Fun Times and Threesomes

"Amen to that," Jamie nodded -- though the way her lovely smile had cranked up a notch, I seriously suspected she may have guessed at my original answer.

I passed the defeated bottle back to Mick so he could pour out three tall glasses -- reckoning that such an action might provide a small but significant indication that Mick, as man of the house (and husband to Jamie), had very much more claim to the direction of proceedings than I had.

For that was the way I had decided to go about the night. As I laid awake for hours on end the night before, my mind had buzzed as I ran through the potential scenarios for how this evening might unfold, the various ways it might be approached and what was likely to result from each approach. And I had eventually resolved to remain a passenger to the evening, as it were -- Jamie and Mick had invited me over, potentially under consideration for an intimate encounter, though that was by no means at all a certainty.

If they wanted to get rowdy, it would be on their terms and in their own time. Let them drive, let them determine the direction of the night -- I would be but a passenger, hitching a ride on as much of their journey as they would deign to allow me.

So the night progressed fairly easily. Surprisingly so, given my nervousness and misgivings throughout the day prior. The combined effects of a rather good drop of wine, and the sheer warmth of welcome that Mick and Jamie both exuded, did a lot to set me at ease and help me be more like my usual self.

Still, it was a glass and a half of said wine before any of us worked up the courage to refer to our prior chats via Messenger or Tinder. "So then Brett," Jamie began. "Have you caught a glimpse of your neighbours yet?"

I couldn't help but grin hugely at what we all knew she was referring to. "I have, actually," I told her. "Just this morning on my way out to work: there was this little old Asian lady, tending the gardens in the yard next door."

"Really?" Mick smirked. "Sweet old bird, was she?"

"She looked really lovely," I confirmed.

"Did you say hello?" Jamie quizzed.

"I couldn't even bring myself to look her way again," I confessed. "I suddenly felt really bad about showering with my window open!"

"What? Why?" Mick asked, stifling his laughter all the same.

"Come on Mick," I chastised. "The poor old duck, some nice old retiree, somebody's grandma -- last thing a sweet old lady like her wants or needs is some randy bugger next door trying to flash her every night."

"You might be surprised," Jamie reckoned, with a fierce little glint in her eye. "Catching a glimpse of you in the shower is probably the first decent thrill the poor thing has had in years. You should try to catch her eye next time, wave hello!"

"Oh God," I groaned, wishing I could slip away between the cushions of their lounge and escape my embarrassment. "I couldn't do that Jamie, I'd die. What if she looks at me and I can see her thinking 'there he is, the fucking creep. Don't you bloody wave your perverted little hands at me like I don't know what you get up to. Buy a fucking window shade!'"

Mick and Jamie were fully laughing at me now as I acted out my poor innocent neighbour's imagined hatred towards me. "No!" Jamie cried. "No way! Don't you dare think so little of yourself," she told me.

"Yeah mate -- if she's seen you, she'll be loving it for sure," Mick added.

"I want you to make it your mission," Jamie went on, leaning forward to fix me in the eye -- her angle presenting just a hint more cleavage than before, making me struggle not to look, knowing she was watching me and she'd see. "You keep on showering with that window opened, nice and wide and proud. And next time you see her in her yard, I want you to promise me you'll give her a wave and a smile hello -- and I reckon you'll get a plenty warm smile in return. I know I certainly would be smiling, if I was her," she added, significantly.

I simply beamed to hear those words from Jamie -- exactly how we'd conversed via Messenger, but now for real, from the mouth of Jamie herself! "Aww, thanks guys," I returned, careful to include Mick in my gratitude as well. "And what about you?" I added, to Jamie. "Any friendly notes of thanks in your letterbox?"

Jamie's grin grew ever-wider. "I'm sure I don't know what you're referring to," she averred, punctuating her statement with a demure sip at her wine.

"She knows exactly what you're talking about," Mick assured me, with a wink -- and earning a kick from Jamie. "Ow," he added.

So the night continued on, we reached the bottom of our first bottle of wine and Mick popped the cork on my Chandon. Jamie shortly excused herself to powder her nose, leaving Mick and I standing opposite sides of the kitchen bar after filling our glasses.

Alone with Mick, I was shortly at a loss for words. What should I say to a guy in this situation? I wanted to thank him for everything that had transpired so far -- but how?

Happily, Mick Valentine has never been one for long silences. He'd already fished his phone out of his pocket. "I reckon you might want to check these out," he said shortly, with a significant smile.

I took a hold of the proffered phone, and nearly dropped it -- it showed a photo of Jamie. In the shower. As shot from their backyard.

It was like the one they had sent through, the night prior -- but it differed in her pose: in this shot she was still mostly back-to-camera, but she had turned about somewhat, offering in her stance a goodly portion of side-boob.

I looked straight to Mick. "Mate -- are you sure?"

He nodded, still grinning hugely. "Scroll on mate," he instructed. "There's plenty more to see."

"But, I mean, Jamie -- will she mind?"

He didn't answer that one, save to shoot me a look: still cheeky, but somewhat challenging and incredulous, which I instantly took to mean 'mate: if she was going to mind, you wouldn't be holding my phone right now.'

I nodded, though just to be safe I angled the phone so we could both benefit from the viewing of it. I scrolled, and scrolled, essentially enacting a stop-frame movie as Jamie turned in the shower, and turned...

As her side-boob turned too, her nipple came into view, followed by another...

And soon I was looking at Jamie's breasts, bare and unfettered. Beautiful, small and perky, nipples tight and tiny in diameter but tall and prominent, standing erect despite the warm water as it cascaded around her long graceful neck, over her lovely shoulders, down her body...

And in the next shot, her eyes were opened. She was looking right at Mick, right into the shot, and seemingly right at me. And her face; oh man, oh Callie, the look on her face as she beheld Mick taking her photo from their yard, photographing her as she stood naked in the shower with her window wide open, as had been inspired by me...

"Mate," was all I could say.

"I know, eh?" Mick grinned.

There were a million more things I wanted to say -- thanks I wanted to convey, praise for the loveliness that was Jamie naked in the shower, my keen desire to see more of her, do more with her, to be with her, hold her and have her -- to share her, to share Jamie, to share my mate Mick's wife with him, here and now.

But there was no time to say it because Jamie had returned, regarding us somewhat suspiciously as we both peered at Mick's phone. "What's this then?"

"Oh hey babe," Mick said quickly, claiming his phone back from me. "We were just, umm..."

"Just umm?" Jamie challenged, moving around to Mick's side of the kitchen bar, approaching him quickly. "Just, umm, what?"

She grabbed Mick's phone off him and unlocked it -- a downside to trusting one's much-loved spouse with one's passcode, I'm sure. And it called up the last thing Mick had on his screen before he'd hurriedly locked it.

Jamie regarded the screen shortly. Then she looked at Mick. Then she looked at me.

And as she looked at me, she turned the screen back to me.

There she was again. Naked, visible from the waist up. Tits out, eyes open, with that certain look on her face.

And that very same look landed upon the face of Jamie herself, in the here and now. The look: cool and challenging. Daring us, daring me, to call her out, to decry or deride her for the wanton, wild creature that she was.

"Like what you see, Brett?" she asked of me.

I gathered up what little remained of my senses, formulating a response: "Jamie," I began. "How could I not?" And upon those few words I loaded as much of the heat, the desire, the keen yearning that I felt for her -- had felt for her so very sharply these past few days, but also in having illicitly crushed upon her these past few years.

I must have succeeded in conveying at least a little of my yearning, for I saw her melt just a little bit. And I felt it; I saw it reflected in her eyes.

She wanted it too. She wanted me too.

It passed in an instant though, as she regathered her cool façade, and she turned towards a fairly hapless Mick to stare him down.

"It's a good thing I love you," she told him -- and she lunged forwards and kissed him, hot and deeply.

Mick had seemed as though he was prepared for a violent ending, and as Jamie's kisses rained upon him he returned them with relief, enveloping her in his embrace, holding her close -- chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis, groping and grinding.

They broke off presently, both turning at the same time to regard me from across the kitchen bar. I had found myself grinning hugely at their display, enjoying and appreciating the show of love and lust.

"Mr and Mrs Valentine," I simply said.

Jamie's look could have boiled a lobster in his pot, though presently it was replaced by a grin to match my own. "Come on then," she said simply -- she reached across the kitchen bar and I offered her my hand, and with her other hand still clutching a bunched fistful of Mick's shirt she towed us back towards the lounge.

``*~*''

CHAPTER EIGHT

*****

I read Brett's story -- that much of it, and more -- with equal parts amusement and amazement. Amazement at the contents of the scene that followed, of course, but also at Brett's success in capturing the erotic and putting it to words. He had matched Jamie's skills in that regard and then some.

Upon finishing Brett's tale -- and pausing only to quickly rub out yet another well-inspired orgasm -- I messaged Jamie. "Hey, don't worry about putting pen to paper this evening," I told her. "Just come on over to my place."

Jamie's reply came through a little later in the day, she must have been out and about with her young boys. "Really? I'm happy to come over, but I don't think I have the gumption to tell you the tale verbally."

"No, don't worry about that," I wrote. "Just come over for a catchup."

"Why the sudden disinterest in our shenanigans?" she quickly replied, instantly suspicious.

"No reason," I lied outright. "Just come to my house."

"Okay, I'll be there sometime after seven. But I know you're up to something."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I typed, grinning hugely.

"Yeah, bullshit you don't."

She did come over as promised; happily, my kids were spending the night at their father's house, leaving the two of us free to chat at will about things of a highly adult nature.

"So go on then," Jamie challenged me, after I poured us each a glass of hard cider (which I preferred over wine). "How come you've dropped your demands for details of my sexcapades?"

I laughed at her use of that ridiculous word. "I got Brett to write it out for me instead," I told her, short and to the point for utmost effect.

It had exactly the effect I had hoped for. "Fucking what?" she asked of me, eyes wide with surprise.

"Brett had a bit of free time at work today," I explained. "I hit him up, and he told me the tale of your ménage a trois, to save you the trouble."

"What, just like that?" Jamie frowned. "You asked and he delivered?"

"Well, not just like that," I allowed. "I had to send him a copy of your story first."

Jamie's mouth fell open in comical fashion, a show of heavy horror betrayed by a hint of grudging amusement. "Callie you fucking little shit!" she berated me, snatching a nearby tea-towel and slapping at me with it. "I sent that to you privately!"

"I know," I laughed.

"That story had every little detail in it!" she went on. "Our every single thought about getting Brett involved. All my deepest feelings and desires for him. Fucking hell, Callie!"

I kept on laughing, evil and unapologetic, until she couldn't help but laugh along too. "He already knew all of that anyway, surely," I reckoned.

"Well, if he didn't know before, he knows now," said Jamie, with a theatrically resigned sigh.

"So are you gonna ask me to see his story or what?" I prodded, sipping at my drink with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course I am," she returned. "I'd love to relive the scene, especially from his perspective."

"So would I!" I agreed, waggling my eyebrows dirtily.

"You perve," Jamie laughed. "Come on then, where's the story? How did he send it?"

"He emailed it, then I printed it. At least he had the consideration to email me a single page at a time, instead of making me wait twenty hours for twenty pages," I teased her.

Jamie rolled her eyes at me. "Alright, whatever. Out with it, then."

I didn't move a muscle. "It'll cost you," I grinned.

Jamie simply looked at me. "You exasperating woman," she groused. "Cost me what?"

"Nothing much. Barely a thing. Just give us a look at your group chats with Brett and Mick, and the story is all yours," I told her.

Jamie frowned. "The group chat? But I already told you everything that went down in there..." It took a few second for the penny to drop for Jamie, but when it did, her eyes went wide. "Wait: you want to see the photos! You really are a torrid little perve, Cal, has anyone ever told you that?"

"No need for anyone to tell me, I'm fully aware," I laughed. "Come on, you even promised in your story you'd let me see Brett's butt shot."

"Oh, that? Oh yeah, I'm happy to let you see that. I'll send it to you direct," she said dismissively, whipping out her phone.

"That's not all I want to see," I informed her. "I want to see the group chat so I can check out those shower shots of you, too."

She looked at me again as though I was some sort of hopeless slavering sex pest -- which is probably not all that far from the truth, really. "Come on, Cal," she groaned. "It's just me and my bare back in the shower, and that one with my arse flashing beneath my night shirt -- it's nothing."

"It's more than nothing," I told her. "It's what Brett beat himself off to while you and Mick went at it like jackrabbits. It's what helped kick this whole thing off. They're far more significant than what's simply shown in the shots, and I wanna see them in the group chat."

Jamie looked at me, and I saw something extra causing her hesitation.

"What?" I asked her. "Why won't you let me see the group chat?"

"The group chat has... progressed, since the events of my story," she explained, slowly. "There's more stuff in there."

My interest was hugely piqued. "What stuff?"

"I'd rather not say," she said, turning an adorable shade of crimson.

"Holy crap! Jamie, what have you guys been sending each other?" I pressed her, a grin splitting my face in sheer delight.

"I'd really rather not tell you," she reiterated, sticking to her guns. "I can keep telling you the story, and I'll tell you when we get to it what we've been sending in the group chat. But you'll never see it."

"What? No!" I howled with dismay. "Come on Jamie! What is it?"

"I'll tell you when it's time," she insisted, even as she worked away again at her phone. "Now check your phone, you annoying little shit. I've already sent you Brett's butt shot, and I'm sending those two pics of me that you wanted."

I huffed loudly with frustration, but I checked my phone all the same. I smiled as I beheld the shots of Jamie: back turned demurely to camera in the shower, presenting quite a lovely and artful figure. And the cheeky bared-butt photo of Jamie that Mick had snapped unawares: also very nice, not super riling in the grand scheme of things -- though for Brett, who undoubtedly would have been delighted to behold it, it probably presented a hugely beguiling sight.

And Brett's own butt shot was perfect. The cheeky look on his face as he shot over his shoulder to capture himself bare ass naked, top to toe, was just pure Brett. And not a bad butt on him either. "I'll be saving this one for future review," I grinned.

"I assume you're referring to Brett's butt shot?" Jamie checked.

"Yep! Don't get me wrong though, your shots are nice too. Very artsy," I assured her, as though she cared what I thought of her bare naked self. "I'd love to see the one Brett mentioned in his story, where you're in the shower with boobs to camera..."

Jamie looked like she had expended a year's worth of patience on me. "Seriously?" she sighed. "Could I just whip out my tits here and now so I can read Brett's story?"

"No!" I cried, as though I was offended by Jamie's offer of a titty flash. "I want to see the photo. If Brett is to be believed, the look on your face is even better than the sight of your tits."

"Is that how he put it?" she glared.

I laughed. "No, he managed to put it far more poetically. Quite the flair for the written word, your boy Brett. Gives you a good run for your money," I teased, dangling Brett's story over her like a carrot before an emaciated donkey.

Jamie tried to stall. "Mick snapped the shower photos. I only have the one he sent in our group chat."

"Bullshit," I declared. "You both share the same iCloud account and you know I know it."

Jamie looked like she was seriously contemplating my murder. "Fine!" she hissed, and soon the photo was on my screen.

And I actually found myself taken aback. "Whoa," I breathed. I mean, yes her boobs were out, and they were fabulous, pert and perky and wonderful -- just like mine, as it happens. But the look in her eyes: it really did speak of a yearning, a smouldering desire for the person who had inspired her to pose naked in the shower before an opened window.

"I am quite proud of that one, actually," Jamie allowed.

"Okay then," I said, making my satisfaction clear; I reached beneath a pile of magazines on my kitchen counter top and pulled out a loose stack of printed paper. "Here's Brett's tale."

I proffered it to Jamie. She reached for it, but at the last moment I snatched it back out of her reach.

"Allow me to read it to you," I added.

"Fine!" she growled through grinding teeth, looking fit to do me an extremely nasty turn.

And so I gleefully narrated Brett's story to Jamie, pausing here and there to allow Jamie to make comment through the introductory sections. "Really? Was he actually nervous?" she asked. "He does a great job of covering it up."

"Oh wow," she threw in when I described their very warm greeting at the door to Mick and Jamie's house. "He makes it sound like I totally set him at ease. It was so much more the other way round for me! I was having kittens the whole day, second guessing ourselves and driving Mick bonkers -- but when I opened the door, it was Brett who grinned at me with his gorgeous smile and flashing eyes. He set my mind completely at ease, but he makes it sound like it was the other way round!"

"Maybe you both smiled at the same time and settled each other simultaneously?" I suggested.

"Maybe," she allowed, thinking on it. "Imagine that though..."

"Yeah yeah yeah, you're both very finely attuned to each other, same wavelength, yada yada," I dismissed laughingly, having worked my way to the bottom of my glass of cider. "Let's get back to the story, hey?"