Something Completely Different

And I froze at the sight before me.

It was Monica all right, but she had a large, athletic black guy with her.

'This is Mark,' she said in introduction. 'He does maths but he's promised not to talk about algebra or trigonometry. Not right now, anyway. I brought him along as a present. Sorry he's not gift-wrapped.'

To his credit Mark looked more nervous than excited. Indeed he looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else but there, on my threshold.

I did a double-take, glancing from one of them to the other.

'We got it together last night,' Monica offered helpfully. 'And he's definitely got enough for both of us.'

'I guess I should be going,' Mark put in, starting to turn away.

One thing I am not is racist. I caught his wrist and stayed him. 'You're more than welcome,' I said in a most assuring voice, 'my only doubt is whether to let this presumptuous cow inside as well or not.'

'Go on,' egged Monica, 'you know you want to.'

Truth was I did. We'd talked about threesomes and more, vaguely fantasising, but in great depth.

Yes, we'd fantasised endlessly. And now she was fulfilling our shared dreams.

Having a supremely athletic specimen of manhood was high on our list, meaning having him together, naturally.

And she'd just only gone and done it.

'You're going to get a sound spanking for this,' I said, stepping aside to let them both in.

'Sounds good to me,' Monica purred. 'We can kick off like that if you want. I'm sure Mark will be keen to watch.'

*****

This is a lesbian story so I'm not going to go into great detail about Mark's prowess. Let's just say that he was with us, at us, for five hours and never once went floppy.

If only all men were like him! I'd still be indulging . . . five hours and not ever floppy!

How improbable is that!

How improbable and how exceptionally impressive!!

Our opening threesome was a roaring success. So much so we repeated it another three times.

Or maybe four or five . . .

Then the attraction palled. Or, rather, then Monica suggested a girly three instead.

As it happened a girl on our course had been after a three with me for ages. I'd screwed with her as a pair, obviously, but otherwise put her off. Now, with Monica pushing boundaries, I decided to act.

That time I turned up at Monica's door. She was expecting me but alone . . . and thankfully she didn't have Mark lying in wait in there with her . . . yet now I was accompanied. Now I had Katie by my side.

Katie was, by the way, extremely butch. Leastways she looked to be extremely butch. In bed she was as gentle and caring as could be. Monica didn't know that, however. She knew I'd been fucking Katie but I'd fibbed about sequences of events.

Naughty of me, I know, and somehow instinctive. I sincerely hadn't planned this in advance.

Well, not in a waking, functional way anyhow.

Therefore I knocked and Monica answered. Doing my best to copy the theatrical way she'd introduced Mark, I gesticulated toward Katie.

'This is Katie,' said I. 'She's here to fuck with us. No, she's here first and foremost so I can watch her fuck you.'

Monica's reaction wasn't shocked at all. Tell the truth, she was delighted. Her smile eclipsed the sun.

'I have wanted Katie for just about ever,' she said, moving to allow us into her personal space.

'I've wanted you too,' Katie snapped, perfectly playing the part I'd assigned her brutal, misleading self.

'Hum,' went Monica, blocking me as I made to follow her in. 'I'm not sure whether to let this cow in as well.'

I stuck out my tongue and told her she was bullshitting.

'Charley's part of the package,' Katie said in her trademark growl, 'all for one and what have you.'

Laughing, Monica stood aside.

Just like that.

Chapter Seven

The rest of the academic year simply zoomed by. Monica and I still had sex minimally three times a week and relished every second. We had a number of sexy threes as well, mostly all-girl. But she'd got that travelling bug again.

How many times did she beg me to accompany her!

Sadly my Bank of Dad wasn't as bottomless as the Bank of Scotland or England. A five year course was taking the piss in the first place. Extending it to six or seven years . . .

Well, work it out for yourself.

Much as I wanted to go with her, I repeatedly said nay. And I stuck to my guns under the softest, best-ever persuasion.

Trust me; Monica could have persuaded North Vietnam to raise the white flag. Somehow I resisted.

I hated myself for denying her, but I resisted.

So, at the end of Year Two, off she went. I had tears in my eyes as she left but no regrets. Cynical as it may sound, she wasn't Carole. She was by far my best-ever physical lover but I didn't love her, not in the true sense of "love".

God, I must sound like one hell of a sad witch!

For the avoidance of doubt, she did return to Bristol, but by then she was a year behind me. Happily screwing together again, we weren't quite so frequent. Maybe we did it twice a month, carrying on to my final year . . . forever friends and all that.

And we do it still, although on a sporadic basis. The two of us "bumping into each other" isn't actually something with any real timetable. Sometimes we go a whole year without getting together, others we manage it every other month.

Last year, while I was still seeing the bitch I refuse to name, Monica and I "unofficially" holidayed for a fortnight in Lanzarote (where else!) and hardly saw any sunshine at all.

Okay, so we saw lots of awesomely stained bed sheets, but hardly any sunshine at all.

Go figure!

As I implied, we aren't in love but I love Monica in my own, strange way. I fully intend to have sex with her until I'm old and grey. We're not going to hitch up though. Leastways I don't think we are.

But what is that old advice? Never say never?

Who knows what might happen next.

*****

I certainly didn't know what might happen next. Ten years ago, back in my Martina-free role (more or less) I sneaked in a few more lovers, by then all female.

Blame that on Mark. I kept my distance from him but knew I'd never find anyone better; not anyone of the male persuasion, anyway.

And I didn't trust myself to try him on my own. As part of a three he was incredible. One-on-one I was afraid he'd blow my mind.

Call me cowardly or maybe I was wise. The guy had screwed me to orgasm ten times in one evening whilst simultaneously giving my best mate the same treatment. Could I take it twenty times?

My heart said yes but my head said no.

Other guys were ditched, instantly and unceremoniously. They couldn't possibly compare, why bother even looking?

Yes, after him it was girls all the way.

For anyone who hasn't been to university I'll point out the universal fact of learning. Most students hit the ground at eighteen without too much of a clue about life, the universe and everything. A lot are still in the state of virginity . . . male and female . . . maybe because they were goodie-goodies at school.

Put it this way: back in the day university was a major eye-opener. Being an elite sixth-former seems incredibly adult . . .

But then you show up at uni and, out of nowhere, some tall, rather fat girl with bright blue hair wants you to join LGBT.

And, amazingly, you think it's a good idea . . .

Maybe it's that girl's astonishing tits, but . . .

Well, you know how it is. University is all about encouraging new ideas, thoughts and ideals.

It was for me, anyhow. My first away-from-home lover was noticeably overweight with blue hair and big breasts (as I have already advertised), and she rapidly had me in rapture.

All right, all right, she had me in utter, sheer rapture for three nights in a row.

No, make it three months in a row, maybe a little more . . .

I still see her as well, if not quite as often as I see Monica. Call us occasional lovers. We meet twice a year, on our birthdays, and fuck like it's going out of fashion: me on her on hers, her on me on mine.

Call us old-fashioned, but it's an arrangement that works.

I like her as a person and the sex has always been wonderful.

Like sex always is wonderful . . .

Excuse that last comment. It makes me sound like some sort of maniac. And I'm not.

I don't think.

I just like to fuck with girls. Is there anything wrong with that? I'm not a deviant or anything.

Girls are simply superior. Mark was the best guy ever, but by now I've been with all those zillions of girls.

For whatever reason I've always preferred girls; I could come up with a list but it wouldn't ring true.

Maybe it was that blue-haired amazon who took me . . . very willingly . . . during Fresher's Week.

Maybe it was her or Monica or Carole with . . . well, with simply everything.

Fucking on birthdays, by the way . . . what a fine tradition is that!

I fully intend to fuck my bright-blue-haired babe on every one of her birthdays until she dies.

And I fully expect her to fuck me likewise. Our birthdays are the only two days of the year I've banned Monica from even thinking about.

She knows when they are, of course, and she knows my alternate arrangements. You could perhaps call it intentional tension, but she's infinitely hotter after being deprived of first go.

Omigod, I love it when she's intentionally tense. A girl can scent her in the air. Eager if not ravenous for a sexual encounter, her juices trickling like my juices are trickling at this very moment . . .

The day after my birthday is without one shred of a doubt the best day of the year. I wave off my blue-haired lover and Monica arrives within the next ten minutes. Don't ask if or how they co-ordinate it, but somehow they do. There's never a bigger pause between them.

Listen to me! Hard-ass as I'm meant to be, I'm gushing along like a little girly.

Gushing" being the operative word . . .

Yet again!