LGBTQRSUVWMYZ+

She kissed me, on the lips, and I felt lightheaded. I was never so aware of the nakedness of a woman as I was this moment. Although Monica was extremely lovely, her beauty, I found, was more than a little intimidating.

Brian emerged from the kitchen. His cock swung and his balls jiggled as he walked down the hallway to foyer. He extended his hand in welcome, but, as I stepped forward to shake hands with him, he surprised me by wrapping me tightly in his arms, giving me a bear hug, and kissing the side of my neck. His body against mine, the press of his chest, his groin, and the bulge at his crotch, and his lips against my flesh were disturbing—I guess I was still wrestling with the idea of having sex with another man—but these actions and sensations also aroused me, and I felt my prick stir. "And, now that my wife and I have welcomed you, we really must insist you slip into something more comfortable—your birthday suit."

Again, I blushed.

Monica said, "Follow me," and she led me to the guestroom. "You're welcome to disrobe in here, Ben."

When I had done so, feeling mortified at my nakedness and wanting to cover my crotch with my hands, I hesitantly crept back down the hall. Brian or Monica had dimmed the lights, and jazz played softly through hidden speakers. Candles burned on tables in the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen. The evening seemed enchanted.

Brian had grilled steaks and potatoes, and Monica had prepared a salad. We ate on the patio, overlooking their pool, which was lit with soft lights, lavender, pink, and purple. The heavens were filled with stars.

We didn't talk much. I didn't eat much, either, although the food was excellent. I did drink a little wine, which Brian served, despite my being underage, but I declined a second glass. I wanted to keep my head clear. I trusted Brian and Monica, but I was still anxious, not knowing what, exactly, to expect; whether, when the moment came, I would be able to go through with it; and, if I were, whether I'd be able to "perform." In a word, I was stressed.

"There's chocolate mousse for dessert, Ben," Monica said.

"Would you mind if I had mine later?" I didn't want to risk having food in my stomach, afraid I might get sick with panic when the time came to join my hosts in our threesome. I'd never been with a man before—or a woman—and I was afraid my inexperience would be obvious to the people who were not only nude models but also nudists—and members of The Society of Bisexual Threesomes, at that.

"That's fine," she said, patting my thigh. Her touch—there-sent a thrill through my groin. My cock stirred again, swelling slightly. I felt horrified. What if she saw? What if Brian noticed? Her fingers closed around my hand. She rose, "Why don't we sit over there," she suggested, "on the love seat."

She led; I followed.

She sat on one side, I on the other.

"Come closer," she said.

I slid next to her.

"I'll join you," Brian announced.

He sat on the other side of me, so I was between the two of them. I was self-conscious, thrilled, but also apprehensive, to feel their outer thighs pressed against mine, Monica's soft and sleek, Brian's firm and fuzzy. My cock swelled further, rising to stand erect before me, embarrassing me more than I'd ever been embarrassed before in my life.

"Oh!" Monica squealed, her eyes widening and her lips forming an "O," as if she were just noticing my prick for the first time. "Look what we have here!" Her hand closed softly around the shaft of my dick, and I blushed furiously. My heart beat fast, and I trembled.

Brian cupped my balls in his hand, bouncing them lightly in his palm, as if her were weighing them or assaying their value. "Relax," he advised, "and enjoy the moment."

That's easy for you to say, I thought. I felt both excited and embarrassed and terrified and trapped and willing, all at the same time. The welter of conflicting emotions was exhilarating.

Gently, Brian squeezed my balls and rolled them inside my scrotum, the flesh of which had dawn tight. While Monica pumped her hand up and down on the shaft of my rigid, straining cock.

"How does that feel?" Brian asked.

I moaned softly.

He chuckled. Taking my hand, he placed it on his own prick, which was as erect as my own. It was considerably longer, though, and of greater girth. As he held his hand upon mine—which made me feel like a novice being taught to perform a new task—he performed the same operation upon himself that his wife was performing upon me, and I felt for the first time what it was like to handle another man's penis. It felt far different than my handling of my own cock felt, because I perceived primarily his warm, hard shaft, rather than my hand, and, although Monica had awakened and fostered sensations in my own prick that were similar to those Brian must be feeling, they were caused by her hand, not my own. With her, I felt mostly her hand, rather than my cock, as she masturbated me, and, of course, I felt none of the feelings Brian experienced. It was almost as if I were three persons in one: I felt Monica's hand on my cock, Brian's hand around my hand, my hand on Brian's dick, and the sensations within my own cock and balls, but none in Brian's cock, despite my handling it. Being part of a threesome was much more pleasant than I'd anticipated, and I did, finally, begin to relax and enjoy the experience.

Brian removed his hand from mine. I continued to masturbate him, until he stopped me. "Let's not forget Monica," he said.

"Yes, let's not," she agreed.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"Use your imagination, Ben," she said.

Brian grinned at my indecisiveness. "Lick her clit," he whispered. "You can't go wrong there; all women love that."

I was trying to figure out just how to accomplish this procedure, when Monica took pity on me. "Kneel before me, bend forward, and—well, you'll get the idea."

I took up the position she'd suggested, kneeling before her, and, bending to the task, licked her pussy. It was wet, which surprised me, but shouldn't have. I knew women lubricated naturally when they were aroused, but, somehow, I hadn't thought about Monica doing so, She seemed too beautiful and—I don't know, fastidious?—to soak herself in the juices of her own pussy. She was lovely, but not at all prissy, and she was more than wet; she was soaked. I wasn't sure, at first, how to feel, confronted as I was with her sopping-wet cunt. Grossed out? Humiliated? Disinclined? Turned on? I gave her pussy another experimental lick. She didn't taste bad or good; she had no taste whatever, except, perhaps a mild saltiness. I wasn't sure yet whether I enjoyed licking her pussy or not, but I was certain, at least, that I wasn't repulsed by it. It was possible, I thought, that I might actually enjoy it.

After I'd licked her nether lips a few more times, she said, "Lick my clitoris, Ben."

I had no idea, exactly, where her clitoris was or even what it was. (Yes, believe it or not, I really was that ignorant.)

Again, she took pity on me. "Here it is." She parted the fleshly curtains at the sides of her pussy. I saw the watermelon-red flesh within, and, at the top of the slit of her sex, a small, round nub. "This is it; lick it."

I lapped at the hard, swollen button of flesh, and Monica moaned, her upper body shoving against the back of the love seat, her hips wriggling, and her sleek, soft inner thighs clamping against my cheeks as I licked her most sensitive spot.

"Lick her clit hard, Ben, in quick, short flicks with the tip of your tongue."

I did as bidden, and Monica squirmed more intensely, her buttocks shifting and sliding on the seat, her thighs quivering, her heels bouncing, her pussy writhing.

After a few moments, Brian suggested we move indoors, to their bed.

I was all for that. Although I was enjoying eating Monica's pussy immensely, doing so outdoors was a bit hard on my knees.

Brian led the way, followed by me, followed by Monica. I hoped she appreciated the view of my ass as much as I admired that of Brian's sleek, firm bottom. I'd started our session feeling self-conscious and embarrassed, maybe even ashamed, to be naked in the presence of Brian and Monica. Now, even though I'd disrobed only an hour ago, if that, I felt more confident, perhaps even rather bold. The novelty of being naked in the presence of others—and in the presence of a nude man and woman, at that—had begun to wear off, as it were, and seemed more natural now. Only a short time ago, it had been difficult for me to imagine how anyone could be comfortable in such a state, with his or her body fully on display, right down to its most intimate private parts. Now, I understood, or was beginning to understand, that familiarity makes all things possible. To be comfortable in one's own skin, one had to appear in the flesh, without the pretenses and affectations provided by clothing. By letting it 'all hang out," one came to have nothing to hide; one could be utterly and completely oneself, and that is what gave one confidence.

I had thought it absurd of the members of The Society of Bisexual Threesomes to insist that I experience what they routinely enjoyed, sex with either sex, often in the presence of others, before I could bring them to life in my portraits of their likenesses, but, now, I had begun to see the wisdom of their demand. In painting them, knowing their comfort in themselves and in their practice of social, personal, and sexual relationships that were forbidden by society at large, I could show the boldness of their character, the courage of their convictions, the nobility in their exercise of free will in embracing that which they desired, the dictates and disapproval of society be damned. In my depictions of them naked, I could let their fierce independence shine through.

We passed through the candlelit kitchen, walked down the candlelit hallway, past the candlelit living room and dining room, and entered the candlelit bedroom. The soft glow of the candlelight and the muted jazz that still played through concealed speakers made the house seem magical. At first, so many candles had seemed, well, too much, but, I saw, once again, Brian and Monica knew what they were doing. The effect of the candlelight and music was as romantic as wine and roses, and it deepened my mood. I was up—both literally and figuratively—for any action either of them proposed. It was amazing how quickly my shy nature, a result of years of social awkwardness, fear of rejection, and avoidance of intimacy, crumbled; Brian and Monica had brought out a beast within me that I'd never suspected dwelled in the dark recesses of my retiring soul.

In the bedroom, we joined one another in Brian and Monica's king-size bed. Brian and Monica instructed me in how to position myself, and I obeyed, lying on my left side, my knees slightly drawn up. Brian assumed a similar position, behind me, while Monica half-sat, half-reclined on my right side. I felt a sweep of wetness between my buttocks, as Brian lubricated the small aperture between my cheeks with some thick fluid. After a moment's intermission, the mattress beneath us swaying and dipping, I felt Brian scoot closer to me. Presently, his prick, rigid and swollen and smeared with the same wet, cool lubricant, sled between my buttocks, brushing past the inward-curving cheeks, and the crown of his cock pressed at the portal to my bowels.

Resolutely, Brian continued to shove his dick forward, and I felt my asshole give, as his thick, rigid shaft slid past my sphincter and deep into my rectum, filling my impaled bottom.

At the same moment, Monica bent low, her silky hair falling over my hips and groin, and slid the circle of her lips down the shaft of my own erection. As Brian worked his prick back and forth inside my ass, his wife pumped my cock in her oral embrace, her head bobbing up and down in time with her husband's thrusts. Sometimes, it felt as though I was being sucked while I was fucked; other times, as if I was being being fucked while I was sucked. Either way my brain registered the experience, it was fantastic.

They double-teamed me for a while, Brian fucking me harder and faster, and Monica increasing the tempo at which she pumped her lips up and down upon the shaft of my prick. The sensations fore and aft brought me to the brink of orgasm, but I struggled to delay the ultimate reward in favor of prolonging the immediate pleasures Brian and Monica provided.

I had always been taught—by acquaintances, by the snide remarks I heard from strangers, and by the portrayals of gays and bisexuals, especially males—that it was strange, unnatural, immoral, sinful, and criminal for one man to have sex with another man. It was unnatural and contemptible, perverted and unmanly. Homosexual acts were forbidden by law and by tradition, and gays were said to live only half lives, or twilight lives, despised and denigrated by righteous men and women who lived as God and nature intended they should live. Like many young men, I had believed such statements, accepting them as true, without bothering to think about them or research the subject for myself. The matter need not concern me; I wasn't gay. I'd never have sex with another man. I wasn't in the least interested about such a thing.

Now, Brian's cock was a piston, slamming into me, jolting my ass with each stroke as he drove his erection into me, faster and harder and farther every time, and Monica took me deep, down her throat, holding me there, in her warm, wet embrace for long intervals until, at last, she drew back, my dick reappearing, inch by slow inch, from within the circle of her lips.

Until, that is, at college, I started to notice other guys. Maybe it's because I'm an artist, but, in any case, I noticed little things at first: the rich color of a man's dark hair and its sweeping curl or tight ringlets; a cleft chin or a strong jaw; chiseled pecs and washboard abs; the well-defined muscles of strong arms and sinewy legs. Eventually, I began to notice, then to admire, men's buttocks: they were firm, compact, muscular, and full of power. I also began to appreciate the bulging cocks and balls that filled out the crotches of men's shorts, swimsuits, trousers, and jeans. After work, I surfed the Internet, seeking out photographs of men in jockstraps, men naked, men having sex with women, and, finally, men having sex with other men. I found gay sex as erotic as straight sex, and I concluded that the sex of a person's partner was irrelevant. I came to believe that all people are bisexual; some just hide their true nature better than others, and others simply deny this truth about themselves.

I felt Brian stiffen. He remained motionless, then rammed his cock home a final time, driving all the way into my ass, his balls slamming my perineum and his pubes rasping lightly against the bottoms of my ass cheeks. I felt him tremble, his whole body shaking, and heard him moan. Monica plunged her mouth and throat down upon my prick, taking me deep. Withdrawing, I felt Brian's cock slide free of my asshole, felt his thick, warm cum spew over my back, upon my buttocks, and across my thighs. Orgasmic, I shot my load at almost the same moment as Brian had ejaculated, my seed spurting down Monica's throat in intense, powerful eruptions.

Now that I'd been part of a threesome, I knew that the members of The Society of Bisexual Threesomes had been absolutely correct in insisting that I participate in a three-way sex session before painting their portraits. I no longer felt any disgust or disdain for my bisexual nature; I was proud of loving both sexes, and I knew I could enjoy having sex with both men and women, whenever the opportunity arose, without feeling disgust, fear, or anything but love and complete satisfaction. In painting their likenesses, I would let their true nature come through, so that each of them was an embodiment of the passion and love, courage and pride the LGBTQ community displayed every day, in their every act, including the act of love.

* * *

"Promise us you'll visit again," Monica sad, as I stood, dressed, on my new friends' doorstep, ready to return to my dorm.

I kissed her, cupping her sweet, round bottom in the palms of my hands. "As often as you'll have me."

Brian, standing beside Monica, said, "Our door is always open, Ben, and our home is your home."

I hugged him, and he cupped my ass cheeks in his hands, the same way I'd held Monica's bottom. Then, we kissed, the same way Monica and I had kissed, on the lips, long and passionately.

"There's only one thing I regret," I told them.

"What's that?" Monica asked.

"You didn't get nearly as much attention as you deserve."

"Don't worry about me," she replied. "I pleasured myself while I was sucking your cock, and I've had plenty of practice, so I'm very good."

"Besides, don't think Monica and I are through for the night." He took her hands in his. "I'll make sure she gets plenty of loving."

I grinned, but I didn't blush. I was through with blushing forever. "I don't doubt that," I said. "I don't doubt that at all."