Screwball Love: A Virgin...

Screwball Love: A Virgin in a Threesome

"I don't believe it. I just don't believe it." Kate, my estranged wife, never trusted me, but now in the midst of this phone call--about our least favorite topic, sex--she has ratcheted up her doubt.

She thinks she knows me. She should know me. We were husband and wife for five long years--long enough so that sex usually came as a surprise. We grew up in the same small town in New Jersey, one of those places where you knew too much about everybody else. We went to the same school, served on Student Council together, and I was one of her first crushes. She would come to my Junior Babe Ruth baseball games in 7th grade just to watch me play, and I lost my virginity as a kisser before her eyes in a group scene (a game of spin-the-bottle at Nancy Cole's 13th birthday party). But she never knew, until this phone call, when--or how--I had lost my real virginity. I never thought I would tell Kate--or any woman--this doubly dark sexual secret of mine.

I can't remember exactly what led up to my confession. I was calling Kate from my office in the History Department where I had been working late, past dinner time. We must have been talking, for the 71st time, about what went wrong with our marriage. Fortunately, at this point, the anger between us had mostly dissipated. We were no longer just blaming each other for what went wrong. I think I was acknowledging to her how unprepared I was for marriage. My relationship with Kate was the first significant relationship of my life. She told me more than once, after we split up, that she wished I had been broken in by another woman. She knew I had almost no girlfriends before her. She did not know how innocent I was (I didn't lose my virginity until age 24) ....or how devilish I had been (I lost it in a threesome with another couple whom I had contacted through a Swinger's magazine). Over the phone, I tempted her with a bite of the apple.

"You will never guess how I lost my virginity? It's a dark secret...and a little kinky."

"OK. Come on. Give me a hint," she urged.

"The woman was older," I noted.

"That's it?" Kate inquired. "What's so strange or dark about an older woman? Was she senile? Or just fat and desperate?"

"Very funny, Kate. Hey, I like it when that sharp tongue of yours pokes fun at me rather than stabbing me with anger. The woman was married."

"Ok, that's different...but not kinky."

"Well, I didn't exactly commit adultery with her."

"Not exactly? "What do you mean, 'Not exactly'?"

"It was technically adultery, but not really," I explained in a Clintonesque way. "It was something else."

"Something else?"

"Yes, something kinky. This you'll never guess."

"Give me another hint."

"The husband knew all about it," I confessed.

Kate paused before answering. "Now that does make it more interesting. Was it an open marriage?"

"Yes, very open....very, very open. He was there."

"He watched you?"

Kate was incredulous, and I loved it. For whatever reason, it delighted me that she didn't know me as well as she thought she did. And I had more for her to disbelieve. I took a deep breath and added, "Yes, ....and he participated."

"Oh my God," Kate exclaimed, "you rascal, you dirty rascal....This is getting kinky."

"It's even kinkier," I said in a quieter voice. "We did it altogether, everything mixed up, entangled. He and she and me.... every which way. I had sex with him as well. I played with his cock. He played with mine."

"I don't believe it. I don't believe it..... You gotta be kidding."

"Kate, look, I'm being straight with you. I lost my virginity just several months before we began dating....in a threesome....We all played together all night long and into the next afternoon. It was wild and very erotic....intensely erotic."

"C'mon Jim, quit playing your games with me. You really expect me to believe this? Little Jimmy Lindstrom, Captain of the Safety Patrol, President of his 8th grade class, All Star Little League player, and son of Mrs. Prim and Proper Martha Lindstrom, lost his virginity in a threesome and did something bisexual? Your Mother would die if she knew. I just don't believe it."

"I'm not joking, Kate. It's true."

"You're just pulling my leg again, I know it. I don't trust you about anything."

"You know what, my dear," I said, in a taunting way, "I've got proof."

"What type of proof?"

"Letters and photos."

"You devil, you. You little devil," Kate charged. "Oh god, you are a rascal..... You're got me blushing. You have to show me this stuff."

"When?"

"Now, right now," said Kate, her voice intensifying in seriousness as she spoke. "As soon as you can get here. I have to see this. I can't believe this. I'm getting aroused by this."

I hung up the phone bewildered and bemused, repeating again and again to myself her last line to make it sink it. I'd admitted the truth to my almost ex-wife, and it felt great.... I hadn't been struck down by lightning. I'd confessed to fooling around with another man. I had never been embarrassed about it. In truth, I was very proud of it: It was the most erotic 24 hours of my life, and I liked being something of a rebel. But I never expected to share this secret with Kate....or with anyone. And she hadn't yet condemned me. Indeed, she seemed allured.

I turned the light out in my office and, before I left, I sat in my chair, reminiscing in the dark, gliding my hand over the bulge in my jeans, taking joy in feeling aroused and cockstrong. I walked out of the office smiling deeply to myself. Again, it felt so good to surprise Kate when she thought she had me all figured out. She loved reading mystery novels. Now, I thought to myself, I am her mystery..... The sound of her voice at the end of our conversation kept reverberating in my ear. To my hungry ear, it was the music of a voice scaling down to the guttural...the voice of a woman feeling her cunt moisten. My mind flashed with images of Kate's face relaxing into a smile after the intense bliss of an orgasm.....the moment when she always looked her most beautiful.

I remember driving back to my apartment quickly, delighted that the flow of traffic on the freeway was smooth. I found the evidence that would prove my guilt in an envelope, which I kept hidden at the bottom of my treasure box of letters on my bureau. I then headed to my wife's apartment about a mile away. Kate buzzed me into her building and greeted me at the top of the stairs. She had the look on her face of a woman trying to scold a child for something that also made her laugh.

"Hello, my dear," I said, with highlighted bravado (and a somewhat hidden smirk of satisfaction).

"Hi, James," she returned, using my full name with mock formality. "You better have something real good for me."

"Well, dear, I might have what you're looking for. I hope it passes muster. You're not an easy mark. But I think it's pretty good," I deadpanned.

I handed her the envelope with the evidence inside of it. She rolled her eyes at me, playfully. She put it aside. Kate was still cleaning up after dinner. Our young daughter, Annika, age 3, was in her bedroom. I went in to look for her so I could read her some stories and put her to bed.

I thought to myself, quietly, that this joy--of putting my child to sleep each night--is what I miss most.

I read several stories to Annika, kissed her goodnight, and I came into the kitchen feeling wonderfully naughty. Kate eyed me suspiciously, and then offered me a glass of wine. I accepted. She poured a glass for each of us and then left for a moment to say goodnight to Annika. Breathing deeply, I remained seated at the small table in a corner of the kitchen, more than a little anxious underneath my cool pose. The envelope sat there in the middle of the table, smoldering. When Kate came back into the kitchen, we made efforts at small talk. But we were as fidgety as chain smokers trying to quit. After a while, Kate checked back in on Sarah. She came back soon and whispered, "She's asleep." Kate picked up the envelope and took it along with her glass of wine into the living room. I followed her. We sat down across from each other, Kate in a chair and me on the couch.

The tension in the room was as hot and thick with sweat as a mid-August day in New Jersey when you long for a thunderstorm to cut the humidity. It felt weird and wonderful. Deep inside I was rumbling in thunder, and bolts of chain lighting were charging through my cock. It had been ages since Kate and I had felt--or generated for the other--any of the thrill, the magic, the mystery that sex can possess at its core. But now this primal force of sex was swirling around inside of me more powerfully than the first time we got naked and slippery together. Ben and Rowena, the couple who took my virginity, awakened me to the alchemy of eros in a way that seared deeply into my memory. And now, for the first time with Kate, I was unlocking the vault.

We finished our wine, sipping it down faster than usual. I opened the envelope and gave Kate the first piece of evidence: the ad in the swinger's magazine that I responded to with a picture of Rowena's face. Kate scanned it quickly, but noted each detail.

"She's beautiful......and just your type, a dark brunette....maybe Italian. But her nose is a little long and her eyes are wide apart.... But I can see her allure."

I handed her my next bit of evidence: the letter Rowena wrote me in response to my thank you note after the visit. I must have read this letter hundreds of times, and I had the best parts memorized: "Our weekend together was an extraordinary erotic occasion for us as well....one of our best times ever. We usually prefer to play with other couples, but we had so much fun with you. We got back into bed as soon as you left. We loved your enthusiasm, and we haven't stopped talking about that great cock of yours. We too would enjoy the chance to get together again."

As she read the letter, I examined her face as if my eyes were seismographs that could sense her shifts of mood. I half expected her to forego looking at any more evidence and just proclaim her verdict of me, right then and there: Guilty as presumed. I was not sure how she would react about my bisexual playing. But as she read the letter, the quizzical look on her face gave way to bemusement. I smiled back, and she just rolled her eyes at me again. Her expression relaxed me some, but I still felt on the defensive.

Our past made me want to snatch the letter from Kate's hands so I could read Rowena's words aloud, with the proper tone and emphasis, highlighting Rowena's compliments. The last year of our marriage had been humiliating for me, sexually: Kate had almost no interest in sex, and when we did make love, she seldom, if ever, came. I felt a failure in the bedroom, with my cock shriveled up like a prune sitting at the bottom of an old box in the closet. But right there in the living room, revisiting my time with Ben and Rowena, I felt new life, new strength: the resurrection of my cock. It was fully arisen in my jeans. My mind scanned image after image of Ben and Rowena taking delight in my cock....its size, the way it kept unfurling for their pleasure, the way it responded to them so enthusiatically. And I remembered it behaving the same way for Kate in our first months together. This thought took me out of my reverie. I still had more compelling evidence to show her.

I handed Kate the first of four photos: It was of Rowena in black lace lingerie, stretched out on a bed, the covers pulled back, pillows all around. Candles were lit on a bedside table, and there was one of those big Hitachi vibrators on the floor. Rowena's eyes blazed straight up at the camera: "Come hither and fuck me," they said. She had one hand caressing a bosom, and the fingers of her other hand slipped down inside her panties. This was the picture Ben and Rowena had sent me in their first response to my letter to them. It conjured up a funny memory about my innocence.

"Their ad requested a picture," I explained. "It sounds so ridiculous now, but I sent them my high school graduation photo. They wrote back and said they liked my letter a lot, but they wanted an explicit photo....a hard cock shot. I quickly bought a Polaroid camera and did some self-portraits. When they got those photos, they invited me up. They did like that cock of mine. When we had breakfast together, they teased me about my photo. They loved it that I was so innocent....an Adam in the garden with a great big dick behind a fig leaf."

Kate and I laughed together about the photo. We had never talked dirty or explicitly together. I had tried to get her to talk about her favorite times fucking--and her favorite cocks--but she was shy about that stuff. About size, she would just say, "It's not the meat, but the motion." Our laughter about my innocence loosened us up. I was feeling sexy, seductive, cockstrong. I also knew what pictures were coming next.

I showed Kate the first of three Polaroid photos that Ben took, each one quite explicit. The first was of Rowena sucking my cock; the second of Rowena riding my cock; and the third of me taking Rowena from behind, doggie-style. I had only looked at each picture a thousand or more times.

Kate studied each one, shaking her head as she looked at the evidence and then at me. I tried to put on a nonchalant face, but I was smiling deep inside, almost chortling to myself in an adolescent way, as the photos showed off beautifully the power and thickness of my cock. Kate made another comment or two about Rowena's shapely figure. She then went strangely silent on me. She got up from the couch as if she'd seen enough. "Damn," I said to myself. I thought the night might end.

Then she whispered, "Don't go away."

Kate walked back towards her bedroom. I wondered to myself what was going on with her. It was a very strange night. She was gone an agonizingly short time. I had a million things going through my mind. When she came back, all uncertainty was lost. Utter disbelief replaced it. She entered the living room sexed up, wearing a sheepish look on her face and not much else: a black camisole and French cut black Jockey underpants, the sexiest lingerie I had bought her during our marriage.

"Here's the night you've been asking for," she declared.

Ever since she asked me for a divorce, I had been making a special request: Could we sleep together one last time so we could end the marriage on a harmonious note--a celebration of our best times together? Kate always resisted the idea. She could never just fuck. She needed a heart-connection. Her body was closed off to me. But now, thank God, I guess my little act of deviltry had possessed her. Her change in attire caved in my fixed impression of her, like at the ending of "Grease," when the good girl in the cardigan sweater reappears attired in black leather. My body and mind began to shift into a new mode. Coursing through me was all the magic and energy that comes when the prowl succeeds, when a man knows for certain that a woman wants him....that she will spread open for him....

I began thinking of my first time with Kate. I had been shy with her. We had been on a few dates and we had not gone beyond a kiss. We watched a baseball game together, and when the game ended, we began hugging each other. Kate made the first move, feeling me up through my jeans. That was all the signal I needed. I began fumbling around stripping off her jeans, then going down on her with her blouse still on. I was uncertain about what I was doing, but I was enthusiastic, and Kate helped me out, thrusting her pussy up against my still, stiff tongue to take herself to an orgasm that left her squeezing my head between her legs. We went back into the bedroom, stripped off our clothes, and began kissing each other in the bed. I was too anxious to get hard. We never fucked that night. We never said anything about what was going on (a silence about sexual problems that became not untypical). When we woke up together, I was hard. We began fucking, and we kept fucking....making love three times before Kate had to leave for work, an hour or two late. When I walked out of her apartment the next morning to catch a bus through Central Park to my apartment cross-town, the entire city--the entire world--seemed transformed in my eyes. I never felt anything like it again until our first child was born.

You can never imagine where things might go when a woman is willing to spread open for you. I could not stop now to contemplate the implications of what Kate had done, but with that one sight of her, sexed up, all my frustration with her began giving way to forgiveness...and a pulsing, throbbing imagination.

Kate joined me on the couch, but sat back at the opposite end from me, with her legs up on the couch, slightly spread.

"OK, James, I want the complete story...all the details....a full confession."

"Do I get immunity?"

"Yes, but make it good. You've got me very wet."

A surge of erotic energy coursed through me. I had never heard Kate use that expression before. It excited me tremendously. What she did next took the rest of my breath away. She spread her legs open. I looked. She closed them up coyly. I looked back at her eyes. She opened up her legs again. This time I kept looking at her face. She had a devilish smile on her. She knew she had me hook, line, and sinker. But she wanted more play out of me. As I started to talk, she slipped her fingers underneath her panties. I stopped talking.

"Go on," she said slyly. "Keep talking."

I started to talk again, but Kate paid me no attention. She was taking herself deep into her sex: her eyes closed, her head arched back, her fingers pleasuring herself. I had never watched Kate masturbate before. I was transfixed. Her fingers snuggled underneath her panties like kittens under warm laundry. Her eyes remained closed. She began smiling to herself. Maybe she had found a particular sweet spot....or maybe she was thinking about how she was torturing me. She opened her eyes widely, innocently, as if her hand had never been in the cookie jar. She focused her attention back on me, and I began telling my story again.

"Wait a minute," she interrupted. "I want you to taste something."

She slipped her fingers out of her underpants, and offered them to my mouth. She penetrated me with one finger, then two. I grabbed her by the wrist and held her hand still, so I could fellate each finger. I wanted to regain my advantage. I wanted to get her more turned on than she had gotten me. I kissed and licked each finger up and down, sucking them in deep. I took them and spread her fingers wide apart. I tongued vigorously the crotch at the base of her fingers. I knew her body was as much a parched desert as mine was. I knew that kissing her fingers was making her pussy more moist than an oasis. I kept pressing my advantage. She pulled her fingers back.

"Go on with your story, now, honey." Her sweet talk was funny. She never called me honey except sarcastically. Her tongue had wonderful tartness to it. She and I both loved all those old screwball comedies of the 1930s with fast talking, quick witted women like Katherine Hepburn in "Bringing Up Baby" and "Philadelphia Story." I wanted more of that tart tongue.

She slipped her fingers back down her panties. My mind was screaming at me to strip them off of her. My cock was screaming at me to unleash it from my pants and flaunt it before her eyes. "Down, boy," I said to myself.

"Go on," said Kate, as her eyes challenged me to resume the story. "Tell me more." I accepted the challenge. I started talking quickly. Kate repositioned herself, sliding herself down the couch. She spread her legs more open. Smiling some, moaning slightly, she kept teasing herself....and me.