Stuck in August

Chet's inadvertent disclosure, and Hannah's panic, had nullified the positive effect on her of an otherwise good hookup. By this time, Hannah was no longer freaked out by the idea of sex with anyone else, ever again. That night she sent a message to Trey.

***

Two days before her date with Trey, Hannah asked her employees to give her a list of all the significant glitches they had encountered lately with the office's phone and computer systems. She'd need talking points to reach Trey's nerd side, and derail him from his tendency towards braggadocio. Hannah had never seen him in large groups of African Americans, but she suspected that he was timid around them, and tried for urban arrogance only with his white woman.

When she saw her co-workers' lists, Hannah was stunned to see that, in fact, she probably did need tech support. Trey was established as a consultant. She believed she could cut him a check and not get a raised eyebrow from corporate.

After eight encounters over seven months, she and Trey still hadn't worked out what to do with each other in the dating preliminaries. Age and background differences left them with little overlap in their tastes and interests.

When Trey arrived to pick her up, he asked, "Okay if we try Japanese?"

Hannah blinked. That was a cuisine they hadn't sampled together. "Sure."

Trey drove a tricked-out SUV. Hannah was okay with it while he kept the music off, because the passenger seat felt better for her back and thighs than her own driver's seat did.

His seat was set higher than hers. He was maybe an inch taller than Hannah, who wore flats when she was with him. He was dark skinned and flat nosed even by African American standards, but his hair didn't kink enough to maintain a decent afro. Reassuring Trey, actively and otherwise, about height and race and masculinity, often eroded Hannah's patience with him. He was 24, and sometimes insecurity made him seem younger still.

"Know what the fools are doin'?" he said, referring to other black men he probably hoped to emulate. "They're playin' Fortnite and Overwatch for money. I tell them they can't cut it, but they don't listen."

Hannah was barely aware of the existence of such online games. She asked, "How do you know they can't?"

Trey snorted. "I know what the code does." For her, at least, Trey used correct grammar, with urban cadence.

She saw this as a chance to keep the discussion in tech, and described the issues in her office. She asked what he'd do about them, expecting a long answer she'd have to nod through.

Instead, he said only, "I'll get you on Linux."

"Oh?" she said, blinking in surprise for the second time. "That's all?"

"Yeah, just leave it to me," he said neutrally. Then, suddenly realizing that he'd scored points, he flashed her a cocksure smile.

She had to smile in return. "Can I get a reasonable rate for your billable hours?"

"I'll give you great service, Baby!" he said with a cackle. "And I know you'll show your appreciation!"

She rolled her eyes and let him have his fun. Many people her age seemed to think that any millennial who knew how to use a phone app was a tech genius. Hannah knew that Trey was genuinely skilled. He had spent a lot on his ride and his clothes, but she had seen that his apartment was tiny. He had sheepishly admitted that he spread a fair amount of his income to his parents and siblings. She had praised him for that, but he seemed to believe that it ran counter to the playa image to which he aspired.

Dinner clicked for both of them. Hannah found the appetizer sushi to be fresh, and the tempura to be tasty and crisply battered. Trey raved about the steak teriyaki. She realized that she was enjoying herself, not needing then to stroke Trey's ego. She thought that she might be fine with dropping Chet if upward momentum continued with Trey.

She then guided him to a stageplay in an arts-district black box theatre, and their momentum stalled. Trey was completely bored, and Hannah decided that she might have preferred a fully avant-garde production to what she saw, which hinted at edginess but may have been dumbed down for the sake of drawing a paying audience.

At the end, when the house lights returned, she glanced at Trey. She took in the smoothness of the skin on his cheek, jaw and neck, and was almost able to sense the wrinkles on her own skin. I'm carrying on the chain of cradle robbing, she thought. In the aftermath of her disaster with Chet, she had done some deeper background digging on him and those close to him. She had learned that in 1956, coal mining magnate Luther Schrader got a quickie divorce in Nevada, and an equally quickie marriage to a Las Vegas showgirl named Phoebe Mills.

At the end of the ride home, Hannah looked at her house more than she usually did when she drove herself. The one-story cottage was just the right step down from the house where she had grown up, and her real estate experience and skill made the transition smooth. The net gain through the sale of the old house and the purchase of the new house was tax-sheltered to bolster her parents' retirement stake. I'm good at a lot of things, she told herself. But it's a drag to keep doing them, year after year.

As they were undressing each other, he asked quietly, "How's your back?"

"It's never good," she said, giving him a little smile. "You can massage a while, but don't try to go deep."

She lay on her side. His massage was mostly fondling around her lower back and, doing her no good, buttocks. It felt nice enough.

"I thought you didn't like stereotypes," she said, teasing.

"Any man who doesn't love butts isn't a man."

She smirked over her shoulder at him. "That just makes it sound worse."

"I love these too," he said, scooping up her nearest breast.

"I know," she said, rolling around to face him.

He licked and fondled her breasts for a few minutes, varying between slow-and-smooth and quick-and-strong. Just as Hannah allowed Chet to treat her as wanton and youthful, she allowed Trey to find her comforting and maternal.

Trey then went into the bathroom to scrub down his crotch. She leaned around to watch, enjoying both the light on the droplets still on his prick, and the fact that he cleaned up the sink when he was done.

As he returned she got up, kissed him, and headed for the bathroom. "Several hours in clothes means I'm not springtime fresh."

"Fools who won't eat pussy aren't good lovers," he declared.

He showed that he would not be numbered among the fools, but only for a couple minutes. She, too, gave oral stimulation only long enough to raise their heart rates. She then cowgirled, which Trey knew was a position not likely to hurt her back.

Her mood was good, and Trey had a good-sized prick, but he had trouble matching her moves so he could drive deep, and he either couldn't or wouldn't keep going for too long.

"You gettin' there?" he asked, steadily losing poise.

"Not yet," she said. She never faked.

She could tell from his breathing that he was close to cumming, so she started fingering her clit. He spurted, and withdrew, and then put two fingers in her cleft while she finished a disappointing orgasm.

The moments when he'd been a decent lover didn't overcome the ones when he'd been nervous and clumsy. Despite her earlier optimism about momentum with Trey, Hannah was now inclined against letting him stay the night. He seemed still to have a long way to go as a sex partner, and she didn't want him to trek through all of his journey on her watch.

He said, "Can we do doggystyle?"

She looked at him for a few seconds, and said, "Then we'll be done, okay?"

"Yeah."

She gave him a fresh condom, while noting that he hadn't yet bounced back from what he'd done in the other condom. Then she got on all fours, feeling no thigh strain but not sure about her back.

Nothing happened right away. She heard some fumbling around behind her. She turned to look over her shoulder, expecting to see him trying to jerk another erection. Instead, she saw him holding up his pants and digging through the pockets.

When he drew out his phone, Hannah snapped, "What do you think you're doing?"

He twitched, dropping the pants and the phone. "Wasn't nothin'! Uh, I thought I had a message—"

Hannah's eyes bugged. "Were you going to take a picture?"

"It wouldn't show your face! That's why it's doggy!"

Still on all fours, she turned and advanced on him. "A picture of you fucking me?"

"Just to show the fools what I do! Nobody'd ever know it was you!"

"Get out of my house!" she screamed. She grabbed his phone from the floor.

Trey retreated, grabbing clothes and shoes, as if fearing that she'd photograph him.

She was able to stop yelling when the front door opened.

***

The night's anger was soon joined by hurt, and together they robbed her of sleep.

In the morning she e-mailed Trey, knowing he had other devices for receiving it:

<<Fortunately for you, the only photos of me I found on your phone were fully dressed and in public. I have left your phone in a cardboard box on the sidewalk in front of my house. You may retrieve it during normal business hours, when I won't be at the house. I refuse to be photographed in any intimate situation. If you had ever brought this subject up, I would have made this very clear to you. Do not contact me again without my permission.>>

It was several minutes after she sent this that she checked back, and found that the last sentence to Trey was about the same as the last sentence to Chet. This discovery did not distract her from the fact that she was sobbing.

She had burned bridges with both of the men with whom she had been comfortable engaging in casual sex more than once. Sex with anyone now seemed repulsive. And so she embarked on a new streak of being alone.

Even at the outset, when being alone usually was a relief, she was irritable. She beat herself up for having ever been involved with them at all, and then defended herself because it was the men who had behaved like jerks. She even thought it might be a blessing that she learned what she had about both men in quick succession. Except that she was miserable.

For the first time, wretchedness in her personal life carried over to the office. For two days, she chewed out her employees, often for no reason, and put the worst possible spin on corporate's hints of underperformance.

She realized that this was too much, but went home on the second day without making amends. She was a mess. She had cried more than once, alone at home. The hurt showed her that the men were more important to her than she realized. Now she had cried herself out, but was still despondent.

Trey had clearly placed his desire to impress 'the fools' over any respect or affection he had for her. She should cut him dead, just as she should with Chet. Yet while her skill as a judge of character was looking bad, she had spent enough time with Trey for her to believe that he was basically decent. He helped support his relatives. Maybe he at least considered them more important than 'the fools.' He was young, he might still be learning the right way to set priorities.

At 73, was Chet teachable?

In the shower, she resisted giving her crotch more washing than necessary.

Clitoris and vagina are so much more trouble than they're worth, she thought, and mine can't even drum up enough pleasure to overcome the back pain.

So was this the end of her no-strings sex with known quantities? Her mind bellowed, Known? Hah!

Her escapades with them had almost given her multiple personalities. To her old country club roué, she was hot young stuff, and she enjoyed his lavish attentions (especially when he ate her pussy). To her young urban techie, she was a MILF cougar (never mind that she didn't qualify for the M), and she enjoyed his youthful vigor (and large-ish prick).

I've got December on one side, and May on the other, she thought as she put on pajamas. So am I stuck in August?

Then, because Baby Boom rock and roll refused to go away, the song "Stuck in the Middle With You" started playing in her head. And it occurred to her, I could take that literally.

At first, the thought of the three of them in bed together was so funny that she laughed out loud. But the thought, and the imagery, stayed in her head as persistently as the song.

She wanted to punish both men. And to keep them. On her terms.

She wondered if they were desperate enough to go along with it.

This was way beyond anything she had ever done with anyone.

As goofy as it was, it got her excited.

She sent an e-mail, blind-copied to both of them, and secured every way she knew how:

<<You're one of two people getting this message. You don't know each other. I'm pissed off at both of you. The only way you can get back on my good side, and into my bed, is to agree to be in a three-way, with me in charge of everything we do. That's right, you and me and another man, who you probably won't like. If it's not yes from both of you, you're both out of my life. You have 24 hours to say yes.>>

She ran the risk of losing clients from Chet and tech support from Trey. She didn't care. In this moment, as she logged off and settled down to sleep, she felt good about slapping them around. And, amazed at her silliness, she hoped they'd give in.

The next morning, this had arrived from Chet:

<<I'm yours to command.>>

And this, from Trey:

<<I say yes. Please tell me when.>>

As short as the messages were, Hannah read in both of them an attitude of I-know-I-fucked-up. And the thought of the three-way actually happening made her giddy. It was an effort for her to remain stern in her response. She sent:

<<This Sunday, 3 p.m., my house.>>

When she reached the office that morning, she apologized to her employees. She maintained a sunny disposition the rest of the day.

***

A tricked-out SUV and a red Corvette convertible pulled up to the curb in front of Hannah's house at exactly 3 p.m. The drivers emerged, and looked at each other.

Hannah opened the door and advanced to the front stoop. "Get in here," she told them, showing a stone face.

Once they were inside, she said, "Give me all of your electronics, and strip."

Their outbursts started with "But—" and "What—"

Hannah held up a hand and said, "This is your only warning. Do what I tell you or we're done."

Quietly, each glancing at the other, the men surrendered their devices (which Hannah collected), and disrobed. She noticed, for the first time, that Chet didn't have a medicalert bracelet. She thought, How can he be so damn healthy?

Hannah smiled at them. "What a poor host I am. Chet Guatreaux, Trey McKendrick. Have you met? No? Well, soon you'll know each other far too well."

Nude, each man cupped hands over his groin, still eyeing the other more than Hannah.

"This way," she said, leading them to her bedroom, where she handed each a plastic bottle of water. "You'll want to maintain fluid balance. See, I'm not such a terrible host after all. I won't be passing along micro-organisms, or taking photographs."

Both men opened their mouths, but Hannah again raised her hand, and they stifled their protests.

The men's side-by-side positioning magnified Hannah's view of their contrasts. Chet's height came with vertically-wrinkled, parchment-like skin, and ribs almost protruding around his sternum. Trey's dusky smoothness made him seem round, even as he sucked in his gut. His hands didn't completely cover his prick, perhaps by choice.

Hannah unbuttoned her jeans. "I am infuriated at both of you," she said, unzipping. "I will neither forgive nor forget what you did." She hauled the jeans past her hips and let them fall. "But I know you well enough to believe that you're not bad people." She toed away her flip-flops and stepped out of the jeans. "You tried to get away with something, and got caught." She lifted her sweatshirt over her head. "All other times, though, you've behaved decently, and set aside your public posturing to be a friend as well as a lover."

She reached behind her back and began undoing bra hooks. "So I'm giving you this chance to show that you're truly sorry, and that you care about my opinion of you." She let the bra slide down her arms, and flipped it towards a window, where it brushed against closed drapes before landing on the rug. "I'm not interested in dominance or submission or any of that nonsense." She kept her eyes on them as she bent over with her thumbs hooked in the sides of her underwear. "Today, now, you will simply do what I tell you to do, when I request it. These are things you willingly do with me already. I will do for you only what I choose to do." She kicked away the panty. "Starting, I suppose, with this."

She spread her arms. This gave her a glimpse of her upper body in the mirror over her dresser. She was too focused on the men to wince at the sight of her sagging breasts. "This is the first time I have ever been nude in the presence of two men. And now, also for the first time, I will receive love from two men at once."

With her rehearsed speech finished, Hannah shivered. I've gone way too far to stop now. She felt warmth and slickness in her vagina, which almost never happened without her body being touched.

She lay down in the middle of her queen bed, atop the bedspread. "Pick a side," she told them. "Do things to me that you know I like. You can talk if you have to, but if I tell you to be quiet, you'd better."

With any other two men, Hannah might feel threatened. But Trey and Chet were at least as skittish as she was. Staying on either side of her allowed each to focus on the naked woman, and limit awareness of the naked man on the other side. And Hannah, accustomed to dealing with one lover and quickly finding his actions predictable, enjoyed moments of surprise from the lover she wasn't seeing at the time. While Trey was fondling her breasts, there was a wet kiss on her shoulder from Chet. While Chet was tickling her pubic hair, Trey swept her head hair to one side and nuzzled her neck. Hannah started to tingle, more from fun than arousal.

She stretched out on her back. "Each of you take a tit, and love it up good." She closed her eyes, and lifted her arms to put her hands behind her head. Even though she knew which man was on which side, she felt thrills from the unseen mouths and hands. She thought, That's what I want, worship! For a moment she was smug, thinking she could get these clowns to do whatever she wanted. Then the effect on her bosom—tongues swirling on both nipples, lips sliding along both aureoles, fingers stroking and pressing on both mounds—sent heat surging throughout her torso and into her dampening groin. But as her arousal grew, so did a worry she couldn't pin down.

She opened her eyes. The men were completely occupied with her boobs. Hannah took a couple deep breaths, then said, "Play a little bit with my pussy."

Without a word, each let a hand leave her bosom and move to her crotch. Because Chet and Trey weren't looking at each other, they fumbled around for a moment, then settled on one of them parting her folds and the other sliding back her clit hood. Hannah writhed, back arching. She feared pain, but didn't feel it yet.

Hannah saw no sign that Chet was interested in Trey, except as someone to work around.

Her cleft seeped fluid, and in reflex her knees smacked together. Both hands jerked away.

Hannah's heart raced. She saw that both men were erect, without her having done anything to their equipment. She asked herself if she missed licking them, and answered, No, not really. Then she got a huge rush from their continued breast love. She moaned.