around her hips and grasp her buttocks, gently, as if he’s afraid he’ll offend her by allowing himself to touch her.

“Squeeze them,” she says. “Pull them apart.”

He does. I’m treated to a quick view of her pink asshole before he lets her cheeks come back together.

“Hug me to your face,” she says. “Smother yourself.”

I see her lurch forward a little as he pulls her to him. I think his face is mashed into her belly.

Good. She’ll like that.

“I want you to tongue fuck it,” she says–referring to her navel, I’m pretty sure.

Then she says, “And I don’t want your tongue to leave my body until it finds its way down to my pussy.”

I see him moving indistinctly below her, and sense little micro-movements through her body.

A moment later, she sighs sweetly, a sound I’ve become very familiar with over the years. He’s found his way to the most sensitive parts of her.

Not wanting to leave my own role in our threesome unaddressed, I put my hands on his, which are still on her buttocks, and physically encourage him to pull her apart once more. He does.

With my hands still on Ty’s, I let my tongue get good and wet in my mouth, then I avail myself of Sheryl’s exposed asshole.

I lick her from her perineum up to her anus and prod her there, pushing in a circular motion around the rim.

With Ty craning his neck down, lapping away between her labia, it occurs to me that, through Sheryl, we’re within an inch or two of touching tongues.

Sheryl enjoys a few minutes of combined cunnilingus and analingus. I’m getting pretty hot and bothered.

From the noises she’s making, so is she.

Then she hitches, and her ass sits a little heavier on my face, and she cries out.

And I realize that Ty has successfully made my girlfriend come–with my assistance, of course.

The strong fragrance of her orgasm mixes with the sweat and sour scent of her buttrack, filling my head with urgent sex hormones. It sends me reeling.

Then I feel the Santa hat descend upon my head.

I remove my tongue from Sheryl’s ass and release Ty’s hands from mine.

Immediately, I say, “Ty. On the bed.”

He gets on the bed, and I get on with him. I press his chest with my hands, making him lie on his back.

“Sheryl,” I say, “give him a hand, would you?”

Still a little shaky from her orgasm, Sheryl crawls onto the bed, between his splayed legs, and holds his cock loosely in her hand. She starts jerking him off, making that delightful crinkly condom sound.

I grip him by the hair, not too forcefully, and hold his head in place.

Then I lean down and place my armpit over his mouth and nose.

“Breathe deep,” I tell him.

He does. It tickles. I try not to laugh.

“What does it smell like?” I ask him.

Into my armpit, his voice vibrates. More tickling.

“Sweaty,” he mumbles.

“What else?”

“Kind of spicy?”

“Is it a bad smell?”

He appears to think about this.

“No,” he says.

“How does it make you feel?”



“It’s turning me on.”

“Would you lick it?”


Then, hesitantly, I feel the soft, wet probing of his tongue in my armpit hair, first poking through, then running up and down.

The sweat of my walk to and from the corner store is slowly wicked away and replaced by damp, slimy saliva.

I’ve stifled it so far, but I can’t help it. I burst into giggling. Nearby, at Ty’s cock, Sheryl giggles also.

He stops. I admonish him to keep going until I say otherwise, then I switch armpits. This one, he smells and licks with more enthusiasm.

I don’t actually have that much of a thing for armpit sex, but I’m changing hearts and minds here.

Then I give him something I do have a thing for.

I order him to stop.

Then I swing one of my powerful legs over his head. I straddle his face, facing Sheryl. At the prospect of being watched, she grins and adds a little more theater to her attentions to Ty’s great erection.

I position my asshole more or less on Ty’s nose, and, once more, order him to breathe deeply. He complies.

He breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth. His expulsion of breath stirs the long hairs of my bush, which, from my point of view, extends far enough from my body to completely obscure his chin.

“Lick my pussy,” I order.

He starts to raise his hands, presumably to touch me and part my hair and my labia. I grab his wrists and pin them down.

“Use your tongue,” I say.

I feel his tongue working its way through the thicket of hair, clumsy at first, then methodically, wetting it and parting it bit by bit, exposing the soft fragrant flesh underneath.

Then he finds my labia.

He licks up and down, quickly finding the way that I like it. He doesn’t avoid my clit entirely–he sort of dances with it. It’s becoming less surprising to me that he made Sheryl come so easily.

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