Last to Leave

LAST TO LEAVE

#

I found myself lingering at a party thrown by this married couple that I know.

Gene, the husband, slipped away to put their kids to bed sometime before nine o'clock, and the other guests began departing sometime not long after. By nine thirty, maybe ten, almost everyone had left but me.

Allie and I were sitting on the couch in their front room, talking, when Saki and Edmund said they were heading out.

"Are you sure you don't want a ride?" Saki asked.

I looked at Allie. She smiled at me. So I shrugged and said, "Mmm, we're talking. Thanks, but I'll ask Gene for a ride, in a bit."

"Yes, that sounds very nice," Saki said. She smiled at me, took Edmund's arm in hers, and left.

I figured that Gene would drive me home after their kids had fallen asleep. Gene and I had worked together on a few volunteer projects around town, and he'd often given me rides before. And if worst came to worst, I didn't live too far away. It would be a thirty minute walk along well-lit streets. I could get home, no problem.

But things didn't turn out the way I'd expected.

#

I'd flirted some that evening.

I mean, not so flagrantly. Smiles and some light touching with most everyone at the party -- hugging everyone I knew, introducing myself to people whom I didn't know yet, patting people's arms during conversations. Edmund placed his hand on mine when I was passing him a beer -- we shared a few long seconds of eye contact before I blushed. Edmund is fifty-something with an elegant Japanese American wife, and even with him, I flirted.

I suppose by other people's standards, all this probably seems like only very mild flirting, but for me it felt like a lot. That night, I was feeling antsy.

Or, no, not antsy. Horny.

I'm trying to get better about articulating this sort of thing. About, you know, saying it aloud. Describing what I want, and doing it.

#

So, we live in a college town. I'd moved in early summer, following my boyfriend when he enrolled in graduate school. But then, once the school year started, he quickly hooked up with a student from the class he was TAing. Which is pretty crass, if you ask me. Sure, I'm obviously biased, but even if she was so great, shouldn't he have waited until the end of the semester?

Well, he didn't. Instead, we broke up during his third week of teaching. And I tried to be the bigger person. I helped him find a new apartment. I helped him move out of mine.

And over the next few weeks, I bumped into him walking around campus with his new girlfriend, twice. Both times I smiled and acted friendly. Both times, she was dressed in a too-tight sweater and leggings. And, sure, she's taller than me. Thinner. More complacent. But I was wearing actual pants.

Leggings aren't really pants, no matter what the sorority women here think.

Okay, that's too gripey. But, still, you'd be proud of me -- I was excruciatingly nice to her at the time.

#

After my boyfriend and I broke up, I'd thought about moving back home. The problem was that by then I loved my job. Which was surprising, because it had sounded boring when I first applied. I'd majored in theater in college -- which might not strike you as very marketable, but you'd be surprised how much you can smooth over with good acting -- and landed this gig as "community outreach coordinator" for the university's geology department.

I had expected that I'd be visiting elementary schools, showing little kids a bunch of different rocks. This one is malachite, this one is obsidian, this one ... I've forgotten what this one is. Maybe a kid would raise his hand and say, Miss Rachel, I've been reading about dinosaurs, and how much will I have to dig before I find my own dinosaur bones? And I'd smile sweetly and say, like, If it's your dream and you work hard, you can grow up to be an archaeologist! But make sure you ask mom and dad before you start digging up the yard.

But the job wasn't actually like that. I mean, yes, I did visit some schools -- on those trips, they introduced me as a "science ambassador" -- but I was mainly talking about climate change.

The professors in the geology department were smart, and some of them were doing really cool, suddenly relevant research ... but they were rubbish at telling people about their work. I've considered myself to be an environmentalist for a long time, and even I thought that these professors' lectures were a total snoozefest.

I had to sit through a lot of them.

So then my job was to take their research and find ways of explaining it so that regular people -- interested non-experts like me -- would understand. And it was great! I finally felt like an adult, doing something important with my time. Very different from the two years Brian (the ex-) and I had spent working at a coffee shop in Santa Barbara after graduating from college.

Which is why I stayed in town, despite the broken heart.

#

Brian and I had broken up about three months before that holiday party -- don't worry, I'll get back to it, we left off while I was lingering on the front couch with Allie, my hostess -- and I'd gotten laid only once since then. By a good-looking but politically-abhorrent dude I met at a bar.

It seemed as though the whole dating scene in this town revolved around bars, and I'm just not into hookups that way, I guess. Some of the things that this guy said the morning after -- not intending to be cruel, mind you, but still conveying (to my mind) a total disregard for other people's circumstances -- made me feel worse about having slept with him.

Live and learn, right? I learned that a single evening's inebriated conversation is insufficient to screen for people whom I actually like.

In the meantime, I'd been dealing with lonely evenings by bringing my laptop to bed, reading sexy stories while I got myself off, then putting away the computer and trying to fall asleep. I know you're not supposed to have all that screen time late at night. Restlessness from some bright blue light is worth it for an orgasm.

But I wanted to do things with other people, too.

So I'd been flirting more. Not just at that holiday party -- I'd been trying to let that side of my personality blossom all the time. Starting with little things, like chatting with strangers at the grocery store, smiling at people on my walk to work, dressing up a little more.

But one problem with being sort of nerdy is that not many people seemed to even notice that I was flirting.

Although, Allie did.

#

So there we were. Ten o'clock at night. Allie and me, sitting on the couch in the front room of their home.

What had we been talking about before Saki and Edmund left? I can't for the life of me remember. Because the door closed behind them, and we heard their footsteps crunch away as they were walking to their car, Allie gave me a peculiar smile.

"Hmm?" I asked, wondering what was on her mind.

"You know," she said to me, "if you wanted to fool around sometime, we could."

"What?" I asked, embarrassed. I mean, yes, I'd been flirting, but I'd never known anyone to be so direct.

"With me, with Gene, with both of us. We've talked about it. We think you're great. You're smart, you're kind, you're pretty."

I didn't know what to say. It felt good to hear her call me pretty, though. Allie is beautiful, for one thing, with nonchalant, un-make-up-ed good looks. And also, I'd felt a little self-conscious since the breakup. I never minded so much that my black hair always had me typecast in college theater, but everybody has a little something they'd change about their appearance if they could.

For me, it's that I wished my face wasn't shaped quite so much like a juice box.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Allie exclaimed. Had I been thinking aloud? "Your face is shaped like a face! And it's charming. Your eyes sparkle. You just have a strong jaw. A strong, sexy jaw."

With her eyes on me like that, I was definitely blushing.

"And, well, we just wanted for you to know that you had the offer."

"That's ... that's great. I mean, you guys are great. I've really liked talked with Gene ... and with you, um, tonight. I just, I didn't expect ..."

"That's why we wanted to make sure you knew. That we'd be down for whatever."

She was looking straight into my eyes. And I kind of -- no, I really wanted to kiss her right then. Which was an unexpected feeling for me. I'd made out with women before, but never for real. Never in private. It was always back when I was too young to know better, a college freshmen showing up at house parties.

And it had been fun enough, back then, except for the whole "at a party" aspect -- a circle of drunken boys surrounding us (one time somebody started chanting "tongue," which was both a horrible thing to be shouting, and seemed especially stupid right then because we were already using ours), and it often seemed as though the other women who'd been cajoled into it were doing it more for performance than pleasure. Like coming up and asking, "Are you bi? Okay, kewl, let's make out," but then making more eye contact with some guy -- her boyfriend, maybe? -- than with me, for the entire fucking time.

God, being a teenager is the worst. I'm glad I'll never have to do that again.

Anyway. I was pretty sure that anything I did there, with Allie, would be very different. My imagination flickered. And the things I came up with seemed more enticing than the thought of going home alone. To get myself off while reading a story about, like, some other woman who was brave enough to bed an entire baseball team.

So I asked her, "What do you mean, 'whatever'?" Not that I couldn't guess. But I wanted to hear her say it.

"Well, I don't know what you like to do for fun. Or who. But my spouse and I ... we both like you. And we're not looking for anything too serious, but if you were interested in ... well, like, a good time tonight, or the occasional good time ... like snuggling, maybe, or kissing ... with clothes, or without clothes ..."

It was hot to hear her say. Flattering, and hot.

"... or if you wanted one or both of us to eat you out ... or have sex ... Like I said, we talked about it. Gene and me. You're great, and we'd be down for whatever."

I didn't respond right away.

"If you wanted," she added. "I mean, no pressure. We love having you as a friend -- Gene has loved volunteering with you -- and, whatever else you do or don't want, your friendship means a lot to us. We're glad you decided to move here. So don't worry if you're not interested, okay?"

"No, no," I said, "I'm glad you ... that you said, because ... well, because ... yeah. Yeah, that'd be fun for me. With you. With both of you. I've ... I've mostly done things with guys. But I think you would be fun."

"So kissing would be okay?" she asked.

I nodded. "Definitely okay."

And that was all it took. She leaned toward me. I closed my eyes, parted my lips, soon felt hers pressing in to mine.

Most men have such hard lips. Bristly mustache mouths. And their kisses can feel rushed, as if they're barreling forward, ready for something else. Allie's kiss felt deeper, more complex. Gentle, with an unmistakable eagerness to be doing exactly what we were. She slipped her tongue into my mouth, her warm wet breath mixing with my own. She tasted faintly of peppermint tea and wine. A heady blend of naughty and nice.

I sighed. I needed this tonight.

I lifted a hand to her chest. Her breasts were smaller and softer than mine -- she's the hippy vegan type who probably breastfed her kids until they were three or four or something -- but her nipple hardened right away to greet my fingertips. I traced little loops over the surface of her shirt.

We kissed, and I was stroking her, and soon I felt her hand caressing my own chest. She gave me a little squeeze before sliding her mouth from mine to whisper "Your breasts are amazing" into my ear.

And, louder, a voice from the hall asked, "So I take it I'm not driving anywhere?" Startled, my eyes shot open. Gene was standing there -- he'd walked over in socks, which must be why I hadn't heard him. That, and the other distractions.

"Not yet, dear," Allie said, with her face still so close to mine, her hands still meandering up and down my body.

I gave Gene a rather nervous little smile. But he was openly grinning back at me, watching his spouse feel me up. I remember thinking at the time, well, maybe this is normal for them. I didn't learn until later that they'd never had a threesome before. That Allie had never even kissed another woman before me.

But they'd clearly talked about it. Because Gene didn't look the least bit surprised.

Pleased, yes. Surprised, no.

"Okay," he said, "Well, let me know if you two need anything. I have a book that I could go read. Unless the two of you wanted company ...?"

For a moment, Allie's hands stopped roaming. Both she and Gene were looking at me, waiting. Clearly they expected me to make a choice. But the choice -- was it really just, do you want to make out with one person tonight, or two? Because I was already having fun kissing Allie, and my usual inclination had always been to hook up with men, so ...

"It might be nice if you stayed," I said. "If you're not too busy."

Gene chuckled, softly shaking his head. "I hate to think what'd be going on for me to be too busy. The kids are safe and sound in bed. Allie seems safe and sound in your arms. The book can read itself tonight."

Allie leaned forward and nuzzled her face into my shirt, between my breasts. And Gene still stood there, at the doorway to their living room, smiling at me. Was there something else that I was supposed to say? I smiled back, questioningly.

"Oh, sorry," he said, still grinning, clearly not actually sorry about anything. "Sometimes it's nice just to watch. But, yes, if you're interested, I'd love to spend time with you tonight. Did you and Allie talk about how you might want to play?"

"Like ...?" I asked, not sure how to answer.

"Well, it looks like you're doing a little more than kissing tonight," he said, nodding toward his wife -- her hands had resumed their explorations -- "but do you want to stick with these caresses, or do you want some clothes off, or do you want to send me back to the bedroom to look for condoms ... or would you want to come back to the bedroom with us ...?"

"Mmm, needing a condom would actually be really nice. Bedroom might be nice. If you really will join in with us, we could probably use more space."

"That does sound lovely," he said. "But, I should warn you ... the kids sleep pretty soundly, but our house isn't that big. Their bedroom isn't so far away. We couldn't make too much noise if ..."

I stroked his wife's hair, holding her head to my chest. "I can come quietly," I said, and smiled. I could feel her deep chuckle over my ribcage, then she rose up and kissed me on the lips again.

I closed my eyes and returned her kiss. Mmm, her mouth, her lovely lips. Her soft cheek grazing my nose. And her hands, gliding over me. I ran my hands up and down her body -- her shoulders, the gentle curve of her lower back.

Her hand moved along the length of my thigh, upward, upward. I spread my legs and felt a pressure there, her fingers cupping me. Cursed denim -- so this was a moment when my pants were decidedly worse than leggings.

"But we can take them off soon," Allie breathed into my ear. "Ready to head back?"

It had been wonderful, feeling my body melt against the arm of the couch, lying there with Allie crawling over me, kissing deeply. But also, yes. Yes, I wanted to head back. To lose our clothes and see where things would go.

She stood up first, helped me up off the couch, and we walked hand in hand back through their house. Her hand in mine didn't feel so different from a man's -- softer, sure, but not as dramatically so as her lips -- and this sort of eager walk through a darkened house was nothing new for me. I'd been led hand in hand into unfamiliar bedrooms before.

But I'd never been led toward a bedroom with the expectation of meeting somebody else in there -- hand in hand with someone who would deliver me to an evening's lover. And I was in control. As though I were a patron here.

As though I were a tropical bird.

Seriously. I'd read, not too long before that evening, that if human mating was like tropical birds', then anytime a woman wanted to get laid, she'd visit a brothel. Men would work in the brothels, and they would all work in there for free -- I could waltz into a world of sensory delight and have whatever I wanted, gratis.

That's honestly how sex works for some birds, like in the mating leks of manakins. The males gather together and put on elaborate circus-like displays, hoping that the visiting female -- males enact these torrid spectacles for a lucky audience of one -- will feel sufficiently aroused that she'll invite one (or more?) to copulate.

If our world mirrored the world of tropical birds, I might walk into the ornate building some evening -- whenever I felt the urge -- and be greeted there by several attractive men, all dressed in their vibrant best, all asking could I get you a drink or might I take your coat, and perhaps I'd tilt my head, considering, then point, you and you and you, and lead my chosen trio to a cozy pillow-strewn room. To help get me in the mood, I'd ask two to undress and kiss each other, I'd recline and watch while the third nestled his face between my legs.

And of course these men -- like proper tropical birds -- would sport spangled, shimmery skivvies beneath their elegant outer finery -- sequined hotpants in bright green or red or blue -- and well-toned bodies from their years of acrobatics.

Soon I'd ask the men to strip. I'd watch their big hands rub scented oil over each other's bodies, their muscles glistening in the candlelight. An array of cocks to choose from, small and medium and large -- like Goldilocks, I could have one that fit me just right.

I'd stroke the hair of the man whose tongue was twirling round my swollen clit, then beckon to the other two, ask them to break off their kiss and come surround my body, to kneel in and suck my nipples. They'd eagerly agree, just like they'd eagerly agree to any other direction I'd offer them that night -- to let me suck their cocks, to watch them suck each other's -- because all three felt the burning desire that maybe, just maybe, I'd get so turned on that I'd ask someone to fuck me, to push his perfect cock up into me and pump, pump so steadily, with the other two still kneeling on either side of me, ready to take over in case the first came before I was done ... I'd clutch his back in ecstasy as six hands caressed my body ...

Well, okay.

Maybe, just maybe, on that night of my first threesome, I felt a little nervous. Because there we were, undressing each other -- I'd unbuttoned Gene's shirt, Allie helped me pull my own over my head while Gene knelt to kiss my belly and unzip my jeans -- and I was thinking about the sex life of birds.

But it's a lot to take in. One minute I was planning to go home and masturbate, then hardly half an hour later I was careening toward steamy sex with a pair of people whom I'd crushed on for months ...

I stepped out of my pants, held out my hands to lift Gene to his feet, and then it was my turn to kneel. It's always a sexy feeling, unbuttoning someone else's clothes. His shirt, earlier, as I ran my fingers over his torso, and his pants now, pressing my thumb to the button as I blew a kiss. I loosed the pants and slid them down over his legs.